#but it's about a minor character interacting with other minor characters so it got approximately zero love

[chuuyanakaahara]

hey, you. you, there.

do you want a fic about junichirou accidentally joining the port mafia for a little while before getting to go back to the ADA with a hint of tachihara & tanizaki, the hunting dogs, junichirou backstory, the full nine yards?

do you also want it in a cozy little 17,896 one-shot?

boy, do i have the fic for you! here is taste of fear

featuring some fun dialogue such as:

“What, you think you’d be a better assassin than a detective?”  “Probably, yeah.”  “Then why do you stay with the Agency?” 

and

“Stop thinking so fucking loudly, it’s annoying,” Tachihara says with a huff, his voice just as whiny as it was earlier and, dare Junichirou to think it, even more annoying than beforehand. “They’re not that bad, and we’re not going to jump you.”  “That’s exactly what someone who was going to jump me would say.”  “You don’t get out much, do you?” 

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Her Voice

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Smutty Audiobook Narrator!Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting will be blocked.

Length: 3.2K

Notes: No physical descriptions of the Reader (there are descriptions of characters that are not the reader in the story); no use of y/n

Okay. So. I got this idea today and it would not leave me alone so. Here ya go. It's a little out of the ordinary from my usual? I think the POV shifts from Matt to what's being read are clear, but please let me know if they're not.

Warnings: Voyeurism; voice kink; scent kink; dirty talk; daddy kink; spanking; masturbation; Matt Murdock's Opinions on Some Romance Novel Verbiage which are also my opinions shut up

Summary: It had become his guilty pleasure. There were some nights that he loathed his duties to Hell’s Kitchen, and missed the sound of her voice caressing each sultry, salacious syllable. 

When she had moved in, he could never have known that his otherwise mild-mannered and church-mouse quiet new neighbor would have such a smutty evening occupation. The first time he’d heard it, he thought that she may be reading aloud to herself, that she had some sort of fetish for her own voice. He’d understand if she did—he'd certainly developed one.

It had become his guilty pleasure. There were some nights that he cursed his duties to Hell’s Kitchen, and missed the sound of her voice caressing each sultry, salacious syllable. 

That night, he caught on a phone call of hers—a complaint about a broken mic, a contract, a quick turnaround, and a plea for a replacement mic. She was nervous. Matt could hear her heart pounding in panic. The package had arrived just an hour later, and she thanked the delivery person enthusiastically. Another phone call had been made (to a boss or an agent, Matt wasn’t sure). 

“I’m one chapter out,” She said. “I’ll have it in by nine.” 

What had followed had been some pacing, some vocal warm-ups and tongue twisters. Matt found himself waiting with bated breath. He had missed most of the recording of this latest project, and had somewhat shamefully been hanging around his apartment that evening, rather than grabbing a drink at Josie’s with Foggy and Karen. He settled on his couch, laying down and letting his ears filter out the noise of the street below, and the sounds of the other apartments around them. He closed his eyes, and just let himself listen to her: 

“Maddox strode across the room, shedding his jacket as he did so. Eleanor watched as the meticulously tailored garment crumpled on the floor. Before she could open her mouth to protest, Maddox raised a hand, curling it around the supple skin of her throat.” 

Matt licked his lips, a smile pulling at his face as he heard her heartbeat tick up. She must’ve liked that. 

“‘You are sorely mistaken’,” She went on, lowering her voice a touch, approximating a man’s tone. It was always strange to Matt that this was the route taken, rather than subbing in a man’s voice from chapter to chapter. “‘My interest in Zufiya was purely transactional.’” 

“And this? What has this been if not transactional?” 

Matt smiled. She was so quick to shift from one voice to the other. He’d heard it time and again, but it always fascinated him. 

“Maddox’s expression seemed to melt at the subdued fury in Eleanor’s amber eyes. His hand gently smoothed along the side of her neck, his knuckle skating across her jaw. Eleanor could feel a softening in her chest, the chains that she’d wound around her heart breaking one by one. She needed to step away. She knew that if she was in his company for one moment longer, she would yield to him.” 

Yield. Yield was a good word. There were some words used in these books that Matt found utterly laughable, but the yearning press that she’d put on yield made him shift on his couch, his cock giving a belated twitch in his pants. 

“Eleanor took a half-step back, and winced as she felt the hard press of the brick wall behind her. Oh, god.” 

Oh god indeed. She had loosed that last utterance with a breathy little moan—one that Matt would give anything to hear and feel right up against his cheek. 

“If she had had a lick of sense, she would’ve ordered him out. Hell—she never should’ve let him in in the first place. But as Maddox braced his hands on the wall behind her, Eleanor felt her remaining inhibitions crumbling. 

"‘If I cared about Zufiya, would I be here now?’ Maddox murmured. ‘You think I would chase her halfway across the world like this? Follow her to the ends of the fucking Earth if I had to?’ His hand lifted from her cheek, his finger trailing across her plush, trembling bottom lip. ‘If that’s truly what you think of me, Ellie, then you don’t know me at all.’ 

“Eleanor’s knees weakened as Maddox’s lips covered hers in a hungry kiss. Her hands raised on instinct, intent on pushing him away, but her traitorous fingers curled around his collar. She used her last vestiges of strength to haul him closer, her mouth falling open in a moan as she felt his cock coming alive in his pants.” 

Matt found himself torn between arousal and laughter. Coming alive? Did he have a Franken-cock? Or was this one a vampire, too? She’d read a few of those. They hadn’t been Matt’s favorite—and he’d been more than a little conflicted when one of them had also been a priest. 

“Eleanor choked on a breath as Maddox reached down, gripping her shirt and yanking it harshly, sending its mother of pearl buttons scattering across the floor. She would give him hell for that later. For now, she let her head fall back against the wall, her eyes sliding shut as Maddox leaned down, ravaging her breasts.” 

Ravaging. It was another verb that Matt didn’t particularly care for from day to day, but he was more than happy to hear it coming from her mouth. He found himself lowering his hand, absently palming his hardening cock through his pants. He always felt a little…Guilty, doing this. Maybe it was wrong, but others would eventually be listening to this too, right? He was just at a different place in the production and sales process. Maybe he could think of it as a free sample. 

“‘Take your shirt off,’ Eleanor begged. ‘I want to touch you.’” 

Her pleas were so sweet. They made Matt’s eyes squeeze shut, his fingers flexing around his length. Did she really sound like that when she begged? When she was in the throes of passion? Or did she prefer to make others bed? He wanted to know, and it was becoming increasingly irritating to be deprived of that knowledge. He’d never heard her with anyone in her apartment, or getting off alone. Maybe she was with someone and went to theirs instead. He had no way of knowing—he’d never actually met her. He’d just fallen for her voice through their walls. 

“'How do we ask for what we want, Ellie?’ Maddox goaded. Eleanor swallowed thickly, her doe-like eyes batting up at him. He could see the fight that she was having within herself—her damnable and fierce independence was battling the joy that she found in submitting to his him. She swept her tongue across her kiss-blushed lips before she said the two little words that Maddox had become so hooked on: 

‘Please, daddy.’” 

Matt’s surprise pushed a grunt out of him, a shaky little laugh leaving him. Oh. Shit. He fumbled a little, shoving his shirt up a bit and pushing his hand beneath the band of his sweatpants. 

“‘That’s my good girl’.”

She liked that, too. Matt could sense the heat rising in her body, hear the way her heart was thudding more roughly in her chest. He tipped his head, drawing in a deep breath. The scent of her was faint, but more than enough for him to seek out and hold to. His hand tightened around his hardening length, stroking himself with indulgent slowness. He knew well enough by now to take his time when he listened to her. 

“Maddox hooked his finger in the waistband of her tight pencil skirt, towing her from the wall to the kitchen table. If he felt that they had more time, or that he had more patience, he would’ve taken her to her canopy bed just down the hall. But he needed Eleanor in that moment, and he could see from the desperate, cock-dumb way that he followed that she needed him just as badly. 

“Maddox reached out, swiping the contents of the table onto the floor, uncaring of the mugs, dishes, pens, papers, and magazines that were scattered and shattered as a result. He was desperate to spread her wide, to hear her whimpers and sighs as he pleased her with this tongue and fingers before giving her his cock. He wanted to banish any notion of their argument, of Zufiya, of their arrangement from her mind. He wanted to pull her apart and put her together again in the way that only he knew how—in the way that no other man would ever know her. Eleanor Lewis was his, and he would never squander her time or attentions again. 

“Maddox leaned away despite the way she whimpered, though the sound plucked at his heartstrings. He took hold of her hand, placing it over his hardening length and urging her fingers to squeeze around him before he raised his hands to undo the line of buttons on his shirt. 

"‘So, you’ll tear my shirt to bits, but take time with yours?’ Eleanor pouted. ‘That’s not very nice.’

"Maddox flashed a shark-line grin as he shrugged off his shirt, revealing his broad, muscled chest. 

"‘You ought to know by now that I’m not very nice,’ Maddox teased in turn. He reached down, shoving the fabric of her skirt up around her hips. He’d take his time undressing her properly later, but now, he wanted to give them both what they were desperate for. Eleanor watched, stunned, as her dom and protector lowered himself to his knees in front of her, tugging off the scrap of lace that was covering her dripping cunt.” 

Matt let out a shaky breath as he sensed her leaning back from her mic, and heard the way she swallowed quickly. The scent of her was becoming stronger. Matt drew his cock out from the band of his sweatpants. He wanted to be buried between her thighs, to take in the scent from the source, and feel the pulse of her needy pussy. 

“Eleanor lowered a hand to steady herself against the table as Maddox leaned in, bracing his palms on her legs and running the tip of his tongue along her weeping slit. A low growl emitted from his chest as he tasted her, his fingers flexing in the pillow-soft flesh of her thighs. Eleanor shivered and let her head fall back, her auburn curls brushing the mahogany wood of the table as she tipped her hips down toward him.” 

Matt could sense her shifting in her seat, her hand rising to pull her collar away from her neck a little. Maybe she didn’t have someone elsewhere. Maybe she was all wound up, and all alone. 

“Eleanor jolted a touch as she felt Maddox’s fingers tap, then gently ease into her weeping hole.” 

Matt winced. Weeping hole? That sounded like a wound. 

“Her body tightened around him of its own volition, a shaky whimper dropping from her mouth as Maddox sealed his lips around her swollen bud. The tip of his tongue teased and flicked over her clit, his fingers curling and thrusting as he knew she liked. Eleanor lowered a hand to run his fingers through his hair, fingers twitching and tugging as Maddox’s fingertips brushed the spot inside of her that made her toes curl.” 

Matt groaned softly as he swept his thumb along the head of his cock, smearing the swelling bead of precum as he raked his other hand through his hair, giving it a light tug. Would she tug? He’d want her to. Matt’s heart was pounding in his chest as he raised his hand, lapping wetly across his palm before desperately taking himself in hand again. 

“‘Maddox—Oh!’ Eleanor gasped as Maddox reared back, his lips and chin shining with her juices, and his eyes narrowed in warning.

"‘Daddy—Daddy, I’m sorry—’ She stammered, but it was too little too late. Maddox slipped his fingers from her, straightening. Her eyes darted to his erect length in his pants. She only had a second to look before Maddox grasped her by the waistband of her skirt again, yanking her up and turning her. He placed a rough hand between her shoulders, shoving her down. She braced her hands before she could face plant into the wood, her body tingling with the knowledge of her incoming punishment.

"‘Count,’ Was the order that left Maddox’ gruff mouth. It was chased by a rough slap and sting. Eleanor’s empty pussy ached and throbbed, a counter to the pleasurable pain rippling across her backside. Her jaw fell open, eyes squeezing shut as she managed to weakly whimper, ‘One’.”

Matt pulled his hand off of his cock with a groan, fisting his greedy fingers in the fabric of his sweatpants. He was too close—he could feel his orgasm brewing, his balls pulling tight. He took in a deep breath, steadying himself, and trying to slow the rough pounding of his heart. But he didn’t stop listening. He couldn’t if he tried. 

“The following blows rained along Eleanor’s backside unerringly. She pushed each number out obediently, even as her voice shook and broke. By the time he reached ten, Eleanor’s cheeks were wet with tears, and her cunt was sopping. Maddox sighed softly through his nose, smoothing his hand over her heated skin. He dipped his head, brushing a kiss to her quaking shoulders and pushing his body up against hers. His trousers brushed roughly against her sensitive ass. She just shivered and pushed her pleading body back toward his.” 

Matt listened as she pulled in a deep breath, shifting on her chair. Did she want to chase the feeling that was welling slickness up between her thighs? He could only imagine the way she would, pushing and rolling her thighs to chase the pressure, and to loosen the knot that this job was working her up into. 

“That’s my good girl,’ Maddox purred again, smoothing his hands over her shaking sides. He reached up, quickly working at the clasp of her bra. The straps slid down her trembling arms, and he reached around, tugging the cups down to expose her more fully to him. Maddox gently gathered her hair and pushed it from her nape, pressing a kiss there.

"‘Can you take me just like this?’ He murmured. Her head hung low as she nodded, but Maddox tsk’d softly. He curled his fingers in her hair, yanking her head back and listening to her throaty moan. ‘You know I need to hear it, Eleanor. Do you want another punishment?’ 

"Her body and her mind screamed two different things, but her body won out. She whined, ‘No, Daddy. I can take you just—just like this. Please, Daddy.’” 

Matt couldn’t help how quickly he reached down to grasp himself again. The way she begged was so goddamn irresistible. Every whimper and whine, and every pleading syllable that she pushed through her lips made heat flash across his body. 

“Maddox kept a vice-like grip on her hair as he reached down, undoing his belt and zip with one hand. He drew his cock out, stroking over it a couple of times before using her hair to pull her upright. Eleanor's lips dropped open in a moan, the sound muffled as he shoved and plunged his fingers into her mouth. She gagged, her nose filling with the scent of herself, and her tongue bursting with her own taste. Maddox watched as her eyelids fluttered, tears welling and slipping down her round cheeks as she obediently struggled, keeping her mouth wide open. Maddox drew his fingers from her, nuzzling her heated cheek as he lowered his spit-slicked digits to grasp himself. He stroked over his length before he steered himself into Eleanor’s grasping, needy cunt.

“He hardly gave her a moment to adjust, and she hardly seemed to need it. Eleanor came with a shout, her sensitive pussy tightening around Maddox’s cock as he set a punishing pace. He rode her through her orgasm, his hands grasping, pinching and pulling her sensitive nipples as he rutted into her. His name fell from her lips like a desperate prayer. He looked down, eyeing her pert, bouncing ass as he nailed her with harsh, deep thrusts. Maddox curled over Eleanor, letting go of her breasts and pressing his body up against hers as he buried his face in her neck, drawing in her tempting scent.

‘Is that what you needed, Eleanor?’

‘Yes, Daddy.’

‘What do you say?’

‘Thank you Daddy, thank you!’” 

Matt’s mouth fell open in a pant as he pushed his hips up into his hand. He was dancing dangerously close to the edge. Her voice was all-consuming, painting the picture as if it was for his ears only. He heard her move and growled as her scent overwhelmed him. She’d spread her legs. Matt would give anything to slot between them—to give her his lips, his tongue, his fingers, his cock, any goddamn thing she wanted. 

Matt planted his heels in the cushions of the couch, bracing and straining as his orgasm crept closer. 

“Eleanor’s fingers grasped weakly at the edges of the table, her legs shaking as the head of Maddox’s cock raked over her g-spot. 

‘Are you going to cum again, you sweet, greedy girl?’ Maddox chuckled. 

‘Yes, Daddy—But—’

‘But what?’

‘Wanna wait for—for you.’ 

“Eleanor’s insistence was labored, her words jolting with each rough shove of his hips. Maddox’s chest flooded with affection. In that moment, he wanted to give Eleanor everything—his cock, his cum, his goddamn heart. He slipped his fingers between her slick thighs, swiping at her clit with indulgent roughness, grinning as she loosed a stunned scream and tightened around his cock. He was just behind, his cock pulsing and spilling into her hungry cunt.” 

Matt’s cheeks pinked as his hips stuttered, his cock spurting across his stomach and chest. He pushed out a long, low moan. Fuck. Matt tipped his head back against the arm of his couch, his chest rising and falling as he blinked, gathering himself. She was still going on the other side of the wall—still reading, still shifting, still fighting to keep her own blatant arousal out of her voice. 

“Maddox kept a palm pressed carefully to the table to steady them both, resting his forehead between her shoulder blades. He cupped her still-throbbing cunt, grunting as she pushed her hips back against him.

‘...I think you broke my favorite mug,’ Eleanor managed after a few moments, her voice rough from their exertion. ‘And you definitely ruined my favorite shirt.’ 

‘Forgive me,’ Maddox murmured. 

‘Prove that you’re sorry.’ 

“Maddox chuckled, lifting his chin and sinking his teeth into her shoulder, grinning as she gasped and writhed at the sudden burst of pain. 

“‘Babygirl,’ He murmured as he lifted his head from her throbbing skin. ‘You ought to know by now that you shouldn’t try to give me orders.’”

It was quiet for a moment. Then, Matt heard her click something. She sighed, pulling her headphones off of her ears. He could sense her standing and walking from one place to another. It was chased by the sound of her turning the faucet on, of a glass being filled, and then three greedy gulps. She sighed again, setting the glass down before she muttered, “Son of a bitch.” 

Matt laughed softly, raising a hand to scrub across his face. It was like he was sobering up, the noise of the street and the other apartments beginning to come back to his consciousness, and the feeling of his cum cooling on his belly. 

“Son of a bitch,” He agreed softly.

Tag list: @mattmurdocksscars; @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ;  @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @nolanell ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce 

[suhjihanma]

☩ 𝕰𝖈𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖘𝖞 ☩

(Master list tag) - ☩Kink (4) : Drugs / Gunplay ☩Word Count: 1,899 words ☩Pairing: Kisaki Tetta / Shuji Hanma / Female!Reader ☩Content Warning: Gunplay and gun kink, mentions of drugs, alcohol intoxication, mentions of drug use, fellatio, intercouse with replacement of object, threesome, characters under the influence, mind-fuck, fear play. ☩Author's Note: Thank you tumblr for hiding my shit. Minors and ageless blogs do not interact. This story might contain triggering content. Another story is done. This was supposed to be written for day five, but I skipped yesterday since I was out with friends yesterday (and I was tipsy). Promise that I'll do two stories for this Saturday coming. So, apologies for my stories being out of order. Also, Tokyo Revengers Season Three is out. Rejoice. It's been so long since I wrote for Tokyo Revengers, I miss you guys. I think I had too much with this. Reblogs and likes are appreciated.

Two arms were gently wrapped around you. 

One arm felt more warm to the touch, tender-like, while the other copied the same body warmth. By the hands, one metal piece was holstered to fingers idling across the trigger while the other hand traced circles lazily across the cheeks brazen with slight redness. 

You don't know how in the world you got yourself in this situation with these two men.

Granted, they've always got themselves in bizarre situations where you question their sexual gratification. Captivated by their interests, you wonder how the average female would present her interests. A tail between her stiffened legs would gain a reaction as she heard about the interests that both men played in the bedroom. 

And a good play at that.

Some might place the blame on alcohol imports, specifically more related to Belvedere, and a few undisclosed pills that might have been improperly pressed, still the ravaging effects of being in your drunken stupor became more heightened as the sense of fear presented itself in the spotlight. A damn was less given as your body now squirmed briefly underneath their warm arms, making its absence known as the cold weapons being placed against your face. Protests awakened as the piece was now placed on your lips. The possibility of them being trigger-happy while under the influence was approximately slim, then again the remaining conscious that you had realized that acting under intoxicated stupidity was more than enough to get your head split across an expensive bedroom. Eyes glossed over fear as you looked over at both men. It was difficult to remain focused. The sense of reality became crumbling down as a warm feeling that felt like a hug was engulfed through your body. Visions of the two men become more heightened as you stumble out for words. Words that used to have meaning were now more or less scrambled with coherent phrases. 

You didn’t know what you wanted.

 How rude of these men to be teasing you in a state of weakened vulnerability. How dare one of them trace the barrel between thighs and have it lined towards your exposed sex. Looking downwards, you see the barrel tracing the opening of your folds, prying the opening of your vagina with the success of secretions decorating the dull, darkened metal that was etched beautifully in handcraft. 

“You can take a gun better than you can take a dick, huh, baby?” Hanma laughed before a familiar weight was pressed against your lips. As your mind carelessly wandered, so did the actions of what was going on. You knew there were lips pressed against yours, you knew that a tongue was forcing itself to intervene with your tongue. 

Did I take more than one pill? 

Were there even guns to begin with as we chatted over drinks?

Why does everything feel so fucking good right now?

 Questions rot your drugged brain as you find yourself reaching to one of the men that hovered over your body. A body that was heavily intoxicated with the sense of fear, pleasure, and hallucinations, your hands began to wonder over Kisaki. The hands drenched in sweat began to mix with his body above you, appreciating the structure of his lanken body that inhaled and exhaled ever so deeply as each moan pried from your lips. As to question why you were moaning, you couldn’t fully explain. Contradicting yourself can be considered an understatement, as you are now reaching out to questions that don't have answers in your drugged stupor. Your hands now reached to the exposed cock that was facing in front of you. Everything seemed so fast from the time that Kisaki was helping you unfasten his pants and well-designed buckle. Pants and huffs were all too present in the fast pace of it all.

Everything was suddenly going fast, yet time was moving slowly.

“I wan- I want.” The words couldn’t complete a full sentence as Kisaki above you guided your head to his well-endowed cock. A small hiss escaped from his mouth as he entered himself inside the walls made of warmth. Of all the times you were reluctant to take him, you were grateful that he showed patience as you babbled out nonsense. Granted, Kisaki wasn’t a man of notable patience yet, doped up women were an exception to sexual matters. 

Kisaki shushed you as he now grabbed a fist full of hair from under you, a muffled scream was let out as you sloppily bobbed your head, whimpers of gratitude were now present as the salted weight of his girth now began to produce small amounts of precum. Either the screams or muffled cries were an absolute turn-on to this man as he continued to thrust himself inside your mouth. Curses and grunts highly encouraged. 

“I know what you want, baby.” Kisaki grunts out before gently placing the barrel of the gun on the top section of your forehead. 

“No teeth.”

The cold tip sends a nervous chill throughout your sensitive body as you look up at him with fear in your eyes along with a dick in your mouth that's aching for a quick release, silencing the pitiful pleas that murmured from your occupied mouth. Kisaki could almost describe the scenery as embarrassing. The man overlooked you with haughtiness as he forcefully pressed the gun deeply against profusely sweating skin. You drunkenly contemplated Kisakis’ next move until your eyes closed tightly shut, small tears forming at the corner of your eyes. The coldness underneath was now penetrated towards your sex, another muffled cry was let out in response as the gun moved slowly inside of you. The twisting and turns grew to be nauseating as the effects were slowly beginning to wane. The foreign object that was being penetrated inside something that needed more made you want it even further, deeper, just anything that would satisfy strunged-out hunger. 

“A possibility we might add this to your toy collection. Keep fucking yourself on my gun,” Hanma jokes in front of you as he continues on with his thrusts, ones where they became out of rhythm that made you sigh and wriggle out of frustration. 

“Yo, Kisaki, is there a way we can preserve pussy juices on a gun? She is soaking my gun like crazy.” Hanma starts to laugh again before continuing with his unforgiving thrusts. Kisaki looked at him with eyes glossed over with pure hunger for sex, the well-attached mind not fully breaking from the continuous warmth that engulfed his cock. The man’s words of choice broke his concentration for a moment before sighing out in exhaustion.

Like a parent dealing with a child’s antics. 

“Why do you always say the most idiotic shit?” Questions Kisaki before looking over at you. His eyes were now looking over the endowed breasts that bounced from each thrust that came from Hanma’s thrusting underneath. One curse word slipped out of the man as he looked over at you again before holding the grip of hand more rough, almost causing you to slip away from the cock in your mouth. 

“Fuck”, A prolonged word dragged through his deepen voice as Kisaki came down your throat. No heed of a warning. You felt him twitch from the muscle contractions, that along came the saltiness and warmth of his cum reaching the back of your throat as you hungrily swallowed every drop. You continue your drunken ravish as you greedily wrap your tongue along his head, gently cleaning the opening of the tip before running your tongue on every visible vein that was present on his skin. It was either the lingering effects of drugs or alcohol, or it could have been the urge to want more pleasure as you wanted to take Kisaki whole. The heaviness of Kisaki dwindled as you opened your mouth. His cock slowly came from your mouth in a slight bounce. Your mouth grew from a sigh to a whine as the familiar coil was suddenly about to break. Time was of the essence as you looked over at the man that was continuously fucking your face, and also at Hanma in front fucking you with his gun. As your body reached its climax, nerves were singing through blissful peace. While they screamed of peace, you screamed out in pleasure. Several things intensified your high, yet the feeling of a drugged out orgasm was nothing more than being God in a falsified heaven. 

More than likely, the doped out feeling grew to be intense as your hips bucked to the motions of the gun that Hanma held in between your weakened legs. He couldn’t help but smile at the state that you were in. Once he recognized that you were satisfied about how much of a mess you made on his gun, he placed one of his fingers against your slickened folds. With fingers now laced with the orgasm you gave on yourself, Hanma places your wetness across his tongue, licking off each digit of his contaminated fingers. You whimpered and closed your eyes. Exhaustion soon gets the best of you, as you enjoy the false scenery of colors dancing across your eyelids. The visions that hit across your closed eyes became woven with the heightened sounds around you. The sound of heavy breathing becomes more plentiful as you enjoy the debauchery of the afterglow. That is until you hear a click.

Your eyes widened as you looked over at Hanma still in front of you with his gun still inside of you. Hanma’s fingers wrapped against the trigger and a cold sensation flew across your body. The effects of everything were now starting to wear off as you looked over at him with a blank-written stare. Thoughts were at a standstill as you looked over at him in complete awe. You didn’t know what to do as you finally shifted your body to the left, gathering what just happened.

The man above you smiled softly and patted the front of the barrel to your still-slick sex.

“There’s no bullet in here. I'm just fucking with you.” Hanma chuckled.

“Quite, literally,” Said Kisaki above you, his words of choice growing from a joking remark. “Still, the drugs that Sanzu gave us were intense.” Looking over the leftover pills scattered across the table, one of his free hands mindlessly rubbed the front of his forehead as he looked over at you with a gentle smile. 

“Still, you were really out of it.” Kisaki's eyes wander across your body pooled with shock laced with sweat and then towards the man in front of you. A smirk oversees the soft smile from earlier. You knew that smirk of his read nothing but trouble, but curiosity was going to kill you in the most brutal way possible. For what it’s worth, both men could do this all day with their sadistic tendencies. As submissive as you were in front of them, the fearfulness of it was steadily lurking at bay once the man in front of you nibbled against your ears, causing you to weep out from the sensitivity. His voice longed for honey and venom as he continued while suckling gently at the earlobe. 

“Then again, you would be more out of with our powder supply. Want to try it while we’re balls deep in you?”

[pandasmagorica]

Disability and the Last Twilight ending

Much as I loved Last Twilight, warts and all, I was disappointed at some of the choices they made surrounding their depictions of disability and Day's path through it.

I'm writing as a person with a disability, but not blindness (or deafness for that matter).

We don't get a lot of depictions of disability in fictional media. That places a lot of our hopes that any particular depiction will get it right:

that characters with disabilities either have already found a way to live well (Rear Window, Wait Until Dark, Not Me) or learn to work within it (Moonlight Chicken, Last Twilight through the end of episode 11).

that we don't get an unrealistically perfect or heroic depiction of a person with disabilities.

that the person with disabilities' success and happiness is not dependent on a savior, although they can get help from others.

that a happy ending (if the fiction is to end happily) does not depend on curing the disability.

that if the fiction is a romance, that the person with disability ultimately has approximately equal agency with their partner, who might be abled or disabled.

that we get to see main characters that fulfill the above desires.

I think Last Twilight came through on the first two points, and one can argue about the third, but failed on the last three.

Day, while blind, opened a bookstore. While the bookstore has print books, there are also activities for blind people. (yay)

Day is imperfect. (yay)

Day's life is changed for the better by Mork's help, and continues to improve once Mork has been booted out of Day's life. (open to debate)

Day's blindness was cured. (sigh)

Day didn't have equal agency with Mork pre-break-up. He could only get his agency by breaking up with Mork, and subsequently, by regaining his sight. (sigh)

Aon, a fairly minor character, fulfilled the first three desires, but Day, a main character, did not. (In Not Me, Yok's mother is a fairly minor character. In Moonlight Chicken, Heart is one of the side couple.) (sigh)

If we had plenty of depictions of people with disabilities, most of which satisfied the first several desires I listed, and we also regularly got lead characters with disabilities, then Last Twilight's failings would not be a big deal.

But we don't.

And Day's blindness was a central part of the plot.

I'm not angry about this. I'm disappointed.

There are other failings which bloggers have raised, such as Mork's apology to Day and Day failing to apologize to both Mork and Night - seems like we just got through discussing that sort of thing about Only Friends (more sigh). So I'll focus on what I see as other failings involving disability.

Day gained additional independence by acquiring a cane. So why wasn't he using it when leaving the hotel in episode 12? Beyond setting up the plot point of Mork helping him, that is.

Lack of Thai Braille in Day's bookstore. (Although, given the technology that Day demonstrated - as when he read Mork's contract on his phone - perhaps Braille is less important than it once was.)

Actually, why wasn't Day using the cane in the bookstore so he doesn't accidentally walk into or grab a customer?

Actually, why didn't Day get a cane much earlier?

Or use tools such as a Braille embosser, something that's been around for years and years?

We don't see Day asking the blind guy if he wants help crossing the street, good etiquette for interacting with a person with a disability, presumably because the writers don't want us to know he has his eyesight back until they get across the street for a delayed reveal.

I'm hoping that, as with the increasing depiction of queers in media being accompanied by an increasing percentage of positive, layered depictions, that we'll see a similar increase in positive, layered depictions of people with disabilities.

[elliepassmore]

Snow Crash review

3/5 stars Recommended if you like: hard sci-fi, dystopian sci-fi, tech bros, sword fighting, VR

TW statutory rape

So...let's have this be the last time I'm fooled by pretty colors and Sumerian cuneiform (also the last time I take a book recommendation from another book). This book and I did not get off to a good start, what with it opening with a million random words thrown together with exposition on what those words meant. Then I got used to it, then Stephenson had to bring in the anthropology and linguistics.

Now, normally I love seeing those things in books. I love both of those subjects and studied them in college and on my own time. That being said, Snow Crash is like if a tech bro was court mandated to take linguistics 101 and anthropology 101, only paid attention 33% of the time, then retold his tech bro buddies all about ancient civilization and ancient languages after having a couple of beers. This is, perhaps, a bit mean, because Stephenson does get some of it right. But then he goes off the rails and while I understand this is sci-fi....well, the basic facts are just plain wrong. Go off, but at least base it in fact.

A slight rant, so perhaps skip these next two paragraphs if you don't want to read about me complaining about linguistics and anthropology more, I'll try to make it brief. Stephenson was off to a good start talking about Sumer and Sumerian religion, he actually stays pretty on track with Sumerian religion, interestingly enough, but then he goes and starts talking about how Sumer was stagnant and yet somehow everyone spoke Sumerian and how me dragged Sumerians out of cave-man-hood.....except, Sumerian wasn't the first language. It's just the oldest language we have written attestation for. People could speak, and were modern humans, well before Sumer became a thing. Hell, Akkadian and and some form of Proto-Old-Chinese (among others) were both spoken at that time, the Sumerians just got to writing first. (and let's not even get into the "cave man" concept)

Further, Sumerian didn't just magically vanish, what happened was a series of smaller and larger civilization collapses caused by a whole host of factors, through which Sumerian gradually went from being the predominately spoken language of the area to a language spoken almost solely religiously due to the influx of newcomers and conquerors to the region combined with certain conquering dynasties forcibly migrating native Sumerians to the outskirts of the empire (where they had to interact with the natives there, who definitely did not speak their language) and bringing other cultural, linguistic, and ethnic groups into the traditional Sumerian heartland. Also, more minor, but there were not "tens of thousands" of languages being spoken in the 1980s. We have approximately 7000 languages today and while we are losing languages at a rapid rate, we are not losing them that quickly. Language, and by some extension culture, was the whole basis of this book and Stephenson just got so much of that basis wrong that, while I enjoyed a decent portion of it, I just couldn't get over the incorrectness of it,

Okay, back to the regularly scheduled programming. As far as plot goes, it was actually pretty interesting following Hiro and Y.T. as they got tangled up in web after web of this conspiracy. There were so many moving parts that seemed disparate from one another and yet somehow connected, and I really enjoyed seeing how it all came together. I liked how things built up and I think the showdown with Hiro gets a good climax, but stuff in the real world fell a little flat. I would've liked to have a firmer resolution with things, even if it left some things open ended. As is, it just feels like a let down.

Hiro was a hard character to get into. He's just kind of there for the beginning part of the book, a problem which is compounded by the sheer amount of lingo and information being dumped on readers at the beginning of the book. He turns out to actually be a pretty chill dude later on and even when he was confused, he at least seemed to grasp things quickly, so there wasn't too much just standing around and questioning things.

Y.T. was a bit easier to like from the get-go, though her lingo is just as confusing as Hiro's. 15 definitely seems young to be doing a lot of the things she's doing, and while I know her mom works long hours for the Feds, I'm surprised she has 0 clue what her daughter is doing. I liked Y.T.'s spunk and tenacity. She could get freaked out at times, but she was a go-getter and immediately jumped into doing anything she was interested in or thought would help.

While I did spend a good portion of this review complaining about the technical linguistic and anthropological side of the book, I did enjoy some of the book. The problem is, is that combined with the factual problems, the book reads too much like your stereotypical hard sci-fi that's easy to make fun of because the authors are using a gazillion weird words to enforce the 'futuristic' idea. Things like "franchulate" I can see where it comes from; 'Kouriers' are on thin ice, but whatever, they're trademarked; but there was a lot of stuff that I thought was just unnecessarily in "sci-fi lingo." All of this put together, plus the very ending of the book, reduced my overall enjoyability.

[radioactive-earthshine]

I'm disappointed in Adam's writing of Bart. Everything else is amazing but I can't get over that he writes Bart as if he hasn't had 100 plus issues of character development.

So here's my thoughts about this.

I am not going to disagree that this is a minor flaw in the story, I feel that Adams' understanding of Bart's own distant and more recent development is something that he was lacking going into this. It was also revealed through a series of tweets involving fan interactions that Adams believed that Bart was younger than Ace and thus was writing him as such.

He was corrected on Bart's approximate age (which is nebulous but he's older than Ace) while he was finishing up OMW so it is possible that his last few issues if Bart is in them we might see an impact of this correction, because he is one of the FEW writers that listens to fans.

Bart's personality in OMW is not to his detriment and it is not offensive, he is clearly recognizable as Bart and Adams did get a lot of things correct about him. He got a great role with Ace early on and I have enjoyed every moment with him.

I also feel we all don't really know exactly where Bart SHOULD be because he has been out of comic limbo for so long he hasn't been given the opportunity to grow beyond where he was. Bendis and Fitzmartin both took a look at him and rightfully deduced that he is a character who is more than the comic relief trope, and he can seriously plan and take things cautiously. Adams took a more traditional approach to Bart taking us back to Waid's run (minus the feral violence).

Until Bart is back in regular continuity right now, the writers are sort of basing Bart on head canon from what happened to him between the end of Kid Flash Lost and now, so there's some wiggle room for what they can do with him. Some extrapolate and expand on what they may have read more than others.

There's definitely groundwork that needs to be taken into consideration as Bart is NOT a blank canvas, and wiki articles does not equate to research, but thus far he's doing alright. He's a little inconsistent but that's pretty normal when you change writers for everyone.

[punemy-spotted]

I Swear it is Sweet

Chapter 1: Swim With Your Sorrows

Pairing: Soft-Dark!Robb Stark x Naiad!Reader

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Elements; Dub Con, Mild Body Horror; Tessa’s Perpetual Disappointment With Game of Thrones; Absolute Disregard for Canon; Human/Animal Sacrifice; Possessive/Obsessive Characters; Soft-Dark!Robb Stark; Non-Consensual Transformation; It’s Game of Thrones; Absolute Disregard for Westeros Worldbuilding

Chapter Warnings: Body Horror, Old Gods, Ancient Betrayals, Game of Thrones AU, Non-Consensual Transformation, Aggressively Poetic Language, Witchcraft, Overuse of the Other

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Chapter Summary: The North may remember, but some things are best left forgotten.

Notes: Sometimes I like to think I know what I’m doing but honestly I don’t. I’m a disaster and a third and here we go, so I can get emotional about Robb Stark and ancient tales. If anyone has seen The Last Unicorn, you might understand where I got the inspiration for this fic from. I’m also aware that this took me approximately eight million years to write so please forgive me for the delay. I appreciate your patience with me as I get back into writing.

Eternal thanks to @brandycranby for her encouragement and patience.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

It’s late, when you see him by the riverbank. Too late at night for men of sense to be out near unsteady shores where an errant foot might lead to an uncomfortable end in a shallow pool of slick growth and inescapable mud. The man before you, nervously affixed to the dim moonlight to guide his vision, is seemingly unaware of such conventional wisdom.

You watch him with cautious eyes, gleaming yellow in what little silver filters from above. Like the rest of his people, heart and mind occupied by more mundane fears, he does not notice you. Not at first, not even as he seeks you out.

Dark waters have been your home for longer than you can remember, longer than you have been here in these icy ones. Dim as the night is, the stars and watchful moon above are enough for you, enough to see the things mortal men rarely notice. The silver beam of moonlight a halo around a shadow-painted form, clad warm in furs. The furrow of a brow made heavy with thought, memories of youthful play buried under new responsibility. You know your wolf to be… handsome, even when he was a pup, but those were memories of a tadpole, when others lived to remind you of the ways of men.

Are you here? His voice is as you remember it and different all at once, deepened with age and made innocent with hope, seeking and wishing all at once, as if he’d rather be disappointed and find you not at all, find you a rumor complained about in naught more than a hushed whisper and a cautionary bedtime story.

You could let that be. Could allow him to leave, leave thinking you a nothing, a myth and a dismissal, leave him to tell those who complained about your presence that you were no such thing.

You could.

You could punish him for the forgetting, leave his memories confused with the things your once and only friend left behind in the wake of the growing a princeling must do.

You could.

You lift yourself from the murky waters of your domain instead, enough to be seen even by the likes of him, a spark of gold in silver-iced waters, What do you seek?

It’s his tongue you speak rather than your own, and it surprises him. You know this by the way those fur-clad shoulders rise, rise and turn as if he’s seeking to know if someone else has seen him, seen him coming to dark, fey shores and there… there is no way to tell in the shadowy night, but that hardly stops a cautious wolf from looking around, just to be sure.

You understand, he asks of you next, coming closer to that muddy bank, close enough to slip if he isn’t careful, isn’t sure-footed. Luckily for him, you think, memories long-abandoned do not abandon him.

I have ears, yes. You understand, but his tongue and yours are different, just enough. A voice like a song warning of something ageless and eternal meeting the ever ephemeral gravel of men.

You understand — he repeats himself and you are… rightfully impatient, in your own mind, you already said you did, surely he cannot forget so easily — Will you listen?

There. That plea catches your attention and you pause, thoughts of leaving him fading to your curiosity, I have ears, yes,you repeat yourself, waiting for him to make known his will.

Thank you, so deferential, welcome when so few men remember to do so in the face of the Old Gods and how can you not be encouraged when he is?

The people, these people… they…

They are angry.

Yes, you have forgotten your own manners as you interrupt him, stopping him in his tracks as he stumbles around for the right words, but why should you listen to what you already know? Why let him fumble around the truth when you can spur on the conversation, demand your answers yourself? Have you come to tell me to leave? And if so, where would you go? These waters are not where you belong, true, but where you belong is no longer home.

Darkness obscures his face, makes his expressions impossible to read and yet you know. Guilt, worn in the slump of shoulders which should be straight-backed and stern, bowed by an unjust truth. Your princeling — and perhaps you do consider him yours, because he was once, wasn’t he, so long ago? — carries heavy burdens. The lives of hundreds in the hands of a once-boy just learning to rule, his own father a reluctant king.

But the whispers of the ways of men are thoughts for another time, a time when you can reminisce fondly on the serious-faced boy always parroting the words of those with no respect for the past stretched out behind them.

For now, you listen.

Listen to a guilty wolf, watch as he pleads. Is this a king? A Stark?

Then you know. You must know. If you don’t leave, if they catch you in their nets, they will kill you.

Well, at least he comes out and says it.

There have… always been stories of the spirits in the woods and the waters. Stories of women with voices as sweet as spun sugar, with fanged smiles and wicked claws. Of women who wore dresses of iridescent scales and drew the unwitting traveler into a watery doom.

But that is the thing about stories. Some of them carry truths, and your sun-red scales are strange in these icy lands but they are yours, and this place is the only home you’ve known since you were but a tadpole, too young to understand the rushing current and the circumstances which brought you here. Here, far away from the sun-baked lands you swear you must have known once, or the palaces you only ever heard about on the wind.

You do not belong here and this is your home, all at once, so what do you do? What can you do, save for insist on making your claim? This is my home.

I know that, the man’s voice is boyish for a moment, a desperate memory of a petulant insistence, I know that. But the people here, they don’t… care. I cannot make them care, not when you’re stealing what meager food they grow.

Stealing?

Stealing?!

And how are you to survive, when these people have no concept of deference? The men and women of Winterfell tell stories of the Old Gods and yet here you are, a piece of the Old Gods themselves and where is your tribute, your worship, your shrine you might call home? You take what you need to survive, trout and reeds and…

Lives, on occasion, but defending your home is no crime.

You say none of these things aloud, watching him in disappointed silence instead, watching the way he steps closer, so close to the precipice even as you push yourself back.

Please, he is soft as he kneels, kneels in the mud and reeds, in the snow-caked earth, I don’t want to see you hurt. I cannot stop them for long.

You are not among the ranks of the people he must protect.

Where would I go? This is your home, the only home you have ever known, no matter what stories of Redstone walls and desert oases live in your blood.

You can never go back to where you no longer belong.

Tell me how to help you, asks a prince in need of guidance, desperate and full of hope all at once, as if he might be able to bring you under his protection too, just like the people who demand your blood.

This is my home, is not an answer to his plea, but it is all you can give, This is where I have always been.

I know that. I know, but they are angry. And afraid. I cannot keep them away for forever — to them, you have drawn blood and you must answer for it.

Answer for it?

What crime have you committed, but defend your home?

Where would I go?

Answer that is the unspoken challenge, Find me a home and you will be free.

But therein lies the trouble with challenges — sometimes they can’t be completed, can they? Times like now.

Times like now as you watch your princeling’s shoulders bow again and you see the boy in him, so full of hope as he wasted his youth by the riverbanks with a creature of legend, forgotten by time and war.

Times like now as you sink back into the water, disappear into the dark.

I’ll find a way.

It is a promise.

A promise to save you, or cast you out?

The answer, as it turns out, is somewhere in the between.

He leaves. Leaves with the promise heavy on his lips and your ears, leaves you alone in your stolen grotto, waiting. Waiting for the warning to come down the brook, for the shouts to follow, complete with pitchforks and torches. Waiting, really, to die.

Death… does not come down the riverbend.

What comes instead, two weeks after that moonlit night of promises made and challenges given, is a witching darkness. A witching darkness and an anxious wolf.

He does not come alone. Not this night, another one too late for men of sense to be out. Still, the low starlight is enough, enough for you to see them both. The Young Wolf and the Other.

She may already have gone, he is hopeful, so very hopeful, watching the darkness ahead as if his blindness to you might be proof enough, She may have—

She is here, the Other speaks with a voice like burning trees, tearing at you with every wood-whistling breath.

How can you know, she might—

She is here. Stand aside, the rumble is an Order, cracking branch and snapping earth, a spark whistling through the air as fire lights the night and a gloved hand reveals a lantern to tear you from your shadowed sanctuary.

Hail, Godling, the light shining upon you is inescapable, bearing down on you, hailing you and you are seen.

To be seen is dangerous, to be known is deadly, and here under the all-consuming gaze of the Other, you are both.

Hail, Godling, the being before you wears the shape of a woman wizened by the many injustices of time, hood lowered to let the lantern light expose that face to your suspicious eyes.

Trapped. That is what you are. Trapped, here by muck and reeds receding from whatever ill flame lights the lantern. Bound, at the mercy of a being beyond your very ken, pinned in place and waiting to die, once more.

Those who Know the Old Gods know of you, but even you do not know all of what wanders this world.

It is a dangerous thing, you know, to be seen so easily, and so you do not speak. Nor can you, really, as reeds and vines wind their way around you, hold you still and helpless, bind your tongue before it can curse the creature before you.

Wait! Robb Stark, wolf and cub all at once, surges forward, nearly loses his footing on the muck and grass left behind, throws his hands out in some futile gesture to put a halt to the proceedings you resign yourself to, Swear to me she will come to no harm.

Oh sweet one, what a fool you are.

The Other laughs like a bolt of lightning, searing through the trees around as storm-clouds pool in the electric air around you both, Fool boy, you call me to swear? You tear a Godling from her den and accuse me of harm? Do not do me the insult.

Before you, Robb Stark stands stalwart, hand on the pommel of his blade, I asked you to help me save her, not bind her.

All things come at a cost, Wolf of Winterfell. Someone must pay the price—

I will. Name it.

You get no chance to interject, to stop him, to save him. He makes deals with fey beings beyond you, with the things that can bind and break you and he is so very mortal,a boy in the body of a man amongst things that have watched the rise and fall of empires. Run!

The Other speaks for you, as is its way, to speak for the things Man has forgotten since the advent of the Seven, Hear me well then, Robb Stark of Winterfell, hear me well and hear me true. The price is your destiny, and your family’s too.

He gets no chance to question, not as storm clouds continue their gather, roiling in behind the Other, Blood to blood, let yours be bound, lest the line of Stark be forever drowned. Return the river maid to where she was borne and only then will you have a throne. Do not fail.

And then it strikes.

The air above you tears itself apart just as you are torn asunder, pulled below into the muck and water, blood boiling as it is heated, bones made solid and gills sewn shut, you scream and your lungs burn with unfamiliar liquid, choking you still and somewhere above you Robb Stark howls his agony — You’ll kill her!

It is an eternity. A lifetime. Death would be too much the mercy for the torture of being forged anew, aware of every new nerve in your body until you are released from your bondage and left to find the surface before the little air remaining within you is depleted. Warm hands seek yours, pull you free and wrap you in furs, cradle you close as coldbecomes a sensation you familiarize yourself with very quickly.

You could have killed her!

All things come at a cost, Princeling, the Other reminds, watching you shiver in his arms, You asked me for a miracle and I have given you one — now it is you who must fulfill the rest of the bargain. You hold the last Naiad of Westeros in your arms — do not fail.

And there you are left.

There are stories. Stories of the spirits in the woods and the waters, of women with voices as sweet as spun sugar and scales of iridescent gold. Of fanged smiles and wicked claws and you are none of them now, all blunted nails and supple skin, unprotected from the cold save for the blackfur cloak draped around your shoulders as you kneel in snow and ice, torn from the only home you have ever known.

I’ll find a way, was his promise, as Robb Stark of Winterfell lifts you from the ground.

You are saved. You are cast out.

[captorations]

i am once again grumpy that. roxas and ventus ended up being separate people. like, i get why it is the way it is. “i am me, nobody else” blah blah. people liked roxas way too much as an independent character for him to be “overwritten” with ventus. i also get that roxas’s story was written before ventus’s. this is just me being an editor and pointing to pieces of a story that has been presented to me and suggesting ways they could be swapped around to improve cohesion and the overall message. this is what i fucking do.

okay so. what would an explanation for roxas-as-ventus look like? pretty simple, really. for kingdom hearts, anyway. sora stabs himself, yeeting out kairi’s heart, his own, a “copy” of himself in the usual form of a nobody, AND ventus’s heart. ventus and the copy wake up in the same body, ventus with amnesia (again) and only able to draw upon the vague memories that would have allowed sora’s nobody to form a consciousness, if it weren’t for ventus’s already formed presence to take command.

and then we have xion. designed to draw out the memories of sora within “roxas” and make them her own. which she does. and as a result, in this situation, xion would be the closest approximation of sora’s “proper” nobody. why is she a girl? uhhhh she’s trans, duh. we fucking been knew. why does she look like kairi to the few people who actually believe in her as a person enough to see her preferred form? that’s the female face most present in sora’s memory.

i want to stress that this alone would change effectively fuck all about kh2 or days. i mean, i personally would let xion unwillingly win that final battle and take roxas’s place as sora’s nobody- and i did literally write that specific AU concept out as a full fic- but really, no changes are necessary until kh3, and even then, not many. hell, the “i am me, nobody else” exchange could still happen, given as ventus-as-roxas would 1. still be entirely correct and 2. already have sora’s memories back at that point.

so what does this accomplish? well, let’s see. in kh appearance is tied strongly to identity, and it’s pretty fucking weird for these two characters to be identical and it to pass with only minor comment. you’d have ventus-as-roxas’s arc mean one thing, and xion’s mean another, whereas now xion’s arc is basically roxas’s again but bass boosted and with a trans flag palette. honestly, just give that set of themes to xion, she does it way better. it’d dramatically increase the ties between the various trios, giving them more reasons to interact and care about each other. ventus would have someone to interact with on his level, who knew him as himself rather than as aqua and terra’s wayward little brother.

the only thing we’d lose in this exchange would be… rule of cool dual-wielding roxas ex machina in kh3. which. is not a great loss. just give ventus oathkeeper the moment he remembers being roxas and have xion get oblivion the moment she remembers herself, and call it a fucking day.

again, i get why this is not what happened, but i maintain that it would notably improve the story had it happened. point is if kh ever gets remade somehow put me on the writing team please i got this shit on lock

[lewisshipsthings]

Big, Giant List of Genshin Ships

(From https://transxiao.tumblr.com/post/680027899686961152/an-updated-ship-chart-template-to-include-the-new)

The following is an approximate textual explanation of this shipping chart picture. As I gain more ships, I’ll probably update the text, but not the picture, since it’s pretty annoying and difficult to edit the picture on my phone.

(Note: I believe that the traveler is many, many years old, some kind of being a bit like the gods or Adepti of Teyvat. So ships involving them are not ships with minors.)

(2nd Note: I don’t care about who tops or bottoms at all for the most part. The order I list the characters in does not reflect that.)

Favourites!!

Zhongli/Venti: I really like the Archons in Genshin, and wish there was more of them being god-like. Too often when there are ships with either Zhongli or Venti, people don’t really account for the fact that they’re gods, and thousands of years old. But with these two together, you have to acknowledge their long history and experience, some of the only ones left in the world who can share that.

Diluc/Venti: I didn’t ship this until I read a couple fantastic fanfics that turned them into an OTP for me. I only really like it if Venti is more Barbatos-like, though, and Diluc’s love ends up being tinged with worship. It’s probably not the most healthy ship dynamic, but I like it a lot. (Fic link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30046389/chapters/73989867)

Scaramouche/Mona: AKA The Battle of the Big Hats! Scara saying the stars are a lie, Mona’s whole thing is stars! They’re clearly made for each other. I know they’ve barely interacted, but they’d be so fun. Also they’re both purple! See, made for each other!

Zhongli/Azhdaha: So sad. But it was so cool to do Zhongli’s story quest and see him actually interact with someone he cares about. And the way Azhdaha spoke to and about Morax was so loving. (I don’t think it was meant romantically in the game, but I don’t care.)

Xingqiu/Chongyun: Just super cute, and I love the fan art of them.

Love!!

Xiao/Venti: This is just on the edge between Love and Favourite. I think mostly it got bumped down to Love because, although I multi ship, I can only hyper focus on so many ships for one character at one time. And I’m quite focused on Venti with either Zhongli or Diluc right now. But the few small mentions of these two in cannon are so great, and their characters are so opposite and complementary.

Itto/Sara: This might change when I finally get to Itto’s story quest, but I’m really loving the himbo/hardass combo here. A video I watched once compared them to April/Andy from Parks and Rec, and April/Andy are an all time favourite couple for me.

Razor/Bennett: So cute!! And Razor could deal with Bennett’s luck issues, I think, better than most people. (However, I haven’t played Bennett’s hangout yet, so who knows how my view of this could change after knowing his character better.)

Scaramouche/Childe: They’d be toxic as hell, but super fun.

Itto/Gorou: I don’t even know, it’s just super cute. I think I’d like Itto in almost any romantic relationship, he’s so funny. And this particular ship with him has that good old Shakespearean gender confusion, which is fun.

Like!!

Kazuha/Kazuha’s Friend: So sad, but they looked good together.

Dainsleif/Traveler: We’ll see how I feel about this when I finally get to the Chasm, or with Dainslef’s future developments. But this is one of my favourite Traveler ships so far. Also Dainsleif/Abyss Prince or Princess. (I’m inclined to like Dain better with Abyss Lumine and with Traveler Aether.)

Albedo/Kaeya: I can definitely see the appeal, especially with little crumbs dropped in cannon. (I liked that Klee said Albedo likes drawing Kaeya in the most recent update!) They have such different personalities, but both have many secrets, and the possibly Khaenri'ah connection.

Albedo/Aether: Albedo just seems very subtly flirty sometimes. Also his English voice is very sexy.

Dilu/Aether: I’m not even totally sure why I like this one. I think I read a fanfic where there was top notch pining for Aether on Diluc’s part, and I was sold.

Amber/Eula: Cute! I wouldn’t ship Amber with most people, but Eula would actually make it an interesting pairing for me.

Jean/Lisa: Similar to Amber, I don’t love Jean and wouldn’t ship her with most people. But being with Lisa makes her a bit more interesting. I was quite surprised when I hear Lisa’s Good Morning voice line, and it made me actually consider them as a ship.

Kaeya/Sucrose: No idea how I came across this rarepair. It reminds me a bit of Sylvain/Mercedes from Fire Emblem: 3 Houses, where the flirty one gets with the sweet one (who has a surprising backbone). I think Kaeya might start flirting with her as a matter of course, because he flirts with everybody. And then to his utter shock, realize he’s actually fallen for her.

Xiao/Zhongli: I mostly like this in the context of a Xiao/Zhongli/Venti poly relationship. The power dynamics are kinda messed up here, but it’s quite interesting and I like it.

Xinyan/Yun Jin: Basically I saw some art from the lantern festival and it looked so cute.

Thoma/Ayaka: I actually quite like the idea of a poly ship between Thoma and Ayaka and Ayato (no romance between the siblings though, just the two of them sharing Thoma).

Thoma/Ayato: See above. I feel similarly about Thoma/Ayaka and Thoma/Ayato, but if it isn’t a poly ship, I’d probably prefer Ayato with Thoma over Ayaka (but we’ll see after I’ve done Ayato’s story quest...).

Ayato/Yoimiya: This wasn’t on my radar (especially since it’s a rarepair) until I watched this video where someone unfamiliar with Genshin ships people based on aesthetic. (https://youtu.be/-8wCIipTrUU) This was one pair they chose, and I really liked the idea of it.

Baal/Yae Miko: Not one of my top liked ships, but I do like it. I think I need to do more story quests to have a firm opinion, though.

Gorou/Kazuha: He was so happy to see him when he showed up in that cut scene! (I wish they’d put in a tail wag. What’s the point of having a cool tail if it doesn’t show your emotions at embarrassing times?)

Neutral

Kaeya/Diluc: I see the appeal. They have history and a complex relationship. I’m not against people shipping them because it’s not really clear if they’re brothers or not. (Even if they were brothers, I’m not gonna stop people shipping incest, though I never would myself.)

Ningguang/Beidou: This one seems pretty close to cannon but, I dunno, just don’t have feelings on it.

Hate (sort of...)

Note: I don’t actually hate these. Technically, they’re probably neutral, but I wanted a category for ships that bother me for one reason or another. And no judgement on anyone who ships these. I see why you’d like them—really!

Zhongli/Childe: This would have gone into Neutral or maaaaybe even Like back at the beginning of my Genshin Fandom. But I became a bit annoyed at just how popular this ship is, since I much prefer Zhongli with different people. It can be hard to find good Zhongli stuff that isn’t Zhongli/Childe.

Diluc/Jean: I dunno, just seems too obvious, maybe. And Jean isn’t the most interesting character for me, and I’d prefer Diluc with someone more interesting.

Albedo/Sucrose: Feels a bit similar to Diluc/Jean. Somehow just feels kinda boring. (Although again, I can see why people would like it! It’s just my personal feelings here, not what I think objectively about the ship.) I’d much prefer either of these two with Kaeya, especially Sucrose. I suspect I would like this a bit better if I hadn’t missed the event with Albedo, but oh well.

Family!!

Zhongli/Hu Tao: I feel like there will be some reveals about Hu Tao in the future, so maybe this one will change and I won’t want a familial relationship for them anymore. But one of the many things I wish the game had more of was these two interacting, Hu Tao being something like an annoying niece who is somehow also his boss.

Zhongli/Xiao: I mentioned above that I like the idea of a Zhongli/Xiao/Venti poly ship. But otherwise I like the Dad Zhongli idea with Xiao much better.

Friends!!

Kaeya/Rosario: I headcannon them as drinking buddies and probably fuckbuddies, too. No romance in the mix though, pure friends with benefits.

Beidou/Kazuha: I see the appeal of a romantic ship here, especially with Beidou pegging, but I like the friendship version just a bit more. (I see Kazuha as a short adult.)

Xingqiu/Xiangling: I like these two and Chongyun as good friends. Xiangling ends up being a bit of a third wheel, but she doesn’t mind cause she’s pretty focused on her primary passion of cooking. But I like the idea that she notices that something’s up between her two best friends, and maybe hijinks or teasing ensues.

Chongyun/Xiangling: See above.

Xiao/Ganyu: I read this story once where they ended up being surprisingly good platonic friends, and I ended up quite liking that idea.

[iclaimedtobethebetterbard]

i’m taller than you - chapter 2

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Logan and Janus; minor/background Virgil, Patton, Roman, Remus, and Romulus Rating: Teen & up Relationships: Enemies-to-lovers/arranged marriage Loceit; Janus and Patton are brothers; Virgil and Logan and the Creativitwins are brothers Warnings: Language; very brief vague ns fw mention (in the context of a conversation that basically goes “let’s not do that”); implications throughout that Janus’s relationship with his parents is not good. Word count: 5928

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

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Chapter 2

The three days since Janus’s arrival in the kingdom had been approximately the worst of Logan’s life. At their second meeting, he’d tried—because he wanted Virgil to stop glaring at him like that—to initiate a conversation with Janus. He’d tried. He had! Once. Not very hard. Janus had given him a cold look and ignored him; their interactions for the next several days—of endless ceremonies and events, always at each other’s side—remained monosyllabic.

Which was hardly Logan’s fault. How could he be blamed for Janus being so annoying and infuriating and rude? He hadn’t asked for a dishonest, untrustworthy fiance with terrible opinions on philosophy. Virgil’s continuous nagging of him—saying that he wasn’t trying hard enough, and that Janus had a right to be offended, and that the responsibility to bridge the gap between them lay on Logan’s shoulders—was entirely unreasonable.

Still, the silence was uncomfortable, Logan reflected as he sat by Janus’s side in an open horse-drawn carriage; they were touring the capital city of the kingdom in a small procession. It was a public appearance before the wedding for those who had no access to the royal functions they had already been presented at. In front of the carriage, just beyond the guards on horseback who surrounded it, Logan could see Virgil and King Romulus, side-by-side on a pair of royal horses; he knew the twins were in their own carriage a ways behind him. And he was stuck here. With Janus.

Logan occupied himself with giving his attention to the townsfolk lining the sides of the road. He did not smile particularly hard, but he did wave, taking only short breaks when his arms grew tired. Though he was trying not to look at Janus, he seemed to be doing much the same on the other side of the carriage.

“Why do you hate me?” Janus burst out with no warning.

Logan blinked, taking a moment to process the words. “Pardon?” He turned to look at his fiance.

Janus was staring straight forward, lips pressed together. “You heard me. I—listen, I don’t care about it, alright? I hated you plenty before I got here. But you seemed… nice. In the bookshop. So I—I just want to know why.” He glanced at the corner of his eye at Logan. “I feel like I’ve got a right to know that much.”

“I… don’t hate you,” Logan managed, thoughts scrambling to put themselves together.

Janus scoffed and raised an eyebrow. “Could have fooled me.”

“No, I—” Logan cut himself off with an irritated sigh. “Look, if you’re going to be like this about it—”

“Like what? Define your terms, oh great proponent of stipulation.”

Logan rolled his eyes at the reference to one of his own arguments during their debate in the bookshop. “You needn’t be so antagonistic towards me about it.”

“Sorry, I’m antagonistic? What the hell have you been doing all week?”

“No—I mean—” Logan groaned. “Your stupid attitude, like you’re better than everyone else around you.”

“Oh, that. No. I won’t stop that.” Janus shrugged. “Go on with your fascinating explanation of how you totally don’t hate me and that’s why you’ve been treating me like the scum of the earth, because that’s a normal way to treat people you don’t hate.”

Logan huffed. “You are making a lot of assumptions about me.”

“Prove me wrong.” Janus sounded bored, examining his fingernails on one hand and with the other tossing a lazy wave at a gaggle of children.

Logan felt he was being baited, though he had to admit it was a reasonable request. “You were deceitful to me,” he said, frowning. “I feel that I cannot trust you, and it is impossible for us to build a relationship based on mutual respect and understanding when our first interaction was based on assumptions I created based on your lies.” He’d been trying to get away from Janus, from all thoughts and reminders of him, back in the bookshop, and had instead been faced with practically a lapful of Janus himself. And, not that he’d admit it, he felt—miffed, perhaps, and maybe even humiliated, at being lied to and accepting it so blindly.

Janus stared at him. “Really? Really? That’s it?”

“It matters!” Logan insisted.

“I—first of all, I lied? Me? I was the sole guilty party in that department?” Janus demanded, giving Logan a pointed look.

“I did not lie!” Logan said indignantly. “I simply failed to correct your mistaken assumptions. It’s—it’s completely different.”

“It is absolutely not different and you know it. And even aside from that, what would you have wanted me to say? ‘Hello, random stranger, I’m Prince Janus and I’ve run away from my duties to play hooky because I don’t want to be here. Care to share a book with me instead of turning me in to that guard hanging about outside the shop?’ I somehow don’t think that would have gone well for me!”

“I wouldn’t have turned you—”

“Well, I didn’t know that! Because you also didn’t tell me who you were! Probably for similar reasons!”

Logan huffed. Casting about for a counterpoint, he responded after a moment, “What do you mean, you hated me?”

Janus looked at him blankly. “…Didn’t you hate me? For the engagement?”

“Why—why would I have hated you? I didn’t even know you!” Logan felt even more bewildered than a moment ago. “Why would a child hate someone they had never met?”

“Seventeen is hardly a child, what are you—” Janus broke off, face shifting rapidly through a whole myriad of emotions. “They told you?”

“They didn’t tell you?” Logan returned, baffled and horrified. “I’ve known we were to be married practically since I was old enough to understand what a marriage was.”

“No!” Janus stared at him with wide eyes, seeming far more vulnerable than Logan had seen him yet. “No, I—I turned seventeen and my present was the news that I’d had a fiance since the day they finished adopting me and nobody had ever bothered to tell me. So I hated the idea of you. The idea of not getting a choice.”

Logan hesitated, feeling almost sorry for the way he had treated Janus this week. “That’s terr—”

“Now, of course, I just hate you because you’re an asshole to me for no reason,” Janus added, his smirk reappearing in a flash and widening to a teasing grin.

Logan groaned, tipping his head back until it hit the back of the carriage seat. “I don’t know why I even tried.”

Janus laughed—Logan decided it was the most annoying sound he’d ever heard in his life, and was definitely not appealing even a little bit—and resumed waving at civilians. The pair of them exchanged no more words for the remainder of the ride.

In fact, they hardly exchanged what Logan would properly call words for the remainder of the week leading up to their wedding. Janus did slyly whisper, each time they saw each other, things about Logan being an asshole or claims that they had both lied an equal amount in the bookstore, all the while watching with a smirk for Logan’s reaction; Logan, of course, was above such petty needling, and did not glare or huff or pout in the slightest, which did not make Janus’s smirks larger or more gleeful at all.

 ***

 Almost before Logan knew it, the wedding day was upon them. Though the ceremony was not to take place until nearly sunset, Logan was roused by his valet before the crack of dawn. After he gulped down a quick breakfast, bathed for the third time in twenty-four hours, and dressed in a plain white linen outfit that would be easy to change out of, he was promptly whisked away from the royal children’s suite. Away from the room that had been his for as long as he could remember. Without so much as a moment to part with it.

Almost in spite of himself, Logan felt the faintest pricking of tears at the corners of his eyes as he walked away. Of course the room would still be maintained in the event he ever needed it again, and he would have just as much access to this suite as he ever had, but—it was still a goodbye. It wasn’t going to be his room anymore, just his extra bedroom. All of his personal belongings would be moved to the new suite he was to share with Janus by the end of the day. It was… bittersweet. But mostly bitter.

By the time Logan had finished swallowing his emotions—about bedrooms, of all things; what had come over him?—he’d been escorted halfway across the palace to the tailors’ area for one last fitting. After that, he met with his father, Virgil, and the judge who was to perform the ceremony, to be quizzed and ensure he remembered everything he was meant to do during the ceremony. He just had time to change into a more formal outfit for the lunch his family would take with Janus’s family, who had arrived early in the morning.

Lunch was a greatly annoying affair because Virgil, who was delighted to see his friend Prince Patton, struck up a conversation with him at once and paid Logan practically no attention at all. The only upside was that Janus was also delighted to see Patton and also paid Logan practically no attention at all. He clung to his older brother’s side like a burr in desperate search of comfort and did not let go.

Prince Patton, who was a tall man with bronze skin, and whose hair was clearly already done for the wedding in beautiful cornrows with fine threads of gold braided into them, took all this in stride. He somehow managed to eat his lunch, hold a lively conversation with Virgil, participate in the wider table’s polite small talk and discussion of logistics, and keep one arm wrapped around Janus for the entire meal, rubbing a hand up and down his arm soothingly, all without seeming to lose track of anything even once. He even listened with what seemed like full attentiveness to Roman’s overexcited, overlong story about the puppy he’d found wandering the palace grounds earlier that week, and how he’d helped reunite it with its owner.

“Well, it sounds like you were quite the hero,” Patton said indulgently when Roman stopped to draw breath.

Roman lit up. He’d wrung this story dry with his usual audiences; to receive extra attention was, no doubt, very special for him. “I was!” he agreed, practically bursting out of his seat with excitement.

“You just got lucky,” Remus teased. “Anyone could’ve done it.”

“Oh, you—” And Roman was off, a passionate tirade spilling from his lips that Logan knew would take several moments of Romulus and Virgil’s combined efforts to quell. Remus grinned and began talking over Roman, half response and half nonsensical rambling.

As the twins’ voices rose, Logan saw Janus tug at Patton’s sleeve until his brother looked down at him. “Are you alright?” Logan heard him whisper.

Patton smiled. “You’re sweet, Jan,” he responded at a similar volume. “Yes, I’m alright. I was ready for today to be a lot, I’m going to be just fine. Are you alright?”

Janus looked away. “I’m… fine.” He pressed a little closer to Patton, shoulders hunching.

Patton made a skeptical face, but did not challenge his brother’s statement, and instead nudged Janus’s mostly-untouched plate closer to him encouragingly. “Well, make sure you’re taking good care of yourself, then,” he murmured. “Dinner will be late, you know that.”

Janus wrinkled his nose, but picked up his fork and began munching his meal morosely. At this, Patton’s shoulders relaxed, and, seeming satisfied, he looked back to Virgil to resume their conversation, just as the twins were finally beginning to quiet down. “I think sponsoring an art gallery together sounds like a lovely idea, Virgil. What a splendid way to celebrate the alliance of our kingdoms, too!”

Virgil grinned. “Thought you’d like it. I was thinking we could rotate works through it each time it travels back and forth between the kingdoms, that way more people have a chance to show their work. Yes?”

“Oh, absolutely!” Patton seemed struck by an idea. “And what if we solicited pieces from less established artists? To boost their visibility?”

Virgil nodded at once. “I like that very much. Do you want to get a scribe to help us draft out some plans this evening, while we’re together like this?”

Patton seemed to need a moment to consider this. “Yes,” he agreed at last. “I suppose I’ll be free for most of the evening, once the ceremonies are done with.”

“I’ll make arrangements for that, then,” Virgil said.

When lunch was concluded, there was a final rehearsal of the wedding ceremony, this time including Janus’s parents and brother. Janus spoke aloud, breaking his near-total silence of the day so far, when his mother took her place by his side. Perhaps he had been saving his words up, concentrating their power, for the single sentence he spoke fell into the room with all the effect of a cannon going off.

“I want Patton to walk with me.”

There was a stunned silence.

Logan stared at Janus, reeling. Rejecting a parent’s presence at your side during your wedding was practically unthinkable. Much more so for a royal wedding so fraught with symbolism and politics—this wasn’t about Janus and Logan, it was about their kingdoms. It would perhaps be more appropriate for Janus to outright challenge someone to a fight in the middle of the marriage ceremony than it was for him to reject his mother’s place at his side as the chief ruler of Philos.

“That—that’s not how it’s done,” the queen said after a moment, tone full of strained politeness. A warning, and a single second chance.

Janus threw it out the window without hesitation. “Do I look like I care?” he said coldly. “I want Patton to walk with me. Not you.”

“Jan,” Patton interjected, voice careful and gentle, practically tip-toeing between the sharp words that had already been exchanged, “your sibling would generally only walk with you if your parents were dead.”

“Oh, I know,” Janus said with a frightening calm, and he seemed to relish the shocked look on his mother’s face at his words. “I want Patton. To walk. With me.”

The queen drew herself up. “It is out of the ques—”

“If I have to walk with you or Father,” Janus interrupted, “I will throw a tantrum at the altar and refuse to marry him—” He pointed at Logan disdainfully, not breaking eye contact with his mother “—and make Philos look bad to the entire world.” He shrugged. “Your choice.”

There was an extremely tense silence.

“Very well,” Janus’s mother said at last with a deeply acidic sweetness. She stepped back. “Patton, dear?” She gestured to the empty space beside Janus.

As Patton winced, then forced a smile and offered his arm to his brother, Logan glanced at Virgil, whose face was far too neutral. “Are we just… not going to acknowledge that?” Logan whispered. Janus’s snub was nearly tantamount to disowning his parents, and he’d done so to their faces.

“Absolutely not,” Virgil responded in an equally quiet tone, lips barely moving. “Too many political implications.”

Beyond the way Janus and his parents kept alternately sending death glares at each other and ignoring each other with a cool indifference, the rehearsal went on without a hitch. Logan felt almost awkward about his own father accompanying him after Janus’s… display—but at the same time, anything else would be practically unthinkable. And it was nice to have his father at his side as he walked down the long, long aisle. It was nerve-wracking enough when the thousands of seats in the building were empty; he couldn’t imagine what it would be like when they were filled. King Romulus’s large, steadfast presence at his side was a reassurance and a comfort.

“How are you feeling?” Romulus asked quietly as they walked.

Logan looked up at him. “I appreciate the benefits that this will bring to the kingdom, of course.”

“Mmhm. But aside from that,” Romulus encouraged. “I know what Prince Logan thinks—now I want to know how my son feels.”

Logan drew in a breath, then let it all out in a sigh. “Nervous, I think,” he admitted. “I don’t think Janus and I like each other very much.”

Romulus hummed in acknowledgement, patting Logan’s hand where it rested on his arm. “Give it some time. You’ve barely met, really, and not in the most ideal circumstances.”

“He is argumentative and rude,” Logan said, lips pressing together in what was most definitely not a pout.

“You are not particularly mild-mannered yourself, son,” Romulus countered, sounding amused. “But I don’t mind what kind of relationship to each other you and Prince Janus choose to have. You are welcome to dislike each other if it makes you happy.” He pressed Logan’s hand reassuringly once again as they climbed the steps up to the raised area where the ceremony would take place. “I have faith that you will do our kingdom proud, no matter how nervous you may be.” He looked down at Logan and smiled. “And regardless of that, you certainly make me proud.”

Logan mustered a small, grateful smile in response, even as his gut churned with nerves watching Janus and his brother making their way towards the platform, engaged in quiet conversation. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Behind Janus and Patton came the queen and king of Philos; then Virgil with Remy on his arm, who, by the grin on his face as he talked, was likely engaged in a concentrated effort to say something ridiculous enough to get Virgil’s solemn facade to crack; then the twins, who both appeared to be paying very little attention to the proceedings and a great deal more attention to whatever they were arguing about, throwing flowers from the baskets in their hands in each other’s faces; and then several very high-ranking officials and nobility from both kingdoms.

Patton and King Romulus both departed from the stage once Janus had arrived, Patton squeezing both Janus’s hands and murmuring words of encouragement, which left Janus and Logan to stand side by side and awkwardly ignore each other for a good ten minutes while the rest of the procession sorted itself out.

After the rehearsal was complete, Logan and Janus were whisked off to yet another area of the castle, to be readied and dressed for the wedding itself. This was a tedious affair that somehow, against all reason, took upwards of three hours to achieve. But at last, Logan was deemed ready, dressed all in shimmering silver robes with delicate, angular designs embroidered into them in sky-blue thread, radiating outward from his heart. Every stitch had meaning and symbolism, most of which Logan could recite off the top of his head for how often he’d been told it. He had a new crown, too, a more ornate one that would replace the old formal crown of his adolescent years.

Logan couldn’t help but feel somewhat swallowed up by his outfit, for all it fit him perfectly. The fabric was so structured and stiff he was almost certain it would hold its shape even without him inside of it; it was bright and eye-catching and heavy and layered with significance, and by far the most intimidating and formal outfit he had ever been dressed in. Janus’s outfit was similar, made of gold fabric with yellow embroidery, but the cut was reminiscent of the current fashions in Philos, and the designs embroidered into his robes were blockier and more solid—again, a traditional design style from his own kingdom.

Finally deemed ready, the pair of them were ushered away to wait for the last few minutes before the wedding began. The silence between them was tense; neither of them spoke. Logan fidgeted with the rings on his fingers, staring at the noticeable empty space on his left hand that would soon be filled.

The tension and the silence were broken all at once, as King Romulus swept into the room, followed by the remainder of the two royal families and a babble of chattering voices.

Logan drew in a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. It was time. He’d been preparing for this his whole life. Nothing was going to stop him from doing this perfectly, not even a woefully ill-mannered, deceitful husband-to-be.

 ***

 For all the fuss and pomp and ceremony leading up to it, the wedding itself went by in a blur, feeling underwhelming for how smoothly it went. Janus, regardless of his earlier threats, had been prim and demure, behaving exactly as a prince ought. Logan knew without a doubt that he himself had performed more than admirably. There had been several long hours after the ceremony where Logan and Janus had to accept congratulations from hundreds upon hundreds of strangers, filing past them in a long line, all before they were allowed to eat dinner. Then, while they ate, there had been speeches—thankfully all very formal and political, and not personal ones, filled with congratulations that would ring hollow, or stories about Logan as a child that he would rather Janus not hear. Then had come another, smaller reception, its atmosphere more like a party, reserved for high-ranking nobles and officials. It was all exhausting. Logan had never known there could be so many hours in the day to fill with such mindless activity.

It was past midnight by the time Logan and Janus were relieved of their royal duties and could retire for the night. They were both stripped of their wedding attire and changed back into simpler clothes before a guard led them to the suite they were to share.

And even then, Logan still could not relax. The bedroom he stood in was beautiful, certainly, but it was also large and unfamiliar, half the belongings in it foreign to him, and worst of all, it contained Janus. He’d strode past Logan without sparing him a glance, kicked off his shoes, and gone into the bathroom, where he appeared to be in the process of an elaborate skincare routine.

Logan frowned to himself and used the time alone to change into sleepwear behind one of the dressing screens. He explored the room briefly, figuring out which of the dressers and wardrobes were his and which were Janus’s, and locating where all his belongings had been put. Many of his books were missing, he could only assume stored somewhere else in the suite, and his desk was gone too, no doubt to a study. This was all well and good—he did appreciate the extra space, if nothing else about this situation—but he preferred knowing precisely where his belongings were, and just now he was too tired to go in search of them, which left him disgruntled and with no outlet for it.

Another item of annoyance was that, though the bed was very large—big enough to easily fit five people and certainly more than enough for two—there was only one of it. As Janus had insisted, via the most cold and impersonal of letters.

Well. Now Janus was here and in the flesh and could be forced to explain himself rather than ignoring written requests to do so. Perhaps that would provide some outlet for Logan’s pent-up frustration.

“I hope you know,” Logan announced coldly, marching over to the bathroom door, “that I have no intention of sleeping with you.”

“Of—what?” Janus, who had some kind of goopy facemask solution drying on his face, froze with his toothbrush in his mouth, staring at Logan in the mirror with a horrified expression.

There was a pause.

“Oh,” Janus said in a calmer tone, seeming to have processed Logan’s words. He resumed brushing his teeth. “Good. That’s fine. I feel quite the same.” He rinsed and spat and glanced over his shoulder at Logan, who was still standing in the bathroom door and staring at him. “Can I help you?” he asked pointedly, splashing water on his face and rinsing away the face mask.

“Then why were you so insistent that we had to share a room?” Logan burst out, frustrated by his own bewilderment.

“You’re supposed to be the smart one, isn’t it obvious?” Janus asked. He reached for one of the fluffy hand towels and began to dry his face off.

“No,” Logan admitted after a moment, sulking.

Janus heaved a dramatic sigh, emerging from the towel. “Thousands of strangers are going to be talking and speculating over and picking apart every single thing I do for the foreseeable future,” he explained condescendingly. “I would really rather my personal life were left out of that. And the way to minimize speculation about myself is to do what’s seen as the most ordinary thing. If we share a room, nobody will care half as much what we’re doing in it as they would if we had separate ones.” He rolled his eyes. “Not everything is about you, you know. Some things are actually about me. Most, in fact.”

Logan was silent for a long minute, annoyance warring in his head with the memories of every time Virgil had chastised him over the last week. He was probably supposed to be gracious about this. “…Fine,” he mumbled at last.

Janus rolled his eyes again. “Glad you agree,” he said tartly, rummaging in one of the dressers and taking a set of yellow silken sleep clothes behind his own dressing screen, which was on the opposite side of the room from Logan’s.

While Janus changed, Logan, who was still feeling miffed about this whole thing, began rearranging the many, many pillows on the large bed, forming a little wall down the center of it. It was undeniably petty and childish, but—well—he was feeling petty and childish at the moment.

Janus raised both his eyebrows at this when he emerged, then shook his head, came over, and helped, the pair of them wordlessly stacking the pillows up until there was a barrier in the center of the bed long and tall enough that they wouldn’t be able to see each other when lying down.

“Dibs on the right side,” Janus said, breaking the silence.

“Wh—no—” Logan began to protest. The right side of the bed was the one facing the windows and slightly closer to the fireplace; the left side was partially cut off by the pair of wardrobes along the wall next to it.

“Too late,” Janus said smugly, climbing under the covers. “Mine now.”

Logan huffed, resisting the urge to throw a pillow at Janus, who looked entirely too pleased with himself. Logan climbed off the bed, glowering, and made his way to the bathroom to complete his own nightly routine. By the time he returned, Janus had closed his eyes; his face was still and to all appearances he was already asleep. Leaving Logan to shut the lights off, naturally.

It took Logan a long time to fall asleep in such unusual quarters, and with the noise of someone else’s breath just barely audible on the other side of the wall of pillows. When at last he drifted off, he was met with uncomfortable dreams. Making a mistake during the wedding and destroying the alliance with Philos. Janus locking Logan out of his childhood bedroom with a mocking smile. Virgil turning away from him, a frown on his face, the words “I expected better from you” echoing in Logan’s ears—

Logan jerked awake with a sharp inhale. It was still dark, the deepest night, and the covers were soft and warm about him. They had been dreams; they had all been dreams. He was fine. He focused on steadying his breathing, running his fingers back and forth along the satin sheets to soothe himself.

A tiny choked noise broke the silence. For one second, Logan was half convinced an intruder had broken in before he remembered—this wasn’t his room. Janus was here. And he was—

Crying?

Logan was silent, listening intently. It was undeniable—Janus was crying, crying desperately, heaving sobs half-muffled in the comforter. Cracking open his eyes, Logan could just make out his silhouette against the faint moonlight from the windows. Janus was sitting up with his knees pulled up to his chest and his face buried in them, hands fisted in the blankets and hair falling about his face, shoulders shaking. From the wet tone of his voice, he had to have been weeping for quite some time before Logan had awakened.

Logan could hardly help but feel distressed on Janus’s behalf, regardless of his dislike for the man. Virgil’s words came back to him again, this time seeming less annoying and more insightful—Janus is all alone here. For the rest of his life.

Perhaps Logan shouldn’t have been quite so short with him this whole time.

Logan shifted, half of a mind to sit up and ask Janus if he was alright—but Janus’s cries cut off at once with a gasp. He clamped a hand over his mouth, head swiveling to stare at Logan, and froze quite still and silent.

Logan got the feeling it might be better to pretend to be asleep after all. He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. After a moment he heard Janus relax and resume quiet sniffling cries, not as loudly as before.

When Logan awoke the next morning, Janus was asleep, the covers pulled up to his chin and his round face pressed into the pillow, the faintest of tearstains just visible on the comforter. However, by the time Logan had dressed—he liked to dress himself when he could, only requiring his valet’s services in preparation for public appearances and events—and brushed his teeth, he reemerged into the bedroom to find Janus sitting up in the bed and rubbing his eyes, seeming groggy, his hair a tangled mess sticking to his cheek and his face red where it had been resting on the bed.

“Good morning,” Logan greeted, trying not to sound awkward.

Janus gave him a withering stare. “I hate mornings.”

“Oh.” Logan chewed on the inside of his lip, not sure where to take the conversation from there. “…Did you sleep well?”

Janus blinked several times. “Fine,” he said, raking his hair off his face.

Logan cast about once again for a conversation topic. “I take it you chose the sun motifs? And the sunflowers?” The room was decorated in what he assumed to be a blend of their styles; his own preference for starry patterns and shades of blue was interspersed with gleaming golden suns, rays spreading outward across the walls, and the knobs on all the furniture were carved in what Logan had thought to be more suns but, upon closer inspection, found to be sunflowers.

“Uh…” Janus seemed to take a moment to process Logan’s question. “Oh. Yes.” He slid his legs off the side of the bed, reaching with his toes for a pair of slippers.

“They’re quite nice,” Logan offered.

“I know.” Janus squinted at him. “Why are you not being rude?”

Logan flushed at the directness of the question. “I am not rude—”

“You are probably the rudest person I’ve ever met,” Janus said flatly. “Or at least, the least scared to be rude to me.”

Logan frowned. This was an unfortunately good point. “I just—” he said, trying to answer Janus’s question. “I thought maybe—I was… hasty in my judgment? Since we are to live together…” He trailed off under Janus’s suspicious glare. “I just—I woke up last night and you seemed—upset—”

“I knew it,” Janus snapped, interrupting. “I knew it.” He stalked across the room. “I don’t want your pity.” He pointed an accusing finger, poking Logan in the chest. “We aren’t friends, so you don’t get to know shit about me. So you can just shut up and forget about that and go back to hating me.” He turned on his heel. “And I’m not talking to you,” he tossed over his shoulder, marching over to one of the wardrobes and pulling clothes out with sharp angry movements. “So don’t talk to me, either.”

Logan, feeling half ashamed and half angry, gut churning uncomfortably, bit his tongue and went to fix his hair.

Janus poked his head into the bathroom after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. He was still in his sleepwear, a pile of clothes in his arms. “So, I’m still not talking to you,” he began.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Shut up. Anyway.” Janus fidgeted for a second, then set his shoulders and forged onward. “You’ve obviously been on hormones.”

“Oh.” Logan softened a little in spite of himself. “Yes. Since I was fourteen.”

“Fourteen?” Janus repeated under his breath, seeming not to be speaking to Logan so much as simply exclaiming over it. “Ugh. Fine. Whatever.” He looked back at Logan. “How do I do that?”

“Get a testosterone prescription?” Logan inquired, just to be sure he understood. He was a little surprised by the request; he had assumed that Janus, having been out publicly for several years now, must not have been on testosterone because he hadn’t wanted to be. By the look on his face and the almost desperate undertone in his voice, this seemed to have been a misestimation.

Janus nodded, rapid and emphatic. “Yes. Preferably as soon as possible.”

Putting together a collection of different things he’d observed Janus say and do, Logan was coming to the conclusion that the queen and king of Philos were… deeply unpleasant people at best. This was, however, probably not an appropriate sentiment to voice to their son, even if he seemed to be of a similar opinion. So Logan answered Janus’s question without commentary. “Speak with any of the palace physicians. Doctor Fernanda has been treating me for years, but all of them are well equipped to handle such matters. Any footservant can direct you to them or carry a message.”

“Right.” Janus nodded. “Thanks. I’m still not talking to you.”

“You keep saying that,” Logan said, “which seems to demonstrate that you do not have a functional understanding of the definition of the word talk.”

“You don’t have a functional understanding of—” Janus struggled for a moment. “—of—what being rude is.”

Logan raised his eyebrows. “Oh no. How terribly insulting. I’m devastated,” he deadpanned.

“Shut up!” Janus’s cheeks went red.

“I don’t really do that,” Logan informed him, and then, just to be petty, “I’d be happy to explain what ‘talking to’ versus ‘not talking to’ entails, since you seem a little confused. You see, talking is the act of—”

“Well, I’m taller than you,” Janus interrupted.

Logan’s jaw dropped indignantly. He found himself speechless. Janus’s words were true; while Janus himself was far from tall by any measure, probably 5’3” or 5’4”, that still put him a good three inches above Logan. And he had the gall to point it out like that, to Logan’s face. It was humiliating! How dare he, honestly.

Janus’s smirk widened into a grin as he watched Logan. “Oh, is that how I get you to shut up? Good to know.” He chuckled and shoved at Logan’s shoulder. “Can I have the bathroom? I want to bathe myself.”

Logan huffed and stomped out of the bathroom, doing his best to ignore the noise of Janus’s half-smothered giggles behind him.

He did not like his new husband at all.

-

Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @icecoldflames @theimprobabledreamersworld @simplestoryteller @cromatheskeleton

[ghostietea]

Furuba autistic headcanons

With it being April, or autism acceptance month, I wanted to finally drop my list of characters from Fruits Basket that I read as autistic! This is based a lot on my own experience, as well as that of other autistics I know or have seen talk online. I hope some people can get something out of it, feel free to tell me what you think 😊, though please refrain from getting upset that I would dare suggest your fave is autistic.

Hanajima

Before becoming able to better control her powers, she would be constantly overwhelmed by the things she heard to the point that she couldn't even really go out in public. This reads a lot like sensory overload.

Constantly picked on in school because other kids thought she was weird. Eventually reclaimed this weirdness and turned it into a whole persona.

Seems to talk usually in a relatively flat tone.

Had trouble socializing with no friends outside her family until middleschool.

Has a very funny, dry sense of humor that I find very similar to a bunch of autistics I know, including myself.

Hatsuharu

Listen. You have seen the funky little man, you have seen the way he talks, the way he acts around others. He is, and I mean this in the best way, a weirdo. I do not know how you could look at him and see a neurotypical.

Once again, like Hana, Haru is funny in a way that feels very autistic.

Very flat, dry, tone delivery. Sometimes just Says Things that make everyone else go huh??? Suuuuper blunt. Doesn't emote facially a lot of the time.

When this man sees a social norm he doesn't get he WILL NOT follow it. Pierces his ears just because his hair got flak, defends Momiji wearing whatever he wants because sometimes y'know the social rules are just dumb and don't make sense. Especially dress codes.

Sometimes says things not befitting the current tone of the situation.

Represses (masks) a lot of his emotions, leading to outbursts that seem uncharacteristic.

His main childhood trauma revolves around adults branding him as "dumb" and ridiculing him. Haru, however, is super smart and wise!! Just in an offbeat way that not everyone may get.

Machi

Reads as very "flat" emotionally to the point that others would call her boring. Also has a flat vocal delivery.

Relies on specific habits or ways of doing things or else she gets super upset (her hatred of imperfection.

Has trauma surrounding adults completely misconstruing her intentions and thinking she's doing something malicious when she's not.

Generally behaves in a way that's hard for others to understand, one of her formative moments with Yuki was him saying he wanted to "see how the world looks" through her eyes.

Once again, trouble socializing.

Tries super hard to please her parents but in the end they still see her as somehow inherently "defective."

Listen. A lot of this one and the last two are mostly vibes, hard to verbally define. You just have to look at them and trust me.

Tohru

Displays behavior very reminiscent of masking throughout the story, a huge part of her arc is about how she hides a lot of herself and has a very controlled persona. I think it would fit very well if she had other autistic behaviors that she suppresed also it helps explain why she is relatively socially adept, it's learned behavior to make people like her more.

Yes she is very good at saying what others need to hear, but especially early on she is pretty blatantly imitating her mother's words. She only gets better at getting through on a more personal level later on (see her with Rin and Akito v. early series Tohru). She does this by relating her own experiences, a very autistic way of showing empathy that often gets us written off as self centered. The way she relays things her mom said could also be seen as this, and she even worries at a few points that she's being insensitive for going on about things like that.

While emotionally repressed she is hyper empathetic and feels other's emotions so strongly she cries.

Her speech patterns are all imitated from her father and she often copies verbal things from others (see Ritchan-san). Noted in canon that people think her way of speaking is slightly off/not befitting of someone her age. Additionally, her father was polite more sarcastically, while she plays it straight and sometimes takes things very literally or fails to get the message, indicating trouble with reading tone. Has numerous strange verbal tics, including saying parts of her internal monologue out loud without context.

Very expressive with her hands including waving them around and flapping them up and down.

Does have a bit of trouble with accidental insensitivity in social interactions, like how she constantly fixates on her mom and realizes that might bug the Sohma.

Has trouble paying attention in school since it doesn't have much to do with her interests

Her only friend until she was a middle schooler was her mom

Has a pretty unique outlook on things compared to others, people seem to think she's pretty eccentric. There's always a "this girl is nice but in an odd way, she's our weirdo and we love her" vibe.

Sometimes has an "inappropriate" emotional response to situations

Has a lot of trouble with change, similar to Akito. Which oh, look at the time, next hc coming up.

But first, a disclaimer. It is cathartic for me to read Akito this way, but with that reading comes the baggage that she would, mayhaps, be showing a more negative side of things... It doesn't bother me since it's a joint hc with other characters and she does develop at the end but yeah, general villain hc baggage. This is in no way me trying to excuse her being The Worst being autistic doesn't absolve you of being able to do wrong . Also, a lot of these points can and do have other explanations related to her upbringing, but things can be for more than 1 reason. With that said, she really strongly comes off as autistic to me, in a way that's sorta hard to explain. I wrote a lot more for her than the other, both because I felt I needed more to convince people and that this headcanon was more sensitive and I needed to be careful in my explanation. Also hey! She's my special interest within a special interest.

Akito

Shown to have a dislike of summer weather due to heat and brightness, could be due to sensory issues in tandem with sickness things. Also covers her ears when people raise their voice sometimes which is partially her trying to shut down opposition but also 🤔 can read a different way. She'd also avoids louder Juuni like Ritsu and Ayame because she can't handle them.

Wears pretty much the same outfit every single day. Said outfit is also pretty loose fitting.

Always seen sitting in a pretty unconventional way. Evidence:

Of course this is also the isolated in a cult thing and there is a level of her purposefully doing things to intimidate but: doesn't follow a lot of social rules (overly touchy with strangers, legit doesn't get that what she's doing is wrong, ect.). Repeatedly confused when people indicate she should act otherwise without explanation. Has a breakdown when this comes to a head and approximately says that "they" shouldn't expect her to know "common sense" if "they" never explained it to her, that the way that she was was her "common sense."

Often talks in a way uncharacteristic of her age when shown as a child in a more faux mature/pretentious way. Might just be the translation and idk how to explain it but her speech as an adult also seems off from what one would normally use in conversation. Additionally, when she tries to fake being friendly in her intro chapter, it comes of as extremely stiff and unconvincing.

Generally displays behavior that could be thought of as childish as an adult, but a lot of this behavior could also read as autistic (covering ears, emotional deregulation and meltdowns, ignorance of basic social norms, ect.). It's also important to note that she knows that this behavior makes her seem younger and more helpless to the older zodiac and uses it as a manipulation tactic. Has issues regarding people treating her like a child or only hanging out with her because of pity. While she does weaponize it, we can tell that this grates on her, as seen with her finally blowing up on Kureno, which is partially triggered by the maids saying some sorta infantalizing stuff about her. Irl, a lot of autistic adults and teens struggle with being infantalized for our behavior generally or treated as little babies that can do no wrong. Even in fandom, you see people doing stuff like jumping to call autistic adult characters, such as Entrapta from Shera, "minor coded." It is also common for us to have at least one bad experience with someone hanging around us out of pity. This is something that really gave me a similar feeling in Akito's arc. She's not a baby and she can understand and do better if she is given the chance to learn and break from all the freaky cult indoctrination she's been subjected to instead of just being constantly enabled. In the end, a lot of her growth is represented by her showing that she is capable of changing and being independent.

Shows particular difficulty with socialization, often sits by herself spacing out at social events. A lot of her fear is rooted in the fact that she doesn't know how normal relationships work, becoming overly reliant on the curse because she doesn't know how to make friends.

Clings desperately onto the notion of being "special" and in some way superior to others to be worthy and to make up for perceived inherent "flaws." It's the nd gifted kid burnout vibes for me.

Easily bothered by things that don't bother others. Feels emotions very strongly to the point of getting physically ill and has bad emotional regulation.

Relatively good at reading others in an analytical sense (though has more trouble when it comes to seeing how they feel about her since she's wildly delusional) but brings up her observations in a very cold, detached way and hurts people even on the rare occasion she didn't mean to. Has extreme trouble connecting to others and understanding their point of view. This makes her come off as pretty unempathetic even though that might not fully be the case. Also thinks that people like Momiji are trying to look down on her when they try to empathize with her. A lot of why Tohru can get through to her is that she manages to convince Akito that she's not condescending by relating shared traits and experiences. As I said earlier, autistics often empathize by sharing their own experiences with someone, and I know I often have an easier time confiding in other autistics because of a fear of being seen as lesser by those that don't understand me. I think the connection between these charachters and the way that Tohru manages to reach Akito like that while others couldn't makes a lot of sense through an autistic lense!

Additionally, when Akito herself gets around to trying to help others instead of just projecting trauma, she tries to reach out to the old maid by relating back to her own experiences. This however, doesn't work.

Has "cold" emotional reactions sometimes even to things that do make her upset. For example, how sort of calm and detached she acted after her father's death can make her seem uncaring. However, we know that this event did mess her up a lot and she is still (poorly) dealing with a lot of grief from the death of her father years later.

Copies mannerisms from others, the most blatant example is with Ren, who she directly parrots lines from as a child to Yuki.

Partly just her posturing, but gestures a lot with her hands when she talks. Also seen several times clutching her hands in her hair.

Deals extremely poorly with the idea of things changing to the point that it is a driving force of the story.

Does not understand when people tease her.

Ect. Ect. Ect. Listen, I could go on for ages but just trust me, the mean gremlin lady is autistic.

[darlingpetao3]

Thank You For Ruining My Life: An Homage to Tom Cavanagh

“You’ve ruined all my future expectations of men.”

The costume-clad woman had the courage of steel to say this to the then 53-year-old actor, Tom Cavanagh of The Flash, in front of a ballroom filled with a couple hundred people. This brave utterance was spoken during the 2016 Fan Expo Vancouver convention during a Flash question and answer period with actors Tom Cavanagh and Candice Patton. In its third season, the show was undoubtedly still hitting its stride in popularity, and the room was packed to hear these two speak.

The brave woman whose turn it was at the microphone was referring to Tom’s role as Ed Stevens on the NBC 2000 hit, Ed. I had not known of this show previously, but having now heard such a proclamation intrigued me. “You’ve ruined all my future expectations of men.” That was a tempting notion, and as I continued to listen to this disarmingly charming and wittingly funny man steal the stage, Tom intrigued me even more. I’d watched him play three different versions of Harrison Wells on The Flash since the show’s premiere date, yet I hadn’t truly noticed him in a “life-ruining” way before.

Little did I know that Tom Cavanagh would not only eventually ruin my expectations for men as well, but he would change my life in other ways, too.

After the Q&A, I had this urge to buy a S.T.A.R. Labs T-shirt from one of the vendors at the convention. In my head, I thought I would purchase something so that I could have an excuse to talk to Mr. Cavanagh at his signing booth. Again, he intrigued me, and I wanted to experience more of his incredibly likeable personality. So, I dragged my friend with me to wait for what was maybe ten minutes in a queue. Shortly, I was paying the assistant for my autograph I would soon acquire. They wrote my name on a sticky note so that Tom would know how to sign a personalized message to me. And then, it was my turn.

His eyes sparkled when he turned his attention to me. I instantly had a feeling this was just the way he was naturally. Oh yeah, and I swear to God I’d never seen eyes that blue in my entire life. It genuinely stunned me.

“Hi!” he greeted me.

“Hi!” I responded, equally as thrilled. Tom admired the T-shirt I had brought and took note of my name on the piece of paper. I remember us joking together about the extremely lax security in and around S.T.A.R. Labs on the show, which prompted his message to me on the heather-grey cotton. He wrote my name, [followed by a heart!] and a very welcoming, ‘Come on by, just walk right in!’

I had official clearance from Harrison Wells himself.

I thanked him very much, leaving with my treasure folded over my arms. My friend and I walked towards the hall’s exit, and I couldn’t shake this feeling inside me. It felt strange—I couldn’t name it for the life of me. It felt like an odd fluttering with a simultaneous yet contradictory slightness of breath. My head was confused and would continue to be so for the rest of that weekend.

As I waited at my gate in the airport on that Sunday evening to head home, all I knew was that the moments at the con featuring Tom were the highlights of the weekend for me.

And that I was going to begin watching more of the other films and television shows he’d been in. What was the show the brave cosplaying woman had said ruined her expectations of men? Oh yeah, Ed.

Maybe I’ll start there…

***

Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad…

In my house, it’s never really Christmastime until Michael Bublé croons through the speakers of the wooden stereo system in the living room. It felt especially festive as it was now Christmas Eve—a month and some change since the con. It was late, possibly ten o’clock. I was lying on the floor in front of the Christmas tree with my trusty laptop, a word document open. I was writing three holiday-song short stories featuring the new muse in my life, Harrison Wells. I wanted to be able to post them the next day, so my fingers were taptaptapping away.

I had written a handful of things before 2017, most of which had been Marvel-related, under my second, ‘rebirth’ pen name online. I was a little fish among all the grand and fabulous writers on Archive of Our Own, and in many ways, I still feel like that little fish. I was only just learning and feeling out the psyche of the Wells characters. Each one is so different. In my rewatch of the previous seasons of The Flash, I’d taken diligent notes, and as I’d later learn with each following rewatch, I would know them all—what they think, how they talk and behave—like the back of my hand. It was fun to suss out these guys, and I found that I was growing to love the act of writing even more.

One month later, in January, I would post all the stories I’d written thus far on Tumblr. I’d just created an account and, who knows? Maybe I’d get a wider range of readers on here, too.

Might as well give it a shot, right?

***

Wild horses couldn’t keep me from attending Fan Expo Vancouver 2017, especially when the big news dropped. Not only would Tom Cavanagh be attending again, but so would Carlos Valdes, Danielle Panabaker, Candice Patton, and the convention-elusive star of the show himself, Grant Gustin.

Before the moderator for the Flash cast’s Q&A panel could utter the final thanks to the actors at the end of the session, I bounded from my seat and sped down to the photo op booth where the cast would be taking “Team Up” photos with fans. ‘Sped down’ has to be the most appropriate couple of words because I indeed felt like a true Speedster dressed head to toe as the small screen’s adaptation of Jesse Quick, the angsty and brilliant daughter to Harrison Wells turned superhero.

After waiting in a queue that felt like ages, I was next to stand with Team Flash. As I took a step forward, all of the actors’ and actresses’ eyes—the people I spend time with every Tuesday evening—were on me. I heard a familiar voice approve of my costume. It was Danielle.

“Tremendous.”

Grant even joked that he thought for a second Violett Beane, the actress who plays Jesse Quick, had shown up to surprise them. “I was like, what’s Violett doing here?” he said.

I stood in the back row, happily sandwiched between Tom and Carlos. I dared to let my hands rest on their backs, and I couldn’t contain my joy. Shortly after, when I received my near-instant physical photograph of the moment, I saw Tom had pointed at me. In my mind, it felt as if in his gesture, he meant, hey, look at this cool person. Haha. I couldn’t be further from it.

I would go on to further be uncool in public as I later found myself virtually shaking and almost hyperventilating in line for a one-on-one photo op with Tom. The guy dressed as Kid Flash behind me gave me a few encouragements of the “it’ll be okay” variety. As my turn finally arrived, the lovely man of the hour greeted me with a bright smile in recognition of my Reverse Flash T-shirt (I had done a quick change before this photo op because I had worn a Flash T-shirt for a photo with Grant).

“Great shirt!”

The internet comes up with many hilarious and fitting words, but none such so than the term “Cavanarms.” One of the said Cavanarms found its way around my shoulder in such a casual way. My hand rested on his back, and I have told anyone who will listen about how soft his sweater was. What was approximately a five-second interaction will stay with me forever. And to this day, I will always regret how I’m standing beside him in the picture—there’s a distinguishable gap between us. I could have been closer—should have been!—but I like to use the fact that I felt as if I’d combust into flames if I were any closer to the man.

Maybe I’d have another chance to combust later again that day because, believe it or not, this fan hadn’t had enough of seeing Mr. Cavanagh in person. And since he was appearing at the con for this day only, there was no way I was going to squander any opportunities. Besides, there was still one final thing left on my convention docket: the autograph. In my mind, going to get his autograph was an excuse to get to talk to him and simply be in his presence for longer than five seconds. Here, take my money. I’m a sucker, and I’m proud of it. I saved all year for this kind of thing, and Fan Expo has always been my ultimate nerdy Treat Yoself Day.

Plus, this year I came equipped with a question for Tom (something for which I may have prepared a little too far in advance).

“Which of your characters would win in a lawyering battle: Ed or Miles?”

Miles was Tom’s latest character from his newly released project Darrow & Darrow, a fellow lawyer as Ed Stevens (remember, the man who ruins women’s expectations of men?), whom he portrayed almost two decades prior. What I loved about Tom when I got to ask him this was that he was silent for a moment following the question. He was genuinely putting thought into my question. As he pondered, Tom continued to autograph the photo of us together taken mere hours ago.

“Ed. He would wipe the floor with that other guy. Like, Miles is great, but Ed has a rapier-sharp mind, you know?”

I wholeheartedly agreed with his answer and felt relieved inside for some reason. We thanked each other (as politely as two Canadians can) before I left him to pay attention to the next lucky soul in line. I made the mistake of casting my eyes downward at the signed photo.

Tom had signed two little hearts over the I’s in my name. He really needed to stop adding hearts to my things, or I was just going to melt to the floor. In fact, I started to make these strange noises as I tried not to completely maul everyone in front of me while exiting. My friend ushered me as fast as physically possible on our way out of the main hall. One man took one look at me and asked, “Are you okay?”

No.

“Yep!”

The second I made it out of the herd, I broke out into open space. First came the minor hyperventilating. Then came the squealing followed by laughter. Top it off with various fangirlish comments of, “He’s so beautiful!”, “His eyes are so blue!” and “I love him!” and I was probably quite the sight to see (but at a convention, that’s considered normal!). My friend smiled on as she let me express everything that I had to keep inside until I had the right time to expel my emotions. I was on cloud nine. Ten, if at all possible.

The next day would be the con’s final day, which I would attend alone. My friend needed to catch the ferry in order to prepare for her courses the day after. I did a scan of the convention hall one final time in case there was something I missed purchasing. Afterwards, I sat on the cold hard flooring of the convention centre hallway for a bit of a break. I was wiped out. With my phone in hand, I smiled at the messages from this one Tumblr blogger who had been following my posted adventures at the con. I had seen and replied to many of her comments on my stories I’d written thus far, and I enjoyed her matching enthusiasm for Tom and The Flash in general. I felt her to be a kindred spirit. I had no idea then that I was chatting with one of my future best friends, L.

***

I spotted her.

She was wearing an identical shirt to the one I had on—a light grey T-shirt with a sequinned Spider-Man mask in the corner, which around it read, We met on the Web. A giddy me couldn’t wait for the short escalator ride to end. Her back was to me and facing the baggage claim, so here was my chance to surprise her instead.

I towered over my friend, E, and donned a low, authoritative voice.

“Excuse me, Miss, can you come with me?”

She squealed a greeting to me and I returned it as we hugged for the very first time after two and a half years of online friendship. We would still have about two hours to kill until our mutual Tumblr best friend, L, touched down at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport from across the Pond.

Something I noticed was that E and I carried on talking during our wait like it was second nature, that we hung out like this all the time. Whereas when I met L in person for the first time the year previously, our first meeting was that of quiet, delighted shock, unknowing how to react to one another’s physical presence. It almost felt like a fantasy. The closest thing we’d ever gotten to this was visiting over video chats! I’m not sure what each of these different reactions in these separate meetings meant, but what I do know is that I’ve never had such strong female friendships such as these—so full of uplifting support and love for one another. They are the greatest ladies I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

And as a searching L eventually turned the corner to meet us in the Arrivals terminal, I caught sight of her Tom & Grant bandana tied around the handle to her carry-on bag. It was an item she had received in return for helping fund the short film produced in 2018 (I’d bought the ringtone). Seeing the accessory jolted me to remember that the former of the titular short was the reason for this long-awaited get-together holiday in the Windy City in the first place. Tom Cavanagh, unbeknownst to him, had just officially united three online friends, each from a different country, to spend six full days of in-person bonding and a whole lot of fun.

***

I should have been shelving books.

I should have been doing a lot of library-related tasks, but my head was elsewhere. Anywhere other than the small-town public library where I work. Instead, I sat on the carpeted floor of the Junior/Young Adult section with my phone in hand and a dreadful article title staring back at me.

“The Flash: Carlos Valdes and Tom Cavanagh to Exit after 7 Seasons.”

My world felt like it was falling apart.

Tom was leaving? There had been rumours and wonderings spreading around the fandom regarding whether he was leaving the show. With a storyline ending with a monumental sacrifice and a time-travelling man saying his farewells, it all seemed to point to the fact. I should have known… I could have rivalled Supergirl as being the Paragon of Hope after all the optimism I doled out to my followers and friends who would come to me worried Tom would exit the show. I would always give reasons to deny such a thing could happen, claiming that I’d believe when I saw it.

Well, there it was, and I definitely saw it.

One could feel the ripple effect over the internet of the shards of broken and riled-up hearts around the world.

Tom’s exit was on his terms, having not felt challenged by his character’s plotlines, as mentioned in a recent Entertainment Weekly article. As a viewer—and I am a viewer (Mike and Tom Eat Snacks, anyone?), it has been increasingly difficult to look past the missed shots made by story editors and showrunner, so understandably, the actor would want to seek something more exciting and meatier. That said, Tom has always shone on-screen and taken what he’s been given in stride. He turns unearthed material into diamonds and indeed shines on screen. Steals it, even! Tom easily makes the episodes he’s in better, and when he’s missing, you feel the loss. The few episodes of Season 7 without him only give us a tiny hint at how the show will be without him going forward. It much resembles when you might bring out your favourite jigsaw puzzle, only to find that the one piece you need to complete it isn’t there.

***

On a personal note, as I write this, I am roughly 20 followers away from reaching a milestone of 2,000. I have written well over 200 stories for The Flash alone (whether they be short or long, one-shots or chaptered), and goodness knows how many words I’ve generated altogether over the course of these many years with inspiration from the show and my favourite character. I’ve written and co-written novel-length stories, one monumental Wellsian story of which was done alongside L and E (almost solely done through alternating text messaging in the app, Line) that reached over 108,000 words and consisted of 42 chapters. And when I’m not writing for my blog, I’m also working on trying to accomplish my dream of becoming a published author. Just as I thought before I launched my Tumblr blog, I think again now: Might as well give it a shot, right?

***

I have watched virtually everything Tom has been in that I could get my hands on, both physically and electronically. Sure, a few titles are out of my reach and probably lost to the very early 90's forever, but from what I've seen through Tom's filmography is enough to know that he can do anything. He can play the romantic leading man that will make you fall head over heels for him or a deranged killer that will have you genuinely scared of him. That is talent. Tom always brings something new to the table from each role to the next, and (when he's not playing those psycho killers) you can't help but admire his craft.

Not only is his acting stellar, but from what we as fans have gathered on the man, Tom has got to be one of the kindest men in the business. His humour and sheer ridiculousness could get anyone through a tough time (we’ve seen plenty of bloopers and behind-the-scenes videos to prove this!). He has clearly bottled and stored an endless supply of Fountain of Youth™ and each year continues to wow us with his handsomeness. Tom is charming, dedicated, and yes, arguably holds the world record for Bluest Eyes.

In my eyes, Tom Cavanagh gave me the two best friends I could have ever asked for, as well as plenty more lovely friends I’ve continued to make online. (One day, I hope to meet him again so that I can tell him in person how because of him, I’ve met such very important people in my life). Through Tom, I have truly found my passion for writing, and in doing so, segued me to dare to dream of becoming a published novelist. I wholeheartedly believe all of this would not have happened if it weren’t for those first series of events that led me to meet Tom and love and admire him immensely. He is indisputable proof that there are indeed men like him out there. Indeed, he did ruin all of my future expectations of men. He ruined my life in the absolute best way and I am eternally grateful.

I am very much looking forward to what Tom will do next. I think it’s rather needless to say that I will follow him in his career, as he has gained a devoted fan for life. He represents so much to me and so much of it I have gained since meeting him that fateful day, when I thought to myself, Maybe I should buy this T-shirt and get this guy to sign it. Wherever Tom goes in life, I’ll be here to cheer him on.

I have a pretty good feeling plenty of others will, too.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

some thoughts on mag 200

i’ve been having trouble articulating this, but i wanted to get some thoughts down on mag 200, and the ending of tma as a whole, now that i’ve heard the finale twice and had some time to process it all. putting this under a cut in case people don’t wanna see it -- there’s gonna be a lot of praise here, but also some legit criticism. this is a way to sort through my feelings more than anything else.

first off, relistening to the finale, and sitting on it for a while, has made me feel a hell of a lot better about the whole thing. the episode comes off a lot better when you’re not vibrating with fear and anticipation, in my opinion. the final statement was very fitting and cool -- not my favorite ever, but i can appreciate it a lot as a final closing for the fears. and i don’t have an ear for soundscaping but the sound in that statement was cool as hell. the jonah magnus gets fucking murdered scene is incredibly satisfying. a lot of other people have said this, but i love that jon finally got his revenge, and was able to lash out against jonah for all the years of manipulation and beng used, and for tim and sasha and everything else. that was perfect. i genuinely thought we might not get a scene like this after 193 but i am so glad we did. incredibly satisfying. the girls made it out!! i am very glad that they’re ok and moving on and seem to be leaning on each other. (By God I Will Wring Found Family Out Of This Podcast If It Kills Me.) and the admiral’s okay. love that

and the jonmartin ending. oh my god. while i was never the biggest fan of the possibility of martin having to kill jon, the way it went down was so painful and good. i loved that final scene. i love the ambiguity -- that they might have died but maybe they didn’t, maybe they’re all right and happy and we can decide for ourselves -- i love that i got exactly what i wanted, that i get to have my cake and eat it too, all the angst of a jmart death and still the possibility of happiness... i am going buckwild. i love it. the longer i spend with this ending, the happier i am with it. i really really loved it

on another note... i do have some reservations about the finale and the season as a whole. i understand peoples’ irritations with the finale, and while i’m trying to focus on the things i did like, i definitely have some irritations. for one, i definitely wish the finale had been longer. i would’ve loved to see more of what wtgfs and basira were doing, and the actual lighting of the archives, etc. and while i completely understand why the scene at the panopticon went as quickly as it did -- it comes off very much as wild, frantic impulse in the heat of the moment where they’re in danger and trying to protect each other -- i do wish it had gone a little slower. 

in my mind, the biggest issue in season 5 ended up being pacing. and this might be a personal preference thing -- there’s a lot of things within the show that i don’t personally vibe with, but i don’t necessarily think they’re badly written. but i do think season 5 was slow. and while slow things can certainly work in a certain context (season 4 comes off wildly slow til you listen to 160), i wish more of what actually happened in season 5 had been baked into the end game. the season felt like it had a lot of filler, which drives me mildly crazy, because the end game feels rushed and i don’t think it NEEDED to be. i liked a lot of what season 5 did -- there’s some impeccable episodes, the character interactions are weirdly lighter and softer than they have been in previous seasons, and i wouldn’t trade a lot of the things that it’s given us (all the jonmartin interactions, jon and georgie briefly rebuilding their friendship, martin and melanie friendship, wtgfs scenes and intimacy, backstory, lore, etc) for anything. but i do think it could’ve been structured and paced a little differently. i also think it could’ve given some more screentime to the character stuff we got from episodes like 161, 170, 186, 190, 191, 192, 199... i absolutely love both martin centric monologue episodes, but i hate that we didn’t get anything like that for jon. (or for melanie or georgie or basira...) the best episodes of the season, imo, are the ones that broke from traditional form of domain statement domain, and the ones that focused in hard on backstory, lore, character introspection, character interaction... i wish we had more of this. 

when it comes to the jonmartin arc... i know this has been a point of contention with a lot of people, but i don’t hate it at all. maybe it’s just because i relistened to the majority of the season back in january, but a lot of the more grating moments that seemed large week to week (martin pressuring jon to smite people, the disagreements they had earlier in the season, jon using martin as bait in 176, etc etc) come off a lot more minor when you’re binging. personally, relistening to act i made those interactions come off as things they were struggling with through continued support and reassurance. there were absolutely things i wanted addressed, especially with the “kill bill arc” -- the disagreements early in the season, and how it seemed to turn on its head in the argument they have in 194. (i didn’t like martin blaming jon for the kill bill arc and i was hoping it would get brought up.) i also wanted to see a discussion of martin going with annabelle in 194 -- i wasn’t really ever mad at martin for doing it, but i did want to see them talk it out. 

but! after relistening to 200, i think i have a better handle on why that couldn’t have happened. martin goes behind jon’s back to go with annabelle and they don’t talk about it; jon goes behind martin’s back to sabotage the plan everyone agrees on in order to prevent the fears from spreading. if they’d had a big talk about trust, and working through martin going off with annabelle, and then jon turned around and did the same thing, more or less... it would’ve completely soured that discussion. jon and martin needed to be in a place of discourse for this ending to work. 

honestly, the more i’ve thought about this final JM arc, the better i feel about it. sure, jon and martin are in a bad place, and they’ve gone behind each other’s backs and been somewhat selfish, but i don’t think this ruins their relationship. for one, martin’s break in trust comes from a place of wanting to save jon and the world. and for another, jon genuinely feels he is doing the right thing, making a decision he can live with. (i have my own opinions as to how ethical jon’s decision was, but that’s another post. and i think the muddy ethics of this ending are on purpose -- it’s horror, a genre that often doesn’t offer ethical decisions.) their final decisions and final moments come from a place of love and protectiveness, and they change their decisions for the other. they still love each other, through all of it. i don’t think these late stage betrayals equivalate jonmartin necessarily being doomed as a couple (not that anyone has said that, but it’s worth saying). and i think it’s important to remember that this is still a relatively new relationship. it existed for approximately three weeks before the literal apocalypse, and it’s been under an immense amount of stress, as well as the constant fear that one or both of them would die. (which they did.) i’m not saying that excuses certain things they’ve said or done, but i am saying i don’t think the relationship is doomed. i think, if jon and martin have survived, they’ll need to work through things. they’ll need to talk it all out. and they’ll be able to! they’ll heal from this one way or another. the tragedy isn’t that jonmartin is doomed, or toxic. it’s that these moments of betrayal are what dooms them. and the beautiful undercurrent of it all is that they still manage to come together, and make decisions that mean they stay together. and that wherever they are, they’re still together. 

all in all, i don’t think season 5 has been perfect, and i can make my peace with that. (tma’s worst is a hell of a lot better than most shows’ best.) (i also think it might be worth considering how covid could have affected certain aspects of how the season was written -- pandemics are stressful, and i can’t imagine what it’s like to finish an enormous, in the works for years project like this in the middle of that. personally, i’m impressed they’ve managed to finish the show through all of this and keep it to a similar quality.) i think critiques are valuable and worth discussing. and i think plot aspects aside, there are several other critique related things that could be brought up about this season that people have articulated much better than i ever could. but i also, personally, want to walk away from the show feeling satisfied. i tend to be weirdly positive about things i love (the x files finale was horrendous, but i managed to get to a place where i was happy with it, for example), and i think that applies here -- even more so because i really did love so many aspects of that finale. i don’t necessarily want to linger in my own mind over what i disliked, especially considering the show is over. although i did want to air out my thoughts. 

i still love this show. i loved a lot of episodes this season, frustrations aside. season 5 will forever be my only live tma experience, and it got me through one of the worst years of my life, and i am very grateful for this. i genuinely did just want to air out my thoughts and get them all down on paper. these are just my opinions -- i don’t want to criticize anyone who feels differently about the finale, or the season as a whole. everyone’s opinion is their own. 

i feel a lot, lot better about mag 200, to the point of genuinely loving it. i hope my appreciation only grows as i get further from that frenzied first day and have more time to sit with it. and i can’t wait to see all the art and read all of the amazing fics that are going to come out of this ending (and write some of my own). it’s been a wild ride. i’m glad i was here for it.

[jocia92]

Maria Schrader's I’m Your Man: Dan Stevens on Being a Robot.

Warning: this interview contains some minor spoilers.  (ending spoilers)

Science & Film: Did you do any technical research about what it would be like to be an A.I. robot?

Dan Stevens: What I liked about the film’s premise is that it doesn’t actually go too deeply into the technical ins and outs. We see the institute in which [my character has] been created, but in this modern building they have a traditional dance hall and bar—they’re trying to make everything as human as possible for their clients. The idea is that this technology slips quite easily into our world. I think you briefly see Tom uploading, downloading, and recharging in his room, but other than that, the technical details are not of great interest to the writers. They just want to get into the human reaction and interaction.

With A.I. and android characters, you have a blank slate, and it was quite fun to strip everything away and to play with Maren, who gives a wonderful and very human, naturalistic performance. To spar off that in an unusual way that was tricky for both of us, because the usual call and response you get with a scene partner, we had to deliberately erase. We looked at: what would be the human response here and what’s Tom’s response?

I like that near-future science fiction where it’s not 1,000 years in the future, it’s like two weeks in the future and one thing is different about our world.

S&F: Yes, it allows this film to get to the root of some of the more philosophical or moral questions about what counts as life. Can you say a little more about working with Maren and the dynamic between your characters?

DS: It is one of the charms of the film and of the screenplay, how wittily it dealt with big philosophical questions. It doesn’t get too bogged down in them, yet they are the bedrock of the film. That’s a peculiarly German thing to me; the ability to tackle those questions but in a very fluent way. Maren’s character Alma, her mind and preoccupation is thousands of years in the past [because she researches ancient forms of expression]. She’s researching cuneiform. She’s thinking about lyric and metaphor and poetry from then. Then there’s Tom, who has literally just arrived on planet Earth and is trying to figure out what the hell is going on. They couldn’t be further opposed. We talked a lot about screwball comedy and those odd-couple stories: Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant kind of stories. The process those films take is almost like machine learning: these two things don’t work, put them together and that’s not working, then you keep going until they’re together. Taking that pattern and playing with that a bit was what Maria [Schrader] was going for in this film.

S&F: It’s also distinct that in the case of your movie, there’s a caretaking element to the relationship because one character has responsibility for the other.

DS: Tom feels like he’s there for that. Eventually, Alma is there for that too. The sexual element is different than a traditional romantic comedy in that Tom’s desire is not really a factor. It’s much more focused on Alma and the female gaze. That for me was a refreshing perspective.

S&F: What drew you to the project?

DS: I got to read this very much in isolation. I normally have a couple of people who would have read it and have their opinions. This was a German script that very few people I knew had read. I got to sit with it and its themes on my own. It’s always nice when you see a film in its final state that it approximates what you imagined it to be, and I was so happy that the playfulness and wit, but also the themes and big questions, seem to have been preserved. The sweetness and the weirdness are very much my thing.

S&F: The film doesn’t try to wrap up those big questions too neatly either, which I appreciated.

DS: For Maren, her theory is that [Tom] is not actually there [at the end of the film]. It had never really occurred to me because I was there [laughs], and then I saw the film and I think that’s an amazing question to be left with at the end. Is the ending just a construct of her romantic fantasy?

S&F: Or does he have his own will?

DS: Has he found someone else?! [laughs]

[swgoji2001]

My Thoughts on Jedi Fallen Order

So after upgrading to a new, stronger laptop (pretty sure my stupidity in attempting to run this game on my old laptop hastened its tragic, untimely demise), I finally finished Jedi Fallen Order last night. I had mixed feelings going into this game, as I have some friends who said it was amazing while others said it was a mediocre story with decent gameplay.

Now after playing, was it the greatest Star Wars game I’ve ever experienced? No, but it was very good. Some minor gripes here and there, but overall I had a blast playing the game.

Warning: Some spoilers will be included, I’ll try to keep them as minor as possible though.

Story:

So I’m not gonna go overly deep into the story as I don’t want to spoil it for anyone who still hasn’t played the game, but to be honest I found the plot of Fallen Order to be a bit generic at first. It’s a classic light side vs dark side narrative with a redemption arc or two sprinkled in. In fact, I found the plot of Fallen Order to be quite similar in structure to the Disney Trilogy. Both have MacGuffin hunts (holocron and wayfinder), both include journeys to different planets following the trail of someone else (Eno Cordova and that one assassin dude mentioned in IX), both have mentors who have distanced themselves from the Force (Cere and Luke), and both have antagonists who were failed by their masters (Trilla and Kylo). 

Fallen Order splits off from this more generic route after returning to Dathomir and does it’s own thing, but I found myself asking why I enjoyed the first 75% or so of Fallen Order when I absolutely hated the DT. I found the answer to lie mainly in two things: the characters and the world they found themselves in.

Characters:

Cal Kestis: I absolutely loved Cal’s character arc. He has his own deep personal struggles with his past, feeling responsible for the death of his master. He faces those fears and comes to terms with his past, determined to make a better future. Cal not only comes out of his journey a Jedi Knight, but as a stronger person. Compare this to Rey, who had no meaningful flaws or personal struggles. Plus Cal’s the first ginger Jedi! Score one for diversity!

BD-1: My fourth favorite Star Wars droid, only behind HK-47, KOTOR 2′s T3-M4, and K-2SO. He’s cute, adorable, and loyal to a fault. What more could you ask for in a droid? (Other than a tibanna-powered blaster rifle and a bloodthirsty, anti-meatbag personality of course!) Plus there’s a revelation about his history towards the end that only makes him better and better.

Cere Junda: Star Wars has always had its mentor characters, but in all honesty I found Cere to be pretty generic. A Jedi Master who failed her Padawan and touched the dark side, only to be horrified by it and renounce the Force. Throughout learning her story, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had already seen something like this before. Her arc isn’t bad, it’s well done and feels natural to her character, it was just rather generic.

Greez Dritus: Gotta say Greez grew on me as the game went on. He has his flaw in his gambling problem which bites Cal in the ass a couple times, but towards the end I really felt the connection between him and the others grow. He’s also the source of a good deal of humor.

Nightsister Merrin: Sadly, Merrin being an eventual ally was spoiled for me, but I love the subversion because it was built up that she would be an eventual boss fight. Merrin might be my favorite character besides Cal, I wish there were more interactions with her in game! She’s hot, has a great accent, a wicked sense of humor, and is powerful with Nightsister magick. But beyond all that, she’s a parallel to Cal. Both are survivors, the last of their kind, and I’m hoping that if a sequel is made, it goes deeper into their relationship because Merrin and Cal have great chemistry. I also love how Merrin challenges Cal and Cere’s plan to train the next gen of Jedi using the holocron, putting that idea in a more realistic, less idealistic light.

Prauf: I really feel bad for him. I liked him and you could feel the camaraderie between him and Cal, how he wanted Cal to succeed and do great things. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.

Oggdo Bogdo: Fuck this frog! He killed me so many times!

Trilla Suduri (Second Sister): The Jedi Padawan that felt betrayed by her master and became an inquisitor. I always love it when antagonists have a personal connection to the protagonists in some way, shape, or form. Trilla shakes Cal’s faith in Cere, and plants seeds of doubt in him. She wants revenge and the Emperor’s favor, and therefore we know why she chases Cal across the galaxy. She has motivations for all her actions, which is something that Kylo lacked in the DT.

Taron Malicos: I knew something was off about this guy the second I met him. I quite enjoyed the clash of beliefs between him, Merrin, and Cal. Malicos proposes a way forward, a new Jedi Order, but one founded on darker teachings. He offers Cal that power, but Cal proves his stature as a Jedi in refusing it.

Ninth Sister (Masana Tide): Probably the weakest of the villain characters for me. Ninth barely has any presence in the game at all other than the start and to serve as a boss battle on Kashyyyk. I honestly just don’t think she fits into the story as is. Perhaps if they tweaked it so that Ninth and Cal knew each other back before Order 66 she would have fit better. Ninth just doesn’t have any personal connection to Cal and the Mantis crew (like Trilla does) and doesn’t really serve as a trial like Malicos does. Remove her from the story and not much changes.

(If you somehow haven’t had this next one spoiled yet, I’m impressed. Please skip to ‘World’ if so)

Darth Vader: I absolutely loved how he was portrayed. A terrifying, unstoppable force. You won’t last in a fight with him, your can only hope you can outrun him.

World:

Fallen Order’s worldbuilding was on point. Cal’s ability to sense Force Echoes lets you get a more detailed understanding of the environment around you. It’s a small-scale Star Wars story, but the planets all feel lived in if you take the time to explore them. It’s the small details like the probe droid witnessing your initial use of the Force on Bracca or the side-stories you can discover like the tragic tale of the family running from the Empire on Zeffo or Malicos’ corruption and manipulation of Merrin that really flesh out the world. Compare this to the galactic-scale story the DT told, which somehow made the galaxy feel extremely small and uninteresting.

My only complaint with the world-building is the Zeffo. They’re just... there. Very little is explained about them. Who were they? Why were they important? What happened to them? Why did they disappear? Perhaps this was to leave room for a sequel but to me the Zeffo just felt like discount Rakata. I wish the devs had gone with the Rakata instead, but maybe that’s just me.

Also the wildlife on every world is more than capable of killing you if you aren’t careful so you almost always have to be on your toes for them, which rolls us into the next part...

Gameplay:

The gameplay was great fun in Fallen Order. Leveling up and unlocking new abilities was exciting and once I got the hang of them all, it was so much fun just cutting through your enemies. I played on Jedi Master difficulty (died approximately 75 times, give or take a few I may have missed) and it felt really well balanced. It forced me to study my opponent’s moves and adapt to them instead of being a hack-and-slash type of game. Combos are fluid and fun to pull off, parrying opponents leaves an opening to attack, and you can experiment with different fighting styles.

Customizing your lightsaber and appearance was also great fun. So many different options and combinations for everything! Plus you got rewarded for exploration with these extra customization options, so it adds incentive to do that if you care about appearances and whatnot. You can become the General Grievous of ponchos!

Overall Rating: 8.5/10

Overall Fallen Order was a great game that could have been even better. Of course I have to admit I’m looking at this through the nostalgia of games like KOTOR 2, which flipped Star Wars completely on its head. I would have preferred if Cere’s story had been a bit more nuanced, the Ninth Sister had more reason for being in the story, or if the game had Cal seriously question the use and role of Jedi in the galaxy (he does a couple times to BD-1, but it’s never really built on).

And then there’s my overall gripe about this type of story set after Order 66. It sets up questions like... where was Cal during the OT? Was he dead? Somewhere in the Unknown Regions doing something else? I know the ending of the game sets up the opening for Cal’s story to continue, but still, these types of stories usually end in death for the Jedi protagonist, so I am a bit nervous for his future.

Despite that though, I am super happy I finally decided to play this and am eagerly awaiting a sequel to continue this story.

[farzeenx234]

Digital life stories final

I remember it was June 12, 2012. As I got off the stairs of my plane, I knew my life would never be the same. New challenges were waiting ahead of me and I had to confront them. The difficult thing about moving to a new culture is that a lot of people would feel fear because they are so used to their own culture. So, now they leave what they are used to for a new way and it will be hard for them to adapt. Some may like the new food and the pace of life, then later on in the month people may feel like the new life and culture is unpleasant life. For instance: public hygiene, the language barriers, traffic safety, and food accessibility. Feeling lonely, hopeless or overwhelmed at such an enormous life change. People leave their home countries for various reasons, to escape as a refugee, or immigrate for a change in life. As easy as it seems to be there are so many roadblocks along the way. I was born and raised in Pakistan, my home country. Growing up I was very outgoing, confident, and had a relaxed outlook on life. I was always satisfied and content with my life. That was before my mom married my step dad, and then we were on our way to New York. I could only describe my feelings in one word -- apprehensive. A long and tedious 17-hour flight was ahead of me. I sat restlessly in my seat with a blanket on. My naivety allowed me to think that that blanket was more of a shield rather than a cloth to protect me from the cold. It was a shield that blurred my future and comforted me temporarily. I had no idea what I was going to be. The fact that moving to new country hunts me till this day. Trying to figure out who I was going to be as a person . Deep within I knew that I was scared; But I remember my mom words that we are moving for a better life. I was leaving all my friends, my family, and in a way my life behind. I had to start my life over again. Not only did I have to live a new life I had to conquer it. The moment I stepped out of my plane and into a fresh territory I transformed, mentally and emotionally. I went from being a social extrovert person to a very quiet and shy girl. I had spent 12 years of my life building my character, my personality, all of me. I did not understand why I was expected to change myself. Looking back I could blame it on the confusion, the pressure I put on myself during such a tender age. I had to learn a new language, culture and blend myself with other people, which at that moment I thought was necessary to do so. My mom admitted me into a middle school. The first day of school was the most terrifying moment of my life. I walked in with an anxious expression and for some peculiar reason was ready to be humiliated as if being from somewhere else was so bad. As I went to my first class, I vividly remember feeling like I needed to do something to gain attention and have everyone like me. Under the pressure of blending in, I became the polar opposite of who I truly am. I knew I had to start a new chapter in my life. My first year of going to school in U.S the biggest struggle I had was getting bullied. Though bullying does not seem to connect to school in a related to school and learning sense, bullying in schools causes a lot of negative body-structure-related effects that change how a student will perform in school and the opinions they will form about schools and other American institutions. Many existing school policies, like the structure of English Language Learning classes as being subtractive relating to viewing foreign languages as an interference for related to people who enter a country and related to social pressure, how people act toward each other, etc. normal behaviors and prejudiced mental pictures make schools unsafe for immigrants and children of immigrants youth. This problem comes from gener all good people in the world), instead of being a direct result of education, which makes finding appropriate ways to reduce bullying in schools or handling migrants child bullying situation complex.

hough there is the existence of being one of the most important causing people or animals to interact with others so they're more friendly institutions for youth in America, schools seem to fail at helping appreciation and acceptance of differences present in students. Research shows “ within the last decade, minority groups have surpassed the American mainstream, which has classically been considered to be American-born, White middle class, in the K-12 age bracket of the population. Currently, minority students make up more than half of the school-aged population (Calderón, Slavin and Sánchez 2011) and approximately twenty percent of the youth population are immigrants or children of immigrants (Pumariega and Rothe 2010.) Out of immigrants and children of immigrants, a majority of these students are Hispanic, specifically of Mexican descent, and of Asian descent According to another research published online on March1, 2012 in the Journal of Adolescent Health: Children born outside America, or born into immigrant families, are more likely to become victims of bullying as compared with kids born in the US.Kids born outside the US were more likely to be the victims of bullying rather than being the perpetrators. In addition, Fairfax County Youth Survey School Year 2010-11 data showed that:49% of teens reported that they were called bad names on the basis of their race and culture.Meanwhile, 43% reported that at some point they had targeted a peer on the basis of race and ethnicity.”

Bullying made me something I was not I did not know any English at all and that made me feel excluded as if I did not belong here. One day, when I was in my english class, the teacher made groups of people and had us discuss about how the story we were reading . In my group, there were three Americans and me; for a few minutes I felt I had fit in the group. But when they would not even let me talk, I realized I did not feel included and little by little they completely forgot I was part of the group. There are many children that are born in different countries or move to a different countries and have two cultures, everyday they have to live their lives feeling like they do not belong to a community or even to the only country they know. I made a ton of new friends, but with the wrong intentions. I wanted to have as many friends as I could so I would be popular, a term that I now have found a new meaning for. Making those friends still haunts to how bad I turned out to be. As I got closer to graduation, I reflected on what I had become -- a bogus, arrogant, and ignorant person. I knew that these qualities were not the ones I wanted to embrace. I knew I had to do something so there could be a little authenticity left in me. I knew I had to start a new chapter in my life. Once my high school years began, I made more friends with the same wrong intentions. As I was making more friends, I stumbled upon a girl named Sara, I watched how she handled her life. I saw how she embraced her unique self. Watching her grow into the kind of person that I wanted to be deeply influenced me. That was who I wanted to become. Once again, I transformed myself. But this time it was in a positive way, I became friends with people who liked me for who I was. I was still popular, but this time, I was popular within the small group of friends I had. This time, I had people around me that actually cared about me. This time, I had people around me that wanted the best for me. My brother sometimes asks me if I regret my days in middle school and my response is always no. My experience allowed me to become who I am today. Now that I am reflecting on what I have become: understanding, caring and once again content with my life. Also working on my passion my childhood dream.When I was 15 years old, one year before I graduated from high school, my mom talked to me about what they thought would be best for me to study. she said that good careers were Doctor or Lawyer; I did not give an answer about what I wanted to study that day. However, while I was at school the next day, I thought that maybe that becoming a doctor or lawyer was something I have to study because I did not want her to get upset Studying these types of careers would most likely take me eight to ten years, and I did not want to attend college for that long. One day talked to my mom, and I told her that I would love to become a doctor or even a lawyer, but I want to fulfill my childhood dream. Ever since I was little, I wanted to be called Ma’am or Miss. Growing up in Pakistan made me see the lack of motivation and passion people had for education. Along with that, I also saw how undermined girls were in every aspect. They were forced to stay home and deal with chores. Fortunately, I was born in a family that was open-minded. Though a single mother, my mom always allowed me to fulfill my passion to its full potential. Due to my mother’s passion for education I built a vision for my future. I had always wanted to be a teacher. Differences between how girls were subjected to be a house-wife and boys were expected to be an engineer or a doctor provoked me and made me extremely passionate about teaching.n I wanted to teach people that, though physically different, there is not much difference between how capable boys and girls are.

I still have the vivid visual in my mind: a six year old with a chalk in her hand teaching an imaginary class of 20 students. I knew each and everyone of their names, I knew their strengths, their weaknesses and how to bring out the best. One of my imaginary students was always motivated by the idea of a lavish lifestyle. I told him that he could obtain this by studying hard. In my mind, still to this day, the idea that anything can be gained by studying hard is stuck.

My younger sister would always try and copy me. She would make up her own imaginary class and teach them. We would argue about who is the better teacher and who had more students. Though, at first, watching her teach her own class angered me because it was ‘my thing’. After some time went on, I was rathered motivated by her-she made me realize that if I could ignite a passion for education in her, I could do it for others as well.

The dust that fell from the chalk in the hands of a younger, and still in progress of being Ms. Fatima, though it's gone for now, comes out in the form of motivation when I am feeling down. The remembrance of how I was needed to change the lives of 20 imaginary kids never fails to motivate me to study harder so I could help more lives.Many times parents need to understand what their adolescents want to pursue as a career. It is about what their child wants to do for the rest of her life, not about what the parents want their children to do or study. My experience allowed me to become who I am today. Now that I am reflecting on what I have become: understanding, caring and once again content with my life. Also working on my passion my childhood dream.