#but the interesting part is the passive forces at work:

[heazueken]

Can I believe You? - Part 1

*ೃ༄ summary: Nanami leaves behind the Jujutsu world fresh out of high school and reader resents him fir abandoning not only you but Haibara too. warning(s): body horror, violence, graphic violence, major character death, angst...lots of angst, mdni pairing(s): nanami kento/reader wc; 4.1k a/n: got the courage to post this hear too but you can find this on my ao3 too! there is a lot of angst in this...just a warning

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“Did I ever tell you that you’re my type, Y/N?” Haibara says your name cheerfully when you set your lunch tray down on the table. A laugh escapes you, finding joy in how brash and unapologetically blunt Haibara was. It was one of the many things you had admired about him.

“And why is that, Haibara?” Geto, Gojo, and Shoko side eyed you two, their ears perking to listen in on the conversation. A blush washes over you, the attention being all on you now and you nervously poke and prod at the food in front of you. Nanami pays no mind, Shoko had decided that he better spend his time massaging her shoulder than listen to you and Haibara blabber on.

“Because, you eat well, you’re strong and you’re super pretty!” You laugh, so innocent, so plain. Haibara felt like such a normal person that he seemed to stick out like a sore thumb as a classmate learning jujutsu. You admired him for his stubbornness to prove people wrong and always study hard, put his own life before your own.

“Well then, if I’m your type, how come you haven’t asked me out on a date?” He smiles and lets you eat a little more before he answers, folding his arms over the cafeteria table.

“I don’t ask out girls who aren’t interested in me back.”

“How do you know I’m not interested in you?”

You watch his eyes flicker to the side at Nanami, then back at you. A silent discussion between the two of you occurs and your cheeks flush in realization. You curse at Haibara has he immediately falls into a fit of giggles, you throw your rice at him, Gojo hears the commotion and helps you empty your plate on him while Shoko laughs, Geto sits there quietly watching and Nanami is scolding the two of you to stop.

“Geto hasn’t been looking so good,” Haibara mentions to you and Nanami. He’s sitting on the stairs in the school hallway and lays his head in his head, sighing. 

“I tried to cheer him up, I’m not sure it worked, though.”

You put a comforting hand on Haibara’s arm, rubbing your thumb over his uniform.

“You tried. That’s the best anyone can do. I’m sure you helped a little.” Haibara gave you a weak, genuine smile and you knew you gave him a little comfort in that moment.

You heard about what happened from Nanami. The mission going terribly wrong, the Star Plasma Vessel - who you learned to be a girl Rika - dead. Assassinated by a man who had threatened their lives, left the both of them on the verge of death, thankfully Gojo was able to use his reverse cursed technique. Geto was left with the sight of watching Rika die right in front of him, pool of blood forming beneath the girl after Geto had offered to take her back home, offered to let her live the life she had deserved. Of course the trauma of that would send anyone into a spiral, you knew of that, and yet, it seemed like no one else could understand why he had been in such a funk. You remember Gojo taking you aside to talk about it, mentioning that he had asked him if anything was wrong, that he looked thin and wasn’t eating. 

“And he…it’s like he forced himself to look at me and I could see that fake smile when he told me he was fine. That it’s the fatigue the heat brings him,” He shrugs his shoulders passively.

“Why didn’t you push him to tell you more?” You demand, trying to meet eyes with Gojo but with the sunglasses it was impossible. You couldn’t see the look in them but you saw his eyebrows slowly come together, creasing the skin.

“Because, I want to believe that he’s actually okay. I want to believe that he’s telling me the truth.”

You and Gojo both know he wasn’t.

“Satoru, he told you what had happened. How could anyone walk away from that without having felt some guilt?”

Gojo didn’t look at you, ashamed, he knew you were telling the truth but he had refused to see it.

“Because we’re the strongest.” He said simply. You couldn’t argue with him.

You saw Geto when you were heading back to your room. He looked sluggish, his feet dragged behind him and his head hung low.

“Suguru,” you said quietly, softly stepping towards him. He raised his head then and you saw what Gojo had described. His lips curled into a smile that did not look like the one you knew so well. This was not the Geto you had befriended so early in the school year. This was someone playing a part, someone who was hiding something, hiding a deep pain that he was keeping from the rest of his classmates. His eyes looked glassy, like he wasn’t even looking at you truly.

“Y/N,” he responds gently. “What’s up?”

Words fell silent against your tongue and you couldn’t seem to form what you wanted to say.

“I….what happened?”

He shrugged. There was a long silence between the both of you.

“One moment I'm standing there with her and the next she’s a bloody heap at my feet.”

The smile still remained on his face and your blood ran cold. The mission had failed. You already knew that but it had explained why you had heard about the Start Religious Group celebrating the death of the vessel. You could not come up with anything to say, you stared at Geto and your hands raised to cover your mouth in shock.

“Suguru-“

“I’ll be fine, Y/N,” he began walking again, the sound of his feet dragging on the floorboards was the only thing that could be heard down the long hallway. You watched him until he disappeared into his dorm before you could finally find the words. Not that they would have given him any comfort anyway.

I’m sorry.

You hadn’t want to use your technique, not when you knew it would harm Haibara and Nanami. But when you saw the curse thrash Nanami into a building did you feel the smoke ooze out of your palms in a desperation that hindered you still. Your eyes widened and your fist clamped around the naginata staff, your eyes caught where Nanami’s body slumped, his weapon laid next to him as you saw blood trickle from his mouth. A rage increased inside you and you readied your weapon, feeling the poisonous vapor enshroud the weapon before you. You had to use it now.

Before you could leap and attack you saw Haibara. Only a flash of him when he ran to Nanami’s side. He lifted him, shaking him and though you couldn’t hear, you could see him frantically yelling for him to wake up. Haibara had one eye shut, blood pooled from his head and over it, his hands were covered in his own blood and you watched him smear it across Nanami’s face as he desperately shook him to consciousness.

The curse roared, its tentacles reached and flashed across the area towards you, but you were quicker. Your blade sliced the tentacle off and the smoke secreting from the weapon soaked itself into the skin of the curse and it quickly began to bubble. The skin grew blisters, they turned plump and pink and the curse took a moment to stare at its large stump before screeching in pain when the blisters burst, puss oozed and more vapor poured out of them. The monster began thrashing, the remaining tentacles swung and destroyed the buildings around it. It screamed obscenities and you rushed forward, slicing another limb off. Your feet were quick, running along another one, letting your blade glide across its green skin and let more spores awake in its path. You glance just for a second to see Nanami finally getting up, pushing Haibara away in an attempt to run and help you fight. You kept the curse further away because your technique was considered a curse, even if humans came into contact with it it would cover their bodies in horrible blisters and eat away at you from the inside. You had learned to channel it through your weapons to make the smoke more precise and less dangerous. But you had to release a puff of the poisonous smoke from your hand to keep the away from your friends.

Nanami screams your name, this monster wasn’t a grade 2 like they thought.

It grabbed you with one of its untouched tentacles, throwing you down to the ground. Your weapon falls from your grasp and before you can register what had happened you hear a sound of bones breaking, skin squelching and what sounded like someone releasing a pail of water across the floor. It was blood.

Haibara stands in front of you. You look up at him, his back to you and you see it. The curse had stabbed right through his body, the limb poking out of his back. Your mouth opens into a silent scream and you can only watch as he vomits blood and more blood and more until his body immediately goes limp.

You don’t remember much. The world seemed to be spinning. You were pulled aside by someone, people in suits and sorcerers more powerful than you finally arrived and you watched them massacre the curse. Your eyes trail to where Haibara had been left lying there, forgotten in the heat of the fight. A flame ignited in you and you fought against the strong arms of what you assumed was another sorcerer holding you back.

“Let me go, let me go!” You screamed. “Haibara! We have to-“

“We can’t! Not yet!” The sorcerer responded, grip becoming tighter on you.

“Get the fuck off me!” Your voice strained. “We have to save him! Let me fucking go!” You thrashed, kicking dirt up with your feet in an effort to get to Haibara. You felt defeated when you couldn’t even wiggle one arm from the person's grasp. 

You saw people with medical masks and long white coats run to his body, placing him on a stretcher and frantically talking to one another as they ran to the vehicle waiting for them. You see Shoko, scrambling outside the car, her face also covered with a mask. She turns to you, catching your gaze and you hold onto it, your eyes begging for some answer. 

Will he be okay?

She shook her head.

You don’t remember how or when you had calmed down but the next moment you were in a car with Nanami beside you. You look over to him and he was staring blankly, blood, Haibara’s blood now dried on his face. He wouldn’t look at you - couldn't look at you.

Everything felt numb.

“That was a first grade case.” The severity of the situation hit you like a damn train in that moment. Your vision became blurry and uneven, your hands grappled to the handlebars of where he lay and the tears dripped onto the shroud. There were dark tear stains riddled across the blue of the fabric and the moment Geto finally, finally pulled it over to cover Haibara’s pale, bloodied face did you crouch and sob with all your might. The tears streamed down your face, falling to your knees and letting your hair trap around your face like blinders, your ears thumped with blood rushing loudly. A sinking feeling fell inside your stomach as you struggled to breathe but more sobs broke out instead. Your stomach began to turn, the world becoming quiet and muffled around you and you didn’t notice Nanami crouching next to you, not until you felt his hand on your shoulder.

Don’t comfort me. What’s done is done. Your comfort can’t bring him back. Don’t comfort me. I don’t deserve it.

The tears dried your throat and you began to retch, they were empty gags but the tears refused to stop even when your body begged for them to. You couldn’t shy away from Nanami’s touch and the way his palm tried to soothe over your back. Your crying didn’t subside until you had passed out.

Haibara was dead and it was your fault.

“Y/N,” Nanami said softly. “It’s okay.” He’s crying too but you don’t see it, can’t hear him when you’re unconscious on the floor.

Everything is black. You’re in a void and all you can see is Haibara's broken, bloodied body on the ground. Several of them littered around your feet, you look around and it’s endless, the bodies, the blood soaking into his uniform and pooling around your feet. Your stomach churns at the sight before you, watching the blood go up and up, rising over the toes of your shoes. You try to scream, but no sound comes out. All you can smell is blood and all you can see his Haibara. Tears stream down your face.

I’m sorry! I’m sorry!

You feel a set of hands on your shoulders, gripping you. You blink your eyes open and the bodies are gone. Except one. Haibara’s standing in front of you, grasping you so tight you think he’ll shatter the bones in your shoulders.

“Y/N,” he doesn’t look right. His face is contorted, blood is pooling out of his mouth and onto the ground. His eye is an empty socket with a cascade of blood running down the expanse of his cheek.

“Why didn’t you save me?” He asks with an eerie frown. You gasp and find your voice.

“They wouldn’t let me get to you! I tried to-“

“You weren’t strong enough. I died because you failed.” He would never say these things. Never. And yet it felt like that truth. Still, you shook your head.

“I did my best! It was a grade 1 curse! I tried to save you! I tried to save Nanami! You-“

“You failed,” He said, every word he spoke blood only poured out, staining his teeth red. “You weren’t strong enough.”

Haibara was dead and it was because you weren’t strong enough to save him.

You awoke in your bed with a gasp, sitting up immediately. Tears stained your cheeks already when the memories came flooding back to you.

“Y/N!” It was Nanami. He had been sitting down beside your bed, you guessed he had fallen asleep judging by the small rim of red around his eyes. Or maybe he had been crying just as much as you have. He reached for you, his hand grabbing yours and the other one going around your shoulder to support you. The room began to spin and little black stars riddled around your field of vision as your head thumped like a drum. 

“Careful, you sprained a few ribs.” He gently said. You looked at Nanami, his face has a look of concern, your heart warmed at the realization that he had stuck by next to you for however long you were unconscious.

“H-how long was I out?” 

Nanami pulled away, letting you lean back against your beds headboard.

“Couple of hours at least. You were talking in your sleep.”

The dream came flooding back to you and you held Nanami’s gaze for a beat, wondering what to say. What had you said?

“I’m sorry…” You leaned back, the ache of your bruised body finally making itself known. “What…what do we do now?” Your hand rubs gently over the bruises riddled over your ribs.

Nanami sat with the question for a bit. Sitting back in the chair beside you and rubbing his fingertips across the wrapped cloth on his arm, blood starting to creep its way to the surface. He’ll have to change his bandages soon.

“We recover and go back to work.”

Your stomach sank, something felt different. The vessel incident, now Haibara…everything seemed to be too much. Like their entire world was crashing down with them.

You’re weak. That’s why. More people are going to die because of your lack of skill. Blood is on your hands because you weren’t strong enough to protect Haibara. 

“Hey,” Nanami said, putting his good hand on your shoulder. You blinked at him, taken out of your egregious stupor. Your eyes met with his brown ones and your heart beat a little faster.

“It’ll be…alright. I think. As long as we have each other, right?”

You always had Nanami and Haibara at your side. Now with him gone your only option was to support Nanami and he support you. You two needed each other now. It was the right thing to do. You nod.

You would become stronger for Haibara.

It got easier, as time went on. Nanami had stayed by your side and you stayed by his as the two of you recovered. 2 months flew by and you two were sitting in your dorm together, still bandaged up but you both were able to eat more. You looked down at your rice, sifting your chopsticks through it.

“I miss him.” You say. Nanami doesn’t need to ask who you’re speaking about and he pushes his hair to the side to get a good look at you.

“Me too.” He reaches over, he smiles, it’s sad and it carries a silent apology with it. He squeezes your wrist in comfort.

“He wouldn’t want us to be sad. He’d want you well fed and healed. Now eat.” You brought the rice to your mouth, eyes still skimming across Nanami’s face as he elegantly finished his food. You noticed he’d grown more, was starting to look more like a man. In just 2 months his jaw had seemed more sharp, his shoulders bigger, hands larger and warm when they touched your healing skin. His hair had also grown…longer.

“When are you going to cut that hair off, hm?”

He turned to you. “What? Is it an eyesore?”

You wrinkle your nose, “Yes, and it’s lame. You look like - what do they call it? A scene kid.” He rolls his eyes as you giggle. 

“Finish your damn food already.”

You always had a crush on him. Even now, when he smiled at you - which you rarely saw him do - did the butterflies release inside you, a laugh released from you and there was a sharp pain in your side - sending you into a coughing fit, you groaned because damn, those bruised ribs fucking hurt. Nanami patted your back, trying to comfort you but it only caused more pain to ache throughout your body. You shove him away, a fit of giggles and coughing and groaning filling the room and you think for a moment how much you had admired Nanami for sticking by you throughout all of this. He had suffered a great loss, too.

Nanami Kento was the strongest man you had known.

Nanami Kento was a coward. 

You hadn’t suspected a thing. Although, he had been starting to keep to himself a lot more as the years passed. It wasn’t particularly out of character for him so of course you were ignorant to the plans he had been setting up ever since Haibara died. Freshly graduated, pride still riddled across your face as you strutted through the halls, chest pumped up and high on the fact that you were Number 1 on the honor roll list. You wanted to share the happiness with your best friend, perhaps get some drinks with him. The thought of it makes your face go hot. You open the shoji door to one of the classrooms that Nanami frequented with you, a smile big and bright on your face.

“Nanami, I-“

Nanami was not there. In his place was Gojo Satoru, leaning against one of the student desks. He adorned his iconic sunglasses, laying further down on the bridge of his nose so you could see a glimpse of his pure sapphire blue eyes. Your smile quickly fades and your shoulders lower. A stone sinks inside your stomach.

“Gojo, what-“

“He left.”

You immediately ask, “Who?” The air became suffocating when Gojo pushed himself off the desk and walked closer to you. His footsteps echo across the room and he looks at you with an empathetic look and you know his answer. It feels as though a curse has wrapped its spindly fingers around your throat when Gojo finally answers.

“Nanami. He left this morning. Told Yaga that he was leaving jujutsu high.”

No. No, that’s not right. That can’t be right. The feeling on your throat felt tighter, pins and needles pinched the inside of your esophagus and your eyes began to burn, tears threatening to resurface. What used to be such a drafty, cold room began hot, too hot. There was no storm and yet you heard thunder and lightning, it felt like the walls around you were crumbling down. A tear threatened at your waterline and you blinked, letting it fall down your cheek. Your stomach squeezed and it made you stumble slightly.

“Y/N-,” Gojo grabbed your shoulders, supporting you against his side.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” You couldn’t focus on the sound of his voice, only mumbling to him so he’d know you at least still acknowledged he was there. He had an arm around your shoulder and grabbed onto your wrist with his other hand, holding you steady to guide you to one of the desks. You slumped onto the seat, your mind running through all the things Nanami had said to you. Promising that he’d stay by your side. That you would stay by his. Your throat began to burn again. Your hand tightened into a fist.

No, you could not. Not in front of Gojo. Not even in front of yourself could you cry anymore. It didn’t do anything - only caused a headache, made you feel sick to your stomach, had you on the floor heaving and gasping, hoping for it to end. It only showed the weakness you had shown when you had seen Haibara dead beneath the shroud. Gaining control of your emotions, releasing them through weapons, training your body until you were throwing up and your muscles ached was the only way you knew how to express the feelings that you held close to yourself. You had to get ahold of yourself. You slammed your fist on the desk in front of you and Gojo cocked his head in curiosity. 

“Where did he go?” You finally ask, hiding your face in the palm of your hand. Gojo was silent for a moment, you glanced at him. He had pushed his glasses all the way up the bridge of his nose so you could not meet his eyes. You could tell by the way he shuffled on his feet and his hands slid into his pockets that he was almost anxious to answer you.

“He, uh, went into business, I guess? Salaryman.”

A salaryman. Pathetic. Rather than protect people from curses and carry on Haibara’s legacy he decided to leave that behind to pursue a life of money and long hours in a stuffy cubicle. Standing around with other men in suits who only spoke of politics and how much wealth they had. He’d rather dedicate his life to a big company. Just like that, he ran off like a fucking coward. The sadness that had settled inside you boiled into a fiery anger, your hands clenching and immediately getting up. The chairs legs scrapped across the floor in a loud and screeching sound and you pushed it back into place with a force that was so great you were almost worried you’d break the wood beneath your grip.

“Y/N, I’m sorry about him. I tried to tell him that you would appreciate to be told but he didn’t want to.”

“Didn’t want to?” Your anger burned your skin, “He didn’t want to tell me that he was abandoning the school, abandoning the people out in the world that need saving.” You took a deep breath, “Abandoning me?” Abandoning Haibara.

He was running away like a coward. Hatred seeped into your anger and spread like the disease ridden smoke that oozed from your weapons. Gojo didn’t say a word because there was nothing else to say, so of course he stood there with his mouth a straight line, shoulders still and hands at his side now.

“Goodbye, Satoru. Thank you for telling me.” You couldn’t direct your anger at Gojo, he didn’t deserve it. You needed the training room, you needed to feel the weight of your weapon under your grasp and the blisters that awakened from the strain of the wood staff, to feel sweat trickle down your forehead and the satisfying ache of your muscles.

Nanami had been the strongest, sweetest man you had known and he had turned into a coward. Perhaps you and Haibara never mattered to him. You hoped to never see him again for the heartbreak would be too great.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

At rest, your lungs wish to deflate, and your ribcage expands outwards.

[yawnderu]

K-9 — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part II

Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.

1 2 3 4 5

Simon scores a date with his favorite medic

Or

Simon has to be under her watch after getting a knife to the gut.

"Oi, doc." Simon calls out and you sigh softly, gaze drifting from your patient report to him, his unmasked figure lays on the medical bed, gauze wrapped tightly over his abdomen, keeping his newest injury guarded from anything that could rub on or mess up the stitches.

"Why'd they call you K-9?" One of his thin, eyeblack stained eyebrows lifts as he looks at you, already feeling bored from having to stay still for so long, movement limited by the patched up stab wound on his stomach.

"Long story." You dismiss him, looking back down at the patient report you were writing for him. His medical file was interesting, indicating no pictures of him should ever be taken, as well as additional personal and professional information.

"You got surgery in 2020, what's that about?" You didn't notice any bigger scars whenever he was injured, having already seen his naked torso and part of his legs.

"Curious 'bout me, doc?" His tone is slightly teasing, the smug bastard thinking he's funny by asking that. A single eye roll is enough to get him to speak, a deep, gravelly chuckle escaping his lips before he answers.

"Took a nasty gunshot to the leg, was fadin' fast." He lays back down, gaze drifting towards the ceiling as he thinks about it. He was so close to death himself, only three years ago.

"Thought it'd be more interesting." Your bluntness never fails to make him double take. It's not passive aggressive or mean, just... way too honest. More than he's used to.

"I'll get a proper grand injury just for you, lass." You roll your eyes again, taking a sip from your coffee to hide the way the corners of your lips are tugging up. It's amusing, really, to find out how much Simon has changed throughout the years. Price told you he used to be much more quiet, though after 4 years of working with the task force, he was able to open up, getting more and more used to interacting with a team rather than being a lone wolf.

"That's not necessary, I can give it to you myself if you'd like." Your gloved hand presses on the scalpel on your white coat before going back to writing his medical report, tone laced with subtle humor.

"She can joke." He taunts, trying to sit up before a sharp hiss of pain escapes his lips. You frown, the report taking way too long to finish because you keep getting interrupted.

"Hold on." You walk up to him, hands holding onto his strong back before you try to help the behemoth of a man sit up. His calloused hands hold onto your forearms, a few low, deep groans escaping his lips at the strain his flexing muscles are causing to the fresh injury.

"Fuckin' hell." He mutters and you look up, eyes focusing on his pained expression for a second too long. Simon isn't ugly, really, but when his face is all scrunched up in pain, sweat gathering in the form of clear specks all over his eyeblack stained skin? He looks almost majestic. You get your head out of the gutter, placing some soft pillows behind his back to help keep him up without much strain.

"You should be healed up soon enough, got lucky the bastard didn't stab that deep." You shrug, looking back at the tiny coffee maker in your office before you look back up at him, his brown eyes already staring back at you, pupils blown, as usual.

"Want some coffee?" He shakes his head politely, eyes closing in pain as he tries to get into a more comfortable position.

"A cuppa would be nice." You flick his forehead softly, tired eyes drifting towards the clock on the wall. 0100, yet you simply nod and grab your phone from the desk.

"Try not to die while I'm gone." The door closes behind you before he can reply, brown eyes closing as he sighs when you're gone. He doesn't even know how it all started. Simon is a man of discipline, a soldier, a Ghost, yet the way his heart quickens and his cock hardens whenever he's with you is something he can't control, as if a parasite made home in his brain and is using his body as a vessel, ridding him completely of any self-control.

You come back 10 minutes later, a tray with a cup of hot tea and food placed on his lap, the almost comforting warmth quickly spreading through his legs and body.

"Thank you." He moves the spoon around the cup of Earl Grey, letting the sugar mix in for a hot minute before he takes a sip from it, nodding his head once in approval. He was starving, really, but he tried his best to eat slowly, ignoring his hungry stomach begging him to wolf it all down. His eyes drift back to the tray, attention caught by the singular orange left there.

His hands fumble for one of the knives in his clothes, finding all of the straps were removed by you and placed too far away for his injured body to reach. He looks back up at you, admiring you in silence and truly taking you in. The way you lift your glasses every once in a while even before they can slip down the bridge of your nose, the way your hand fiddles with the pen and your lips turn into a small pout whenever you're not sure how to describe something in the report, the way you look so angelic under the dim lights of the infirmary—

"What are you lookin' at?" You don't even bother looking back at him, feeling his stare on you for the past two minutes. He has such an intense gaze that makes you feel as if he can see through your soul, yet it never intimidated you.

"Nothin', bird, nothin'. Peeled you an orange."

[PREVIOUS] [NEXT]

[poisonheiress]

Someone needs to say it: The "Heaven is actually bad" plot line that Hazbin is based around is useless when you spend more then 2 minutes thinking about Vivzie's Hell and her characters.

Besides it being much too early for this idea, the revelation that Heaven or at least the beings running it aren't good people has little to no impact when the people who are being harmed by this are all horrible people. Stay with me here. None of these people are people who were unfairly brought into hell and we are never ever introduced to someone who was either. Why should we care that Heaven is "evil" and blocking redemption when all the sinners in hell we see are the worst of the worst who would have never gotten in even if it was fair.

For the "Heaven is bad" plot line to actually work, you need people who were just one sin away from Heaven, who would've gotten into Heaven if circumstance hadn't forced them down a path that stole it from them. You need characters who aren't comedic villains but land in the middle of morally grey. Those who deserved to be in Heaven but because Heaven refused to consider their circumstances, they were tossed to burn with people much worse than them. Those are the people who should be your main cast cause those are the people who would actually be impacted by Heaven being bad/ Heaven lying.

Angel dust, for all his trauma, was still part of the mafia and likely had killed people before (showing to almost take joy in it). Husk became an overlord and gambled souls, so he had to have had blood on his hands before hell. Alastor is a serial killer, and the list goes on and on. Sure, these characters are (somewhat) interesting, but they don't make for good characters to have when the key plot line is that Heaven is a scam. Even if that fact is true, none of them were ever going to get there in the first place and this is something we also se in every single background sinner shown in Hell too. They were never close to getting there, so why would they or we care that Heaven is bad when all sinners are shown to be horrific people who are at best in the dark grey area of morality.

If you look at it from the "angel's are unfairly killing sinners" route, it still doesn't work. If the angels are killing them, what makes it different then the sinner on sinner violence that hell is full off? Why is them dying by angels this bad thing when they are just as likely if not 10x times more likely to get knifed in the back by other sinners in hell the other 364 days, especially when everyone here apparently is just as horrible as the next person. You cannot condemn the angels for killing demons and then make a joke of out sinners killing each other and never show sinners who doesn't want to kill people. Life either matters or it doesn't and when the main cast doesn't even show a care for life (outside of Charlie's who's entire flaw is her naivety), why should the audience.

On top of that, Vivzie's whole overpopulation aspect and the Heaven plot line would connect better if she actually had people like those I mentioned above, people who stole to survive but got tossed out cause stealing is technically wrong, people who killed another to protect someone else but were still sent to hell because even though they saved that person's life that person wasn't supposed to be saved, people who passively engaged in sins but never really did anything harmful under them. This would add into how Hell is so overpopulated and highlight why its so important that Heaven is evil/ why Charlie's plan isn't just a naive pathetic fever dream.

In the end, Vivzie should have never made Heaven the central plot of this show nor tried to assign this blatant good vs evil to that conflict. Neither her characters nor her writing choices are able to respond to this conflict in a way that will end or even tell the story in a satisfactory manner.

[french-unknown]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: shanks, vivi, ace, law, sabo 𝐂/𝐖: fluff 𝐖/𝐂: 1.2k +

| m a s t e r l i s t | - | p t . 1 |

✧ You were part of the Red Haired Pirates crew for a long time.

✧ You've been sleeping with the captain for almost as long.

It had started during a night of drinking on a remote island where, after a few drinks, you realized that Shanks was a lot more flirtatious than usual. One word after another, you ended up sleeping together that same evening before waking up the next morning in the same bed. You both decided to continue this relationship.

Everyone knew what you were doing.

✧ You gradually became attached to him but, knowing that it wouldn't go further than sex, you said nothing while continuing what you were doing.

✧ So you found yourself having to watch passively when he was being flirted with or when we disappeared with someone during drinking evenings. On his side, he happily raised his glass to you when you got hit on and made jokes when he caught you in bed with someone else.

✧ Things changed when, totally drunk, he admitted to you that he was sad you weren't dating because he would have loved to kiss you in front of the others. Then he changed the subject as if nothing had happened.

✧ It was only the next morning, while you questioned him despite his hangover, that you discovered that he had also liked you for quite a few years. It was just he also thought you only wanted easy sex from him.

✧ You have known each other since childhood and immediately became friends. You started dating secretly during your teenage years. Her parents thought you were just close friends.

✧ So you thought she loved you too but, one day, she completely disappeared from your life without warning.

One evening she was there, and the next day she had already disappeared without a trace. You didn't know it but she was off to infiltrate Barroque Work to save her country. She didn't put you in the scheme so you wouldn't be in danger. You found yourself from one day to the next without news of your lover, totally abandoned. The shock was hard to take.

✧ The reception was therefore more than cold when she returned to the palace.

✧ She naively thought at that time that you were still together and that your relationship would resume where she left off before she left.

✧ However, you refused to meet her because you were convinced that she didn't want anything serious from you. You were just a little youthful love interest—nothing at all—just good enough to be thrown away when she matured.

✧ In order to prove to you that she really liked you, she had you summoned by force to the throne room with her parents. As soon as you arrived, she declared herself to you in front of her parents before kissing you directly on the lips and introducing you to her parents as her lover for several years.

✧ You had some doubts but you weren't really sure.

✧ It mainly came from the fact that he was always by your side and very affectionate towards you. At first, you thought he was like that with everyone. He would run towards them as soon as they entered the room to jump on them. He was always talking to them animatedly or listening to them with stars in his eyes. Or he was very tactile with them since he always had contact with you, whether it was an arm around your shoulders or a hand against your back.

However, you realized this was not the case after discreetly observing him interacting with the others.

✧ You had some doubts about whether he liked you more than the others, but not as a lover. You secretly prayed at that moment that you wouldn't be in the best friend zone.

✧ You got tired of it one evening.

You were on Moby Dick and he had joined you in your room to chat. You don't know how but you found yourself lying on your bed, side by side, discussing some of your problems. During a more emotional moment where your voice had faltered slightly, you felt his hand slip into your hair to massage your head. You then pulled away angrily to ask him—quite aggressively, unfortunately—why he was so clingy to you.

"You don't like me anymore?" He then asked with his head down, hurt.

✧ You discovered that evening that he had confessed his feelings several months ago when you were both drunk and he had been thinking since then that you were dating. It was just that he remembered it and you didn't.

✧ He wasn't particularly nicer to you than he was to the other members of his crew. He also didn't come to talk to you or seek your company. You honestly thought that, to him, you were just another member of the Heart Pirates.

✧ Your vision changed a little when you fell ill and it was he who came to take care of you. "Shut up. It's the captain's role to take care of his crewmates." he had declared.

✧ However, when you refused to eat the soup he brought you because you didn't like it, he initially resisted before going back to get you another meal. A minute before, he maintained that you wouldn't have anything else to eat and he suddenly changed his mind after taking a look at you.

As he left, you heard him grumbling that you shouldn't be so cute. It took you a few minutes to process what he had said but it eventually got to your brain.

✧ From there, you actually realized that he gave in to your demands quite easily. Unlike everyone else on the crew, including Bepo. So you used it to your advantage.

✧ It continued like that without him making the slightest move so you took the courage to declare yourself.

He simply replied, "I think I see what you're talking about. I accept your confession." before dismissing you from his office with a wave of his hand. You just had time to see his red cheeks before he hid behind one of his books.

✧ You were quite close but not as close as he was to Koala or other members of the Army.

✧ Your group were ambushed by the people you had been following for several weeks under Sabo's orders. At the end of the confrontation, you emerged winners but not without losses.

Some were dead and you were injured with several broken bones and a bruised face.

✧ You were therefore urgently repatriated and you spent the next few days lying in the infirmary until your condition stabilized. You were then transferred to a room alone to rest and recover from your injuries. Your face nevertheless remained unsightly swollen with bruises that badly colored your face.

✧ One day, you heard the sound of boots echoing in the corridor. You didn't want anyone to see your face, which you were ashamed of, so you curled up on your side before pulling up your blanket to hide your face.

You pretended to be asleep.

The door opened. The person slowly walked to the edge of your bed and sat down.

"You sleep?" Sabo's voice whispered.

Faced with your lack of response, he stood up and you felt a kiss being placed in your hair.

"Rest easy and don't ever scare me like that again. It would hurt me to lose you before I could tell you I liked you."

And he left as silently as he had arrived.

𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐔𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @iheartamora @bontensh0e @opchara @idsmash717 @lys-ada @viscade @parkyrr @dozcan123 @livwritesfics @anotherproblemsos @phsycochan @sketchmilk @clovernumber3 @radiorowrites

[mokkkki]

the way you write is so beautiful... tips for somebody new to writing who wants to write like you?

YOU are so beautiful, thank you so much! im not sure about any tips i have, but ill give it a shot. these are what i personally believe to have been the most important things:

find your wavelength my writing became a lot more stylized and personalized after i found an author that i resonated with, as well as a couple of themes. it just helps to know what you are actually interested in writing in, versus what you think other people would like to read. im personally interested in writing about relationships and dynamics, so my writing will always be more character than action driven. also, it helps, because youre always going to end up writing what you want to write, even in the smallest of ways, so why not embrace it fully? write what you want to read. otherwise, you wont have fun. and writing is SO MUCH FUN. knowing what youre into and what youre trying to channel gives you a really strong basis for all of your writing - not only will it take time for you to find your wavelength, meaning that youll have to expose yourself to many different genres and authors, which is a must, youll always be able to look back at that ONE creative piece and grab some motivation from it.

expose and explore creativity is everywhere - tv shows, movies, books, fanfics, comics, art, architecture, history (!!!), mythology, sports, reality - literally everywhere you can think of. dont wait for inspiration because its everywhere if you look hard enough. familiarize yourself with the seven basic plots, the thirty-six dramatic situations, basic foreshadowing elements, and other essentials. this isnt something to study or memorize, just to KNOW - its good to be aware of the foundations of literature.

embrace the brainrot and maintain a balance become obsessed w your own ocs, your own plots, your own everything. be your own biggest fan. to enter an abusive relationship with your own work is extremely upsetting, because youre doing wrong by the wonderful world youve made, and doing wrong by that part of you that just wants to be creative, too - and if that happens, its probably because you arent writing what you want to write, or controlling what doesnt want to be controlled. let your characters be individuals, let them go where they want to go, just follow and note what theyre doing. sometimes writing is a passive activity rather than active creation, and thats okay! thats when you know youve built a solid world that can run by itself and you just contribute to. that being said, while theres nothing quite like the hours spent ravenously typing, you need to find a balance. you are as important as your work, because without you, the work wouldnt exist. i also reccomend forcing yourself NOT to write on specific days. some ideas need to marinate, and some people need to rest.

i hope this was helpful <;3 if you ever need more help (and this also applies to those reading), feel free to reach out! im open to being a beta reader or just a brainstorming partner. lots of love!

[whenyouwishuponastar7]

Hi everyone!

I have to address something that has gone on and is currently occurring. This is the last thing I want to do because I have spent eight years in different fandoms and avoided as much drama as possible. I want no part in it. I want to enjoy my time here.

Unfortunately, this is no longer drama. This is about an individual harming people, their mental health, their safe spaces, their enjoyment of fandom, their favorite ship, and their writing. This is about an individual who chooses bigotry over friendship and will align themselves with bad people for popularity.

And they don’t care who they harm by doing it.

This person made my life a living hell for over five months. It started in August, but things took a turn in October. I was finally free of them in late February because that is when a fandom event ended that tied me to them.

During this event, this person stressed me out to the point of tears. They made passive-aggressive remarks about various things, which made me feel insecure about my fic and writing. They unexpectedly changed their medium and didn’t talk to me about it before they did; I admit I was taken aback, hurt, and short with them. I apologized and took accountability the following day.

From then on, I tried to be as supportive, kind and understanding as possible.

I was “pushy” in December and January because this person had not produced a single finished piece of their art, which would total ten pieces. I knew it was too late in January to get a pinch hitter, and I don’t care that I asked a few times how it was going when I had nothing. I handed them a completed fic on August 28th. They had nothing until mid-January (and almost didn’t make it to this deadline) but didn’t start the bulk of their work until late January 22nd and finished (except polishing and watermarking) on the 26th.

Final submissions were on January 31st.

It took them four days to do what they hadn’t done in five months. I asked if they needed an extension, and we got one because they were not done by the final submission day. I had watched another writer’s artist drop out at the last minute, and mods said they couldn’t find anyone to pinch-hit for them.

This experience was a bad one. I can’t express how shitty it felt. I didn’t write for three months during it, and the fics I’ve written since then aren’t very good. I also have watched my readership disappear—getting the hits and kudos I did before October stopped.

I had a feeling this individual might have been involved if they were talking about me, but I thought I was being paranoid. I still may be, but since this has all happened, I have started to regain readers. I find that interesting.

Anyway! This whole thing ended, and it was bitter for me. I don’t have any more enjoyment in this fandom. I love my ship, but I currently have no desire to write them. I’ve been depressed and I’m scarred from fandom events. This person took away my joy when I only wanted to participate in a fandom event with my friends and have fun.

Because fandom is supposed to be fun, it’s not supposed to do this to people. It’s insane that it does this to people, and I never wanted to be involved in this bullshit.

This person has gone on to enjoy other fandom events, write and produce art, and seems to be doing fine.

Through small but interesting events, I started to learn about this individual’s ‘perspective’ on the entire thing with me. And, hoo boy, it was a fucking ride.

I am still shocked, amazed, flabbergasted and kinda pissed off about how this person lied about me. Everything they said was a complete lie. They shared my DMs via screenshots out of context, warped what we were talking about to play the victim and get sympathy, and flat-out lied numerous times. I have been accused of forcing them to do things during the event when I have screenshot proof that never happened.

For everything this individual accused me of, I provided screenshots to tell the fucking truth.

Two people have told me the same phrasing: they made me out to be a monster.

A monster.

If anyone knows me, my character, they know I’m not a goddamn monster. I try to keep my head down, stay in my lane, play in my sandbox corner, enjoy my ships, and have fun with my friends.

To be called a monster or to have someone say, ‘you’re nothing like they made you out to be,’ is the most surreal moment of my adult life.

This is fiction, fandom; it’s not real, and not everyone makes a living off it. It’s a hobby, and it’s supposed to be enjoyable. Once we step away from our computers and phones, no one knows us as so and so, writer or artist of Ship. Meanwhile, this person is making me out to be the worst human being alive, and it is absolute insanity to learn how deep it goes.

The twists and turns, the lies, the complete lack of reality, the delusion. It’s creepy and disturbing. And, through finding all of this out, I pieced together a pattern of behavior that this individual has:

When you do something they don’t like, they distance themselves, become cold and passive-aggressive, and hold themselves above you. You are no longer of use to them. They dangle their friendship and attention on a lure, hoping you’ll bite, only to throw you back under.

Please understand that this is a dangerous thing—this is not fandom drama—this is a dangerous individual, and the person with whom they choose to spend their time speaks volumes.

I will not share names or screenshots. Screenshots have been shared with the right people, and I will not make it a public spectacle. I also choose to protect the privacy of my friends and others involved in this, of which there are many.

I have been accused of forcing this individual to do things, hating them and their work, being extremely pushy and stressing them out, and that my server was unwelcoming and the people in it were unkind, and various other things. Small things that didn’t mean anything to me were taken extremely personally and made into more lies to make this person a victim.

Such as my preferred formatting for posting my fic links on tumblr. They did not respect it, even though I attempted to respect their formatting for posting their art numerous times earlier, but I was told not to stress about it and, you guessed it—accused of forcing them to change things behind my back. Again, screenshots have been given to the right people.

This individual can delete everything, but we have our proof, as we have been gathering it. We will not publicly share anything, but if this individual decides to, we have the evidence to back it all up.

There were so many creepy and fucked up things that happened. I can’t list them without getting too personal, but please understand this person does not belong in our fandom.

They chase popular people, especially artists, to ‘collect’ them and lie to and manipulate their friends for sympathy. Their friends need to step away and see the light because they are being used—it’s not a real friendship. It is transactional.

And you should be offended. They will cast you aside when you’re useless to them, too.

If I seem mad, it’s because I am. I have been dealing with this since August, when I realized that many of their comments were strange. I didn’t know those were red flags at the time. This individual pretends to be friendly and claims to be ‘the nice one’ when things go wrong so they can keep their reputation. Interactions with them might seem harmless, but looking at them with a different scope makes them something far different.

Don’t ignore red flags or gut instincts.

This is my story, and it is not told exactly how I wish I could tell it. But I know this individual has hurt numerous other people. I was going to make this post without the ability to reblog, but I am leaving it open for now.

If you want to add your story, as I suspect many of you know who I am speaking of, please do. I ask that you avoid telling anyone else’s stories for them unless you have permission. Protect each other.

This stupid shit unites us. I’m not afraid anymore because I’m sick of watching my friends get hurt again and again.

This individual has befriended a known bully and transphobic person. I won’t speak any further on this because it is not my story, but please bear in mind that they chose a TERF over trans friends. And we know what they say about association.

Blindsided victims of this individual are not at fault for this person’s actions.

See something, say something. Terfs and bullies can GET FUCKED.

Share your story.

[cynostellation]

ghostsoap coffee shop au where Soap has been down bad for the past 2 years since he started working at the coffee shop and first saw the hot tattoo artist working across the street, but he had never made any moves because 1. he doesn't even know if Ghost is interested in men (or anyone, really) and 2. the guy seems too reserved to enjoy someone throwing themself at him, so instead, he just settled for small talk every time, trying to make Simon warm up to him slowly. They became friends, of course, no one could resist Johnny and his charm, even if the Brit always denied it and stayed rough around the edges. And then a new barista comes into the picture, a gorgeous one. They were all over Ghost the second they saw him.

To say that his blood was boiling every time he saw that would be an understatement, a big one. There was nothing in those moments he hated more and if looks could kill, the new barista would be long dead. Too bad it didn't work. Too bad Soap, instead of just telling Ghost he liked him, watched the way the new one was flirting with Simon so openly and the tattoo artist was playing into it.

Johnny had became so fucking grumpy after a week of that, everyone noticed, especially Ghost, because he was on the recieving end of it. And if there was one thing Johnny could do, it was being passive aggressive while mad.

Don't be fooled though, he wasn't unprofessional, but he definitely cut the small talk, turned down Ghost every time he tried to chat, gods, he even made up tasks to do just do he didn't have to be around Ghost and the new guy if they had a shift together and the artist came around. Everyone noticed.

Gaz tried asking, of course, the good friend he is. He knew Johnny fancied Simon, so the sudden change of hearts was unexpected until he saw the new barista with Ghost. It all made sense suddenly.

That's how Kyle came up with a way to force Johnny to finally talk to Simon.

To be fair, it wasn't hard, convincing his friend. The hardest part was making him admit that he was jealous, then it all went smoothly. Soap was of course, still grumpy and still angry with Ghost for not putting two and two together, but Kyle, gods bless this man's soul for putting up with it all, could be really persuasive.

And that's how, through a needlessly complicated and twisted plan that could have been executed in many more simple ways, Simon finally took a hint as to why his favourite barista was mad at him, and – of course – he did his best to make up for it. Not openly, he wasn't some soppy teenage boy that would turn into a puddle when someone he fancied was angry. It was just simply not him to act that way. So, instead, he left little gifts for Soap, nothing overly elaborate, he'd, for example, buy something to eat with his coffee, things he knew Jonny enjoyed and leave them for the Scot, instead of taking them, always brushing it off as "not having enough time to eat" when he finished his drinks.

It took a good month for John MacTavish to get over it, over thirty days of Simon doing little things for him so the barista would go back to his previous self. Him and Ghost may and may not have gone out after that, too, but that's a story for another day.

I wrote this at work mostly lmao (I don't even work at a coffee shop) (don't eat me it's the first writing I've posted properly in years) (you won't see me here for months after this 🫶)

it's embarrassing to post anything on Tumblr so if this flops I'm deleting my account and burying myself 3 feet under

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part thirteen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve

-

Sephiroth has a really good body! So fast and strong! The force he can put into the simplest attacks is amazing!

It really is like he's suddenly possessing Liu Qingge - with decades of training and bodybuilding and power at his fingertips. He's almost jealous, and a little bit offended! If this is anything like what Liu-shidi is working with, ah - where was he coming from, asking his scholar shixiong for spars, huh?! As if Shen Qingqiu could match this!

Shen Qingqiu was a spiritual cultivator - his sword seals were stronger than his actual combat abilities, so that's what he mostly stuck to, letting his very capable sword do the talking. Especially with Without a Cure sapping his strength. Liu Qingge had tried to teach him, and he'd really tried to learn too, he'd thought he'd need all the advantages he could get when Luo Binghe came back, but, ah, he just didn't have it in him to train like that. It was so much work!

It's so effortless now, pulling off moves he'd learned as Shen Qingqiu but never quite had the physical strength to pull off properly. He feels weightless and without barriers, like there's nothing, no gravity, no physical limitations, nothing that could get in his way!

Not even Genesis.

"What the hell was that?!" the man demands, sprawled on the floor, staring up at him in deep offence.

Sephiroth is a villain, so smiling smugly is alright. "Your form is off," and swings his ridiculous beautiful Japanese blade down, until it almost touches the floor. "You need to work on your footing."

The sword is his biggest hindrance, honestly - followed closely by the too tight coat. It's not just the length of the blade, but the design. He's used to Shen Qingqiu's Xiu Ya, which is a two-edged straight jian sword, never mind the fact that it's a spiritual weapon. Masamune can't even be compared to a dao sword - which Shen Qingqiu had occasionally helped his disciples with, but which he'd never been particularly comfortable with. 

The blade is much thinner and more flexible than he's used to, and he really has to wonder how it hasn't been broken or at least chipped against Genesis' straighter, heftier sword. Those were some heavy blows!

Actually… 

Genesis jumps to his feet and swings his sword. "Again," he demands.

"Hang on a moment," Sephiroth says, considering his sword at length. Running a bare hand along the blade finds no dents, and the edge is as sharp as it was in the beginning. No chips. That's… impossible, right? It's just a katana blade. It's not a spiritual sword, it can't even heal itself.

Although it does have three marbles of Materia in its hilt. And there is something… it's not Qi, but there's something. The sword isn't exactly lifeless.

Lifting Masamune up, he sends a small fraction of Sephiroth massive, sluggish spiritual power into the blade, and - ah. It lights up with something similar to a sword glare. How interesting! That makes sense, since weapons like these are how people channel magic here. And he does recall a lot of sword beam types of attacks from the games!

"Do not throw that my way," Genesis says, holding his sword in front of him in a guard. "I will answer in kind, Sephiroth, I swear to Goddess."

"I wasn't about to," he answers with a snort and draws his energy back. Now that he's looking for it, he can still sense it.

So, Masamune is subtly drawing on his energy. It's not exactly how a spiritual weapon would do it, but it's… similar. Passive and constant. Hm. Maybe something to do with the metal itself? Fascinating - are all Materia-imbued weapons like this?

"Is Masamune alright?" Angeal asks worriedly, coming forward. "Did something happen?"

"It's fine," Sephiroth answers and lowers the sword. He nods to Genesis. "And yours?"

"The Rapier is just fine," Genesis says, swinging it as though shaking dirt if it. "No need to worry."

The… Rapier? "That is not a rapier."

"No, it's a broadsword, and I thought it was funny," Genesis sniffs and holds it straight up. "Rapier sounds more elegant. Mine is a weapon of finesse."

That's… surprisingly lighthearted for someone so dramatic. Well, he'd seen worse names for swords. And people.

"Now, again?" Genesis asks, swinging the sword challengingly down. "Or do you want to jump in, Angeal?"

"I think I'll watch a little bit more," Angeal says, stepping back again. "Remember, no magic."

"Yes, yes," Genesis says and holds his… Rapier in a guard. "Ready when you are, Sephiroth."

Taking in the man's posture with Shen Qingqiu's expert eye, he hums. "If you say so, Genesis," he says and shifts to a stance.

Now that he has some sense of his own energy running through Masamune, he has a much better grasp of the length and the curve. With it he dares to go a little faster, not having to worry about overreacting and hurting his opponent. He can also almost sense Genesis' sword now, and predict its movements.

It makes for a very short spar indeed.

"What the hell -" Genesis grumbles, again on the floor, and glares up at him. "Are you toying with me right now?!"

Heh. Kind of! "Your footing," he answers in his best villainous drawl, "Is weak."

"My footing is fine!"

"Then why are you on the floor?" 

Genesis mutters a curse and stands up, gripping Rapier's handle tightly. "Smug son of a bitch - I am going to end your legend here and now!"

The man attacks without warning, and it's such bad etiquette that Shen Qingqiu comes fully to the forefront. He ducks past Genesis' attack and whacks him on the butt with the flat of his sword in admonishment - and then, for a good measure, kicks his feet from under him.

"Footing," he says lazily while Genesis sputters at him in outraged offence - once more on the floor. "You let your sword's weight lead you too much. I know the blade is heavy and willful and wants to get its way - but you are the one guiding the blade, it's not supposed to be leading you."

Genesis gapes at him. "What the hell are you talking about?!" 

They're not spiritual swords, not exactly, so… "May I?" he motions at Rapier.

Genesis glares at him warily and stands up. He shares a confused, incredulous look with Angeal and then flips Rapier over, holding it out handle first.

Shifting Masamune to his off hand and holding it out of the way behind his back, Sephiroth takes Rapier, tests the weight, and then assumes the posture Genesis led with.

"You might have the strength to swing this thing around however you will, but the laws of leverage are still in effect," he explains. "This is a very heavy sword, and unless you weigh considerably more than you look, it will mess with your balance if you don't counteract it. When you swing," he demonstrates, "right now you are stepping up to follow the swing and so you're taking out your base of balance. And so you trip."

Genesis just stares at him, face completely blank. 

"Now, from the beginning, properly this time," Shen Qingqiu continues and demonstrates. "Plant your feet. Bend your knees. The movement begins from your hips, not your hand. From your hip, up the torso, to your arm. Your knees follow and support the movement. Feet stay on the ground. And… swing."

He swings the Rapier, a sweeping attack fit to take someone's head off. "Now, if you have to adjust to an opponent's block or attack, you can, because your wrist is still neutral - see? Like this I can easily adjust the angle of my swing without losing my footing, or the power of the attack."

Angeal slowly joins them while Genesis is still just staring blankly. They're both staring.

Feeling suddenly like he'd overstepped, Sephiroth hands the Rapier back and clears his throat. "So, as I said, footing. It's the same with your thrust," he mutters, looking away. "Don't just throw your whole body behind it like an idiot."

Genesis accepts the broadsword back dully and looks at Angeal. There's a moment of tense silence, and Sephiroth kinda wants to sink into the floor.

Awkward.

-

Shizun mode, activated.

(also I know fuck all about swordsmanship, so don't look too deeply into that)

[tomurakii]

My last post about bloodweave was pretty negative (though necessarily so imo) so I wanted to talk about the little things about the bloodweave dynamic that I DO like and want to see more of in fic (under the cut).

- the orb means Astarion can't start their relationship transactionally. Gale can't give Astarion blood, and also can't have sex with him (and presumably would refuse casual sex anyway). How would the relationship develop without Astarion being able to rely on the give-and-take, forced instead to just trust Gale will watch his back? Astarion isn't a plans guy, I imagine having to come up with something on the spot (considering none of the other companions are reeaaaally an option either) would lead to a lot more emotional vulnerability as he tries to take a route he has much less experience with. Not to mention that the flirty and standoffish front isn't exactly going to endear him to Gale, who approves of the capable, loyal, and righteous. How long can Astarion pretend to be invested in Gale's wellbeing before it becomes true?

- they both have bad ascension endings, but different natural outcomes. Gale is considered the more morally upstanding one, but in their solo states (without the player's influence) Gale will go through with ascension and Astarion won't. Would they goad each other on? Gale disapproves of Astarion's ascension, using arguments that could apply to himself about the personal sacrifice and loss of the soul. Would Astarion flip them around, become defensive? Their dynamic could mean the power hungry character ending up discouraging the pursuit of godhood, or the two of them hurtling over the edge together. Or, maybe, Astarion encouraging Gale to ascend and having to trust him to return.

- they're the party members with the most life experience, and they're also both pretty well-educated (even if Astarion's law qualifications may well have expired by the events of the game). He spent his time under Cazador sewing (like Gale in his Baldur's Gate epilogue) and learning languages (of which Gale knows four). They have enduring common interests beyond their circumstances. Gale can help Astarion rediscover the latent nerd potential he lost when he died, and lord knows he would love to pick his brain for a first hand account of the mid-to-late 12th century.

- Astarion recently regained hope for his future when the tadpole freed him, Gale recently lost all of it. While act 1 is a continuous series of positive discoveries for Astarion (tadpole frees him from cazador -> ceremorphosis is held off by the dream visitor -> tadpole can be controlled), Gale's life gets worse with time as his treatment stops working. It's a dynamic that could give Gale hope, force Astarion to practise empathy, or put them completely at odds.

- Astarion's all-encompassing desire to reclaim his life could be inspiring to Gale. Moreover, I imagine seeing just how passive Gale is about his death would infuriate him. To have so little regard for his real, mortal, free life? It's a great source of angst, and also a great starting point for Gale to start wanting to live again. Because after learning about Astarion's past he would agree, he'd recognise how much value a mortal life was supposed to have. He'd think himself ungrateful or impolite for entertaining the idea of throwing it away when Astarion would give anything to have what he had. This would lead to guilt, and potentially self-loathing, unless someone was there to help pick up the pieces.

- If Astarion meets Oblodra before Gale's act 2 romance scene, (or for a fanfic plot, just before Gale is confident enough to confess) they most likely won't have sex until the graveyard scene in late act 3 (or the post-ascension equivalent). It means that rather than the fuckfest we so often see from bloodweave fics, the relationship is almost entirely a slow-burning, emotionally intimate affair. I'd really love to see that play out, the progression from semi-horny yearning on both parts as the orb keeps them apart, to two love confessions that are followed by the both of them experiencing non-sexual intimacy for the first time in years. I doubt Mystra was one to hug her chosen, after all, or hold their hands.

I just love a bg3 ship that forces the characters to take different actions than they do in canon. It makes me feel like I'm developing a broader understanding of the characters, you know?

[firethekitty]

my thesis

text if it's hard to read and some explanations under the cut:

vash & angel devil:

human-looking but not actually human

passively suicidal

wings

no body autonomy: forced to do things by humans and other devils/plants

hates killing

every time they’ve killed was against their will: angel devil has never gone out of his way to kill a human. vash intentionally kills only one person in the entire manga and he fucking hated it

passive aggressive and stubborn

inherently religious but don’t actually care about religion: they're both angels but they never show any interest or knowledge of religion (and actively show disdain for it at times)

technically immortal

black-haired women they loved dearly but inadvertently caused the deaths of

memory loss

don’t want to be as strong and deadly as they are

angel:

doesn’t bother masking

“hates all humans” but not actually (it’s complicated)

doomed by the narrative

vash:

masks constantly

“loves all humans” but not actually (it’s complicated)

the narrative’s favorite

wolfwood & aki:

doomed by the narrative

die young

smoke

childhood stolen from them: forced to grow up too fast

orphans

appear cold and distant but actually care way too much about everything

black hair

have no problem with killing (until they meet someone who changes their morals)

pretend to be cool but are actually losers

haunted by guns

blunt and rude, loners

their enemy(ies) become the only ones who they truly feel comfortable with: vash for wolfwood; denji, power, and angel for aki

by the time they realize they want to live, it’s already too late

aki:

modern-ish day japan: chainsaw man part 1 takes place during like the mid-90s, i'm not sure if that constitutes as "modern" anymore

horrible death: become the thing you once feared

not great with kids (but trying his best)

was never scared of angel

meaningless death: this does NOT mean his death shouldn't have happened!!! "meaningless" in the narrative sense; everything he did and worked towards was for nothing

wolfwood:

distant future on another planet

peaceful death

great with kids

scared of vash at first, but overtime came to trust him more than anyone else

meaningful death: he finished what he set out to do, which was always to save the orphanage. and he achieved this with vash's help (he knew vash would do anything he could to help after he died)

vashwood & akiangel:

doomed

change each other for the better

human x angel

narrative foils

[ozzgin]

I love the idea of Papa Pickle and his mate with a little one! What if the little cave child wanted to spar with the fighters and tries instigating fights with each of them?

Their reactions?

I know you requested headcanons of the fighters meeting the baby first, I figured it’d be a nice intro to this one. I recall writing something birth related, but upon further inspection it was mostly focused on the reader and not the baby (twins). This will be written for an infant as singularity, but the twin AU partisans can double that.

Baki Headcanons: Meeting Pickle & Prehistoric! Reader’s baby; sparring with the Prehistoric! Child

Featuring the fighters and their reaction to the newborn, as well as a time skip of the now grown Jurassic child showing interest in training.

You’d think Baki is the most excited given his attachment to the Jurassic mom and vice versa. And to his credit, he is dutifully standing there with a wide, nervous grin, ready to welcome the little creature. He’s the first one after the parents to be allowed to hold the infant, although he’s a trembling mess and requires a nurse encircling him with her arms, constantly reassuring him. “You can’t just drop a newborn, Baki. It doesn’t work like that. You’ve…you’ve carried heavier. I promise.”

Against everyone’s expectations, Katsumi is the one that seems to mesh right in with the news. He comes from a healthy, loving family and the event is nothing new nor surprising to him. He doesn’t need any advice and casually scoops the infant up with his arm, using his large hand as a head rest. Pickle is surprised by this confidence and cautiously approaches him, observing his technique and taking mental notes. Baki chuckles at the unanticipated sight.

Retsu is the next in line to be introduced. After listening to a short briefing on the proper and safe ways to hold a baby, he breathes in and solemnly receives the child. He allows it to rest against his broad chest and supports the back with both hands. A laugh escapes your mouth as you observe the extremely concentrated frown of the Kenpo master. He’s a little embarrassed and a blush spreads lightly to his ears. “O-one cannot be too cautious when handling such fragile beings. I do not see anything worth of amusement.”

Jack prefers to keep his distance and politely refuses the invitation to also hold the infant. He is grateful to be part of it, but he doesn’t trust himself around delicate things. Perhaps when the child grows sturdier he will approach it with more confidence. Until then he doesn’t mind watching passively. There are other ways to contribute.

The way I see it, growing up among modern humans kind of guarantees that the child will be able to speak proper language. And in the few years that have passed I’m hoping that reader and Pickle have also picked up some basic communication skills. So there might even be some rudimentary dialogue coming from the parents! I wonder how Pickle’s voice would sound like.

The kid’s favorite sparring partner is most likely Katsumi. Within his family Katsumi has always been the younger sibling, but in the Dojo he is the authority figure most people look up to. From the moment your child showed the intent to train, the Karate prodigy promptly responded with tips and playful fights. He’s been teaching for years and knows how to assess the capacities of his opponent without using too much force or harming them. Compared to the rest of the fighters he has the most experience in dealing with novices and amateurs and acts accordingly.

On the opposite end of martial arts teaching is Retsu. He doesn’t like to joke around and believes his Chinese Kenpo isn’t some playtime activity for children. He has no problem explaining certain techniques to your kid, but it will be done by the book. Retsu is a great help if you need a break for the day. Kid has too much energy? It will be jogged and worked until late evening just to learn a fancy kick. No other way around it. The youngster will be returned completely passed out from exhaustion, but with a proud, satisfied smile plastered on its face.

Baki enjoys the idea of having a younger sibling, although he can be clumsy when it comes to sparring. If he’s too enthusiastic he might overdo his hits and next thing he knows, the child is on the grass crying and wailing. He scrambles to tend to the superficial wounds and frantically attempts to silence the screams. He doesn’t want to explain the ordeal to a dangerously powerful mom. Outside these small accidents, Baki is also one of the most preferred opponents.

The child is initially very cautious around Jack, but it doesn’t take too long to warm up to the idea of sparring with him. Jack has a lot of patience and most of the time just acts as a punching bag. If the youngster wants to try out a new move or practice some technique he’s seen somewhere, Jack will gladly receive the little blows and offer advice or encouragements. Sometimes after training they will hang out together doing small things like feeding the koi at the Tokugawa estate. “You’ve been training an awful lot lately. Any reason in particular?” Jack questions the little human, curious about the change. “I wanna hurry up and be strong already. Like mom!” the child looks up, beaming. Jack laughs at the last statement. “You’ve picked one hell of a goal. Good luck with that!”

[accidentalshifter]

Writing fanfiction is a gateway to shifting, I swear!

Before working on "Dawn Misplaced," my Originals/TVD fanfiction project, I didn't dream of characters breaking the fourth wall or know it was possible to interact with them within my sleep... And I certainly didn't think it was real that another version of me could exist in a fictional world much less this Universe! OK I did. But, I figured there were huge margins of separation between me & myselves. And I figured that it was "more logical" to assume that what I was really doing was ✨️ using my imagination to combat a deep sense of inner loneliness ✨️ with extra steps involved. The dream worlds I'm used to exploring seemed way easier to explain. They were metaphors for psychological forces or archetypes in my psyche. Not real. Not truly.

That idea has recently changed. It's real. It's all real. At least, it's very real to me. Antis get fucked.

When Netflix (*hiss*) removed The Originals from their selection, I lost interest in writing Dawn Misplaced, tried to move onto another endeavor, and put vampires out of my head. Tried. Apparently, my imagination had other plans. I started having weird, vivid dreams of being a character within The Originals-verse. Despite resisting these dreams, they ramped up, becoming much stronger, until they were leaking over into my waking life as intrusive daydreams. Sometimes, they lasted for just a second. Other times? It felt like hours had gone by even though it'd only been minutes in my CR. These daydreams felt like tugs on my brain from somewhere I couldn't explain.

Who is tugging on the other side is still very much unknown. Maybe it's my DR-self? Idk.

Half a year has passed doing my damnest to deny the pull. After all, I had my own dreams to play in!! And the (theoretical) Mikaelsons have plenty of shifters on their payroll... Why the hell would they want one more shifter???

Especially someone like me:

✅️ 35 years old

✅️ no money

✅️ no prospects

✅️ a burden to my family

✅️ frightened

No accounting for their taste but six months and countless intrusive daydreams later and I am FED UP with taking a passive stance on this. I've decided to treat this like any other dream world I explore and get to the bottom of these tugs! And possibly fist fight the one who's responsible for them. Before I do that though, I want to make a list of all the "mini shifts" or intrusive dreams that I've had since this ordeal started. Thinking back on them, I can see a disconnect between the dreams I'd have when I was asleep vs. daydreams I have when I'm awake. Tw: this list of scenarios are NOT for those uncomfortable with violence, blood, death, or manipulation. My version of the Mikaelsons don't play nice in my dreams.

Asleep dreams: Seem to play out as if I'm in the body of a character within The Originals and important to the plot somehow.

Awake dreams: Seem to play out as if I'm an invisible ghost of my CR self just watching things unfold around me while being unable to communicate or be seen by anyone.

List of TVD/Original-verse Minishifts (Part 1)

⚜️ Walking down the main staircase of the Mikaelson mansion (the one way out in the country) while hearing arguing voices. I see Hayley first. She's eating a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios nonchalantly. Rebekah is on her phone, swipping left on an app. When I get half-way down the staircase, Elijah and Klaus (the ones who are arguing) stop their bickering to drag me into it. Elijah turns to me, asking: "You agree with me, don't you?". Klaus makes a sarcastic face & asks "Surely you won't agree with my *morally tiresome* older brother?" At this point, I become lucid inside the body of this person I'm in. I pause for a second before responding, "Uh, maybe, I don't know??". Elijah looks at me weirdly at that reply. [Asleep]

⚜️ I wake up in a bed I don't recognize. It's a four-poster bed, carved out of polished dark cherry wood. The sheets smell clean & feel good to the touch. Morning light is pouring through a window. It's warm on my skin. I'm groggy as the body I'm in slides out of bed & stumbles over to the window to peer out of it. I can see an apple orchard and a driveway running straight through it. I notice how red the apples are, fixating on that for whatever reason. As soon as I do, I hear a sort of wind noise. Like an errant breeze just ran through the room. Elijah's voice drifts into my ear but I don't catch what he said. My body turns to face him, I feel my mouth moving. I'm saying something. I can't hear what I'm saying, tho. [Asleep]

⚜️ Kieran is kneeling at the foot of the altar inside St. Anne's. The heavy smoke of bitter incense clouds the air, wreathing around the priest as he mutters prayer after prayer. I'm not inside a body this time. I'm nowhere. It's like I'm viewing this scene remotely in a 3rd person perspective. The candles burning at the memorial altar in the alcove flicker, their flame suddenly growing huge. Whispers are heard all around. I hear Father Kieran reply to them, "Yes, I understand." [Asleep]

⚜️ "Now, Elijah, we've tried mercy and peace and leniency, but these witches are officially out of control-" I hear Klaus ranting before I gain my senses. I'm back inside whoever it is I'm possessing (?) standing in the kitchen of the Mikaelson mansion while Elijah & Klaus are arguing. Again. Rebekah makes a snarky comment about Klaus and how his tolerance policy usually involves a dagger, so she's on the side of the witches. Klaus snarls, pulling up the long sleeves of his shirt to display his arm. It's covered in a weird tattoo that seems to be growing, crawling towards his chest, & neck. It almost looks alive. "We have to think about this sensibly, Niklaus," Elijah says. And Klaus, in turn, snaps that's it's a little hard to think about anything but dead witches with this curse on his arm. I begin to speak. But, I wake up in my CR a second later. [Asleep]

⚜️ Again, I'm walking down the staircase. It seems like that's where I become lucid in my dreams the most. The mansion is silent, too silent. Maybe everyone is gone?? The minute that thought crosses *my mind*, I sense the air shift and feel the body I'm possessing get slammed hard into a wall. Even in the dream, it hurts. I look up to see the livid, pissed-off face of Niklaus Mikaelson. The tattoo on his arm has progressed. I can see it peeking out from behind the material of his V-neck shirt, nearest towards his collar bone. He tips my chin up with one finger while his other hand pins me to the wall of a secluded hallway I've never seen before. "You...haven't been honest," Niklaus says to me in a voice that's nearly a seductive purr. Well, it would be if it weren't so bloody fucking terrifying. "You've been keeping a secret from me and Elijah..." The body I'm possessing is going crazy with panic and adrenaline. I can feel my (?) heart pounding. It's distracting me from focusing fully on Klaus & his paranoid rant. He seems to realize this, tightening his grip on me. His voice is a threatening snarl when he speaks now. "You think you can just run off to your little world any time you want, don't you?! I don't think you understand-" And to be real honest, I don't, because I immediately woke up in my CR before I let Klaus finish his rant. [Asleep]

[itsclydebitches]

I know there's a lot to unpack in James' new interview but I am feral, FERAL I SAY, over this fucking line right here:

"His need was to be loved, and his tragic flaw was the belief that he was unlovable."

Back before Season 3 hit and Tedependent became ~trendy~ (not actually lol) I was heacanoning and writing Trent as a pretty anxious individual, someone with a ton of internalized self-loathing whose "whole vibe" was more of a mask than legitimate self-confidence. At the time I worried about him coming across as too OOC because really, what did we have to support this? Ted Lasso's prevailing theme of men discovering love and support when they previously had none? The lovely parallel of Trent struggling with many of Ted's own flaws, but presenting in opposite ways (cutting cynicism vs. endless optimism)? The then—far less developed—comments from James that Trent might have a rough relationship with his father? It felt unsubstantiated, unpersuasive, built more on my own interest in those kinds of characters and the occasional awkward moment from Trent than actual canon. Even into Season 3 I questioned whether my reading of him as struggling, significantly, with the care Ted offers wasn't just a result of my own, imagined inner life for him.

But NOW.

I'm sorry, hold up, can I just re-confirm that TRENT'S TRAGIC FLAW IS HIS BELIEF THAT HE'S UNLOVABLE? Unlovable??? Thank you, James Lance, for validating every reading I've had of this character since he first appeared on screen. Do people realize the depth this adds to every interaction Trent has? Particularly with Ted? Unlovable Trent Crimm starts off this relationship with a sincere compliment on his style ("I like your glasses"), something that Season 3 will present as a core part of his personality, something he's largely hidden away. Unlovable Trent Crimm grappling with the fact that yes, Ted enjoyed spending time with him. Him. WHILE he was playing the part of the asshole journalist. Unlovable Trent not being rejected when he admits, in moments of vulnerability, that he "Loves [their] chats." Unlovable Trent having his father's (likely snide) "Independent" comment reframed as a fun pun + advice to follow his "bliss": you have support, Trent, no matter what you choose to do. I don't care if you're successful covering a masculine-coded sport, I care if you're happy. Unlovable Trent committing the ultimate betrayal and being forgiven for it, immediately. Unlovable Trent being forcibly integrated into the Richmond family; actively accepted rather than passively tolerated: yes you should work here, yes you're a Diamond Dog, sit your butt down, Trenthouse Magazine, you will never be excluded again.

I'm sorry for the rambling post but I'm just so!! Insane about this!!! So much of Trent's hesitance could have been written off as a result of his career. That is, it might have been merely a learned reaction after decades of deliberately pissing people off. Of course they dislike him, but take him out of that environment and everything's fixed. Yet James has confirmed that he played Trent as intrinsically believing this. The career was a result of that unfounded fear—Might as well keep people at a distance before they hurt me first—as well as, simultaneously, a desire to somehow achieve the love that should have been unconditional from the start—Maybe my father will like me if I can be that "alpha male man's man" in print. Because this isn't just a flaw, it's a tragic flaw, a literary term that denotes a deficiency that leads to the character's downfall. This belief is so entrenched that it has led to Trent actively self-sabotaging his chances of being loved in the first place; a horrible self-fulfilling prophecy. He NEEDED someone like Ted—a fucking love sledgehammer that forces people to accept his care in the least subtle ways possible, even when they're acting as their own worst enemy—and by god, he got him!

Aside from Nate, Trent has always felt like the most isolated character to me at the start of the series (and even Nate has a good relationship with his mother and sister). What we've learned in Season 3 and James' interviews has only reinforced that reading for me: he was closeted in his marriage, unintentionally hurting his daughter, he's suffering under his father's expectations, he hates the press persona he's created to survive, he's bored at his job, footballers and other potential interviewees despise him—and not without reason (Roy). He has no friends that we see pre-Richmond and he's reached a point where the simple act of someone saying that they liked spending the day with him—again, while he's actively TRYING to piss them off and keep his distance—has him in such a state of shock he runs for the door, pens an uncharacteristically hopeful write-up, and is well on his way to upending his entire life for that man.

Because of course he is!!! From Trent's perspective Ted is a fucking impossibility shaped into human form. This is a man in his 40s whose greatest lifelong fear—now all but a certainty at his age—has been dismantled in a matter of hours. I'd write a book-length love letter to him too! And RIP to finale!Trent, but I would have run fucking Rom-Com style after the man who not only changed my life, but my entire sense of self-worth. (Ah fuck, but there's that tragic flaw again, keeping Trent hesitant. I now stand by my reading of the "I'll leave you be" scene as an unrequited goodbye.)

But finale aside, the man who'd convinced himself he was unlovable fell for the man who was love incarnate.

If that's not the most romantic shit you've ever heard idk what is!!!

[skirter01]

DP x DC Pilot/Engineer Danny AU PT. 2

Link to Pt. 1 Here

Here *aggressively punts this into the phandom* just take it, just friggin take it. 

“Bruce just walked into the foyer.”

“I know.”

“He’s getting into the elevator.”

“Cool.”

“Is there a reason you’re ignoring me?”

For the first time in at least three hours, Tim looked up from his laptop. It may have only been to send a rightfully deserved glare at the hovering Lucius Fox who had, for part of the last hour, been obsessively stalking the security cameras, but, it was enough to curb his train of thought entirely from the balance sheet he was trying to make sense of.

“Is there a reason you’re distracting me?” He snarked, shutting the laptop with a little more force than necessary and swivelling around to face the offender.

Lucius smirked playfully, and gestured to Tim’s now shut screen. “I was worried you were going to get square eyes. God help us you accidentally prove childhood scare tactics right.”

“Very funny. Maybe you should consider a career change.” Tim glowered at his fellow CEO, and jerked his head at the camera footage displayed behind the man. “He’s coming in for an impromptu inspection of the aerospace division, if you must know.”

True to his word after their discussion yesterday, Bruce had in fact turned up at Wayne Enterprises to conduct the invasive inspection. Honestly? Tim had been dreading it all morning.

The man’s brows furrowed. “Didn’t I just inspect–"

“You did.” Tim finished for him, spinning slightly in his revolving chair.

Lucius buffered. “At 9:30?”

Tim rolled his eyes and stood from his desk. “He originally said 10.”

Lucius frowned as he watched Bruce’s intimidating figure pop out of the elevator on their floor. “I do hope you’ve forewarned Mr Fenton.”

Tim shrugged (albeit a little guilty), because how was he supposed to explain that that was the opposite of what Bruce intended? This was a passive aggressive interrogation disguised as a business venture. Lucius wouldn’t approve, especially if he knew it was for personal interests.

His fellow CEO squinted with distrust, but didn’t follow up. So, he either knew that something fishy was going on and didn’t care to find out what for his own wellbeing, or, Tim was way more convincing than he thought. He was more inclined to believe the former. “Please don’t scare off the only nice aerospace employee we have. I happen to quite like Mr Fenton.”

Of course, he liked Mr Fenton. Who didn’t honestly? “No promises.” Tim chuckled darkly as he made his way to the door. He had barely reached for the handle when it was swung open by a force other than his own.

“Morning–" Bruce stopped his tracks, obviously not prepared for Tim being right in front of him, but he recovered quickly. Tim delighted in being able to catch The Batman off guard for once. “Oh. Tim. Well, I suppose we’ll be off then.”

“Morning to you too.” He grumbled sarcastically, stepping around his adopted father and into the hallway. “C’mon – work to do.”

---

The moment Bruce stepped out of the elevator and onto the aerospace floor, chaos erupted. 

Engineers who were originally sipping on warm coffee and chatting calmly with their co-workers erupted into a flustered mess of ‘Mr Wayne!’ ‘Good morning Sir!’ ‘Sorry about the mess’ ‘We weren’t expecting you today’ as they scuttled around cleaning up wayward blue prints and feigning productive work habits.

Bruce glanced at the young CEO at his side, taking note of the sour expression starting to slowly creep over his son's face. Tim had always carried a special type of hatred for the aerospace division. A hatred unlike that for the driver that splashes you on the sidewalk, but more akin to that for the barista who forgets to add sugar to your coffee, it was a peculiar grudge that was formed long before Daniel Fenton stepped in the limelight. Bruce had his theories, but he was inclined to believe it was mostly due to the employee’s - engineers were notoriously difficult to deal with, let alone manage. Respect was earned, not given.

“Mr Wayne, Sir?” He was drawn from his thoughts by a young intern, clipboard in hand, standing before him, (although clearly reluctantly if his quivering hands were any indication, could he hold the clipboard any tighter?). “M-my name is Ivan, is there anything I can do for you today?”

Bruce softened at the intern's nervous stutter, and pulled on a gentle smile. Clearly someone had put him up to this. “Hello Ivan. Thank you for greeting us. There is indeed something you can do for me.” He extended a hand, fighting not to cringe at the sweaty one that shook it.

Even so, he watched as Ivan visibly relaxed at the calm greeting, tension loosening slightly from his shoulders, and his hands easing from the clipboard. “You name it, I’ll have it done.” The boy said somewhat breathily, relief oozing from his words, although there was still apprehension in his eyes.

“Excellent. I’m actually looking for your new manager, Mr Fenton? Is he around?”

“Oh! You mean Danny?” And just like that, Ivan warped into an almost different person. He visibly brightened at the mention of his supervisor, and a newfound swagger seeped through his professional façade, almost like he’d finally been able to grasp some confidence. Bruce pursed his lips, wondering at the casual use of Mr Fenton's first name, how long had he been employed now? “He’s not in right now - normally doesn’t start till 10am on Wednesday’s. But he won’t be long.” Ivan stated, an easy smile overtaking his face. 

Bruce caught Tim’s knowing smirk at the mention of Mr Fenton’s start time, and he landed a heavy-handed pat to his son's back, ever the impression of fatherly praise. “Oh, I see. Tim and myself were just looking to have a chat. Would you perhaps be able to show us to his office?” Tim jolted forward at the force of the disguised blow, his winded cough covered by a clever throat clear 

“Yes.” Tim tried to muffle his wheeze, straightening his tie distractedly. “We’ll be happy to wait for him to arrive.” Bruce pretended to ignore the glare he caught in his peripheral.

Ivan grinned, motioning outwards with the clipboard to the narrow walkway between desks and gigantic computer systems. “Of course, please follow me.” 

Bruce exchanged a brief glance with Tim, watching his son roll his eyes slyly, before waving his hand dramatically, in an ‘after you’ motion. Not feeling the need to lean into the teasing from his second youngest, Bruce took a long, meaningful stride past his son, offering a mocking wink as he did and following Ivan’s brisk pace. 

They walked through the majority of the first sector, to where Bruce assumed the higher ranked engineer’s typically made their sanctuary (sound proofed and private offices galore), only they stopped just before that. He was surprised to find their brief tour halting at a small unassuming desk, directly in the central hustle of the aerospace sector. It was a semicircle, standing workspace that was without a doubt the furthest thing from tidy. Its surface was littered with blueprints, loose paper and an array of colourful markers (most in shades of green), to the point where things were actually scattered on the floor, and the computer of its far side was unlocked to a cluttered, neon green desktop. 

Bruce watched as Tim’s entire face scrunched in obvious disgust, and couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony. (Although his son’s workspace and documents were typically organised, the boy's bedroom left something to be desired.) “See what I mean?” Tim grumbled under his breath. 

Bruce hummed. “I’ll make my judgments face to face.” It was the truth, after all, he was well aware of the mistakes that came from judging a book only from its cover. He turned to Ivan, ignoring Tim’s disapproving grunt, “This is Mr Fenton's…Office?” He questioned wryly, trying to pry information from the young intern before he was to meet the man himself.

Ivan blushed slightly, and a hand went to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah…He calls it an office, but I suppose it’s more of a workspace, I guess. He means well.” He assured, before checking his watch. “Mr Fenton should be here any moment, sorry about the wait, he’s normally not this…” Ivan trailed off, distracted by a slight commotion at the entryway and a grin spread over the intern's pale lips. “Ah, right on time.”

Through the commotion Bruce caught a tall, lanky figure weaving through a crowd of energised engineers. 

“Morning D!

“Fenton, where've you been?” 

“D-dog, fancy seeing you here!”

A chorus of fond greetings filled the room, and Bruce was actually unsettled by the amount of excitement the arrival of one Mr Fenton could cause. (It was starkly different from his own.) He could actually tangibly feel the shift in atmosphere from the morning blues to energised productivity.

Bruce’s first deduction when Daniel Fenton split from the crowd was that he was a lot taller in person. Bruce had never been self-conscious about his height, in fact, he was proud to be comfortably on the taller side at roughly 6’2, but as Daniel made his way over, he was disturbed to find the young man easily had a few inches on him. 

However, despite that, he didn't appear the threatening corporate type (not that Bruce had expected him too). His dark button up and black dress pants were too casual to be intimidating, and although his height certainly gave him presence, his lankier stature took away from any authority it would have garnered - the kid (because he was young enough to be one) was practically just long bones, sharp edges and lean muscle (if any). 

It was a wonder how he managed to get anyone to listen to him. Let alone the aerospace engineers. 

“Heya Danny.” Ivan shuffled forwards to greet the young supervisor as he made his way over to them. 

Fenton didn't miss a beat, and turned all his attention to the intern. “Sup Iv’e. Good to see you buddy.” He stuck out a hand for a fist bump, which the intern eagerly returned. “How’d that Uni test go yesterday?” 

Ivan shrugged as Daniel threw his satchel onto the cluttered desk, squishing paper as he did. “Good actually, thanks for helping me out with the practice questions.” 

And in just those few sentences, Bruce could tell exactly why Daniel Fenton had the utmost respect of the aerospace division. No wonder they all spoke so highly of him, his interpersonal skills were brilliant.

“That’s awesome!” Mr Fenton praised, and patted him on the shoulder fondly, before turning to his desk and shuffling his documents. “And who are our guests?” 

“Thanks” Ivan said sheepishly, before his eyes darted back to meet Bruces, and he seemed to remember the reason why he was standing by his supervisor's desk. “Oh! Right. Danny, this is Mr. Bruce Wayne, and you’ve already met Mr. Timothy Drake, they’ve been waiting to have a chat with you.” 

Daniel turned then, and Bruce was surprised to find a pair of dark aviators peering over at them, completely obscuring the bright blue eyes he was expecting to see. “Ah, Mr Wayne, it's a pleasure, I was wondering when I’d be seeing you.” 

Bruce cleared his throat, and stuck out a hand to shake. “Please, call me Bruce, and the pleasure is all mine, Mr Fenton. Introductions were long overdue.” 

“Well in that case, call me Danny. Mr Fenton makes me sound old as hell.” Daniel-Danny said, that iconic impish troublemaker smile he’d witnessed in his photo making its way onto his face, revealing two rows of strangely sharp, white teeth. Maybe too sharp, surely that wasn’t normal? “So, what can I do you two gentlemen for? Nice to see you by the way Tim.” 

A forced smile scraped across Tim’s face, and Bruce fought the urge to laugh as Danny moved to shake his son’s hand next. Tim looked like he’d sucked on a lemon. “Nice to see you as well. Bruce was looking to do an inspection on the aerospace division, would you mind showing him around?” 

Danny’s grin didn't waver. “An inspection. Well let’s hope we’re up to scratch.” 

Bruce chuckled at the manager's sly humour. “Let’s hope so. Although…” He pointed a finger towards Danny’s aviators. “I do have to question if sunglasses inside are appropriate for the workplace, Mr Fenton.”

“Oh these?” Danny’s grin widened, but he made no move to remove the shades, clearly unperturbed by Bruce’s warning tone. “I’ve got an eye thing.”

“Is that so?” 

“Mm. Apparently some people find them unsettling. I’ll be happy to forward you a doctor's note.” He stated, flicking the frames fondly. 

Bruce narrowed his eyes, but did not pry. He supposed Daniel was a pilot, and he could admit, the aviators did suit him. “No, that won’t be necessary.” He planted a friendly smile back on his face. “So, that tour?”

“Of course!” Danny said happily, and Bruce could have sworn he saw something flash behind those shades. “Let’s go!” 

Bruce turned to find Tim already looking at him, a sleek brow raised in question. “Believe me now?” 

Bruce didn't respond. He didn't need to. Because yes, there was something very strange about Daniel Fenton and it wasn’t just his good looks.

--

Wow, you made it down here, bonkers. In other words, this seemed to be a hit, so we’ll continue. Might turn it into a fic, we’ll see, I’ve got some other shenanigans up my sleeve.

Also I got no clue if those mentions worked or not, tags and I have a love hate relationship. So if you can see someone that ain’t tagged properly. Tag em. Thanks!

@starkcravingmad @always-be-a-stranger @kiwwles @terrasolstice @angelheartgamer @potatoeofwisdom @ectoplasm024 @that-dumbass-on-a-horse @obsessedwithstarwars @nervousperfectionandroid @mimilikey @the-archer-goddess @terzatheunderscorerima @neutralghostchild @ae-vixrose @markus209 @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @mayoota-blog1 @cottonscrambles @bumblebeug @kyrianclawraith @that-blue-thing-in-the-bathroom @mysticalcomputerdetective

[celluloidbroomcloset]

Hey there,

You’ve got a lot of insight into Ed and his whole journey from S1 to S2. Apologies if you’ve covered all this already (and I’m not the most articulate of people so also apologies for any confusion), but I’m interested in your thoughts…

I get the impression that a basic debate here is that either Ed is a psychopathic sadist (who basically ‘reigns in his sadistic tendencies’ until he loses Stede) or he’s someone struggling with his own self loathing and the toxic environment he’s had to live in (or maybe I’ve missed the mark entirely).

If it’s the latter, do you think he becomes at all vindictive in S2? Or is he more going through the motions of what he thinks is expected of ‘the pirate Blackbeard,’ because he’s somehow trying to cut off his emotions or is just tired of even trying to be anything else (ie himself) anymore? Or maybe it’s something else?

Also, to me personally it seems like Ed is stuck in… how to describe it… a depressive stasis at the beginning of S1, like at least resigned to death but doesn’t actively seek it until the end of S1/beginning of S2. I can’t decide though if in S2 Ed wants to take the crew with him (because that at least means not dying alone, like the mother and the cat in Crimes of the Heart), or if he doesn’t mind one way or the other what happens as long as he’s dead, or if the goal is to actively make the crew despise him because he thinks hatred and death are what he deserves?

Again, sorry if I’m beating a dead horse here…

Thanks!

So a lot of people have written a good bit about this. This is just what I think (and my thoughts may change—I'm planning on rewatching "Red Flags" today).

When we meet Ed, I think he is depressive and perhaps passively suicidal—he's talking about how the one thing he hasn't tried yet is death, but he doesn't seem to be really looking to die, and meeting Stede makes him re-evaluate the life he's been living and what he wants from it.

Stede and the space of the Revenge make Ed feel safe to express the parts of him that he’d concealed within Blackbeard in order to survive (the whole bringing out of his mother’s silk and Stede giving him the space to wear it openly on his heart). He tries to find this again with the crew after Stede leaves him, and it is Izzy who tells him that he is not safe unless he is Blackbeard (by directly threatening him and telling him that he would be better off dead than being the person he is).

I think a lot of what he’s doing at the end of Season 1 and into Season 2 is malicious compliance - “You wanted the caricature of Blackbeard, well HERE HE IS!” By the time we pick up with the Revenge in Season 2, he's moving from passive to active suicidality - he has been unable to correctly perform (Izzy invoking Stede and the fact that Ed's feelings are what have made the atmosphere on the ship toxic - quite literally his inability to conceal those feelings have poisoned everything around them, according to Izzy. Ed's feelings themselves are poisonous). Ed cannot reconcile his past with what he wants to be with who he is, and he has lost the safe space to be Ed.

I don’t think he wants to take the crew with him - his first move is to try to get Izzy to kill him; when that fails, he tries to get the crew to do it. If anyone actually just pulled a gun and shot him, he'd not try to stop them. He’s goading them until they’re forced into a space where they either have to die themselves or take the initiative and kill him (hence his “finally” right before his death).

Ed has been working to become all the monstrous/demoniacal stories about himself, the ones that have been told by the English and by his trio of monstrous fathers. He hates them but he also wants their approval, and he’s transforming himself into the monstrosity that others say he is. His love for Stede and the things that he was allowed to access via his relationship with Stede are the soft, genuine parts of himself that he has been told are not him but that he's also now incapable of concealing. He’s not worthy of that softness, he’s not worthy of love, and so he tries to kill it.

He’s going to die on Stede’s ship, with Stede’s cravat around his throat, murdered by Stede’s crew, as a final confirmation that all the things he wanted to be, and all the love he felt, he wasn’t really worthy of, that Stede was right to leave him because look at what he’s done, and that the people who loved him should never have loved him. He’s dying like all his monstrous fathers have died, murdered by people who once cared for him and whom he should have taken care of, but failed to because he's a monster.