#but this felt simple and pure and raw in a way that trusted the story and characters and performers to covey the emotional weight with

[jemmo]

i don’t know how else to describe eternal yesterday, and the profound affect watching it has had on me, other than it’s the most quietly heart-breaking show I’ve possibly ever seen. It presents its subject matter so simply and plainly in a way that makes it feel huge, overwhelmingly huge, painfully huge. It’s premise is not for supernatural drama, it isn’t played up, not laughed at or exaggerated or used to give things more unnecessary emotional weight, it simply gives physicality to the real experience of letting someone go, to having to let someone go, to having to let go, and the indescribable pain of it that you can’t truly know until you’ve experienced it. It’s a glimpse into this short period of time, less than a week, that is so private to them, and is so concentrated with emotion, that truly does feel like time stopped, holding on, the fear of the moment passing, so instead the pain of it is just dragged out. You think of course they should do this, fight for every last second they can have together, but then you come to realise this life after death, this impossible extension, its a curse just as much as it is a miracle. We always wish we could know when we are going to lose someone so we can take that chance to say goodbye, but is that easier or harder? how do we wrestle with the pain of holding on but the pain of letting go? its a situation we cannot win, its simply a situation that has to happen, and we have to let time tick on. 

there’s so many moments i want to bring attention to in this series but i’ll hold back and just talk on the 4 that feel the most special to me. first, a personal one, because in so many ways oumi reminds me of myself, and never has that been more true than the line “honestly, i feel comfortable when i’m alone. and i hate myself for being comfortable”. i cant think of another character that has embodied this anxiety i have in myself so much, and so simply, this ridiculous contradiction of being so at peace in your own company and despising that peace sometimes, wishing it wasn’t so peaceful, so maybe you wouldn’t be alone, maybe you’d do something, go out there, find people and things to do, and yet all that time maybe you’d be thinking “i’d like it so much better now if i was at home by myself”. its kind of ridiculous, and maybe people like us do need a koichi to be the company in our lonely peace, but yeah... i just have never felt so seen by a show before.

secondly, that final conversation oumi has with his father, because this whole time the situation feels so insular. even though other people know, and other people love koichi, and koichi loves other people, this is about oumi and koichi, and no one can truly understand the immensity of what those two are feeling in that moment. its like i said, you cant understand it unless you’re in it, unless you’ve experienced it. and yet, at the end, this minorly present, distant father comes in and says “what you’re going through, i went through that too”. and its the kind of conversation that doesn’t happen because they’ve both experienced this supernatural phenomenon of a love one existing after death, it happens because they’ve both lost people they’ve loved, and that something thats universal, and the people watching don’t need to have experienced anything supernatural to empathise with that. its when the audience truly realise that this story might be insular to them, but the story has also been told infinite times by countless people, and such the emotion of it is both theirs and everyones.

third, i think my heart actually crumbled to pieces when koichi said someone could have 2 number 1s. its his phrase, he loves mitchan the most, mitchan is his number 1. and its only given more weight when oumi says it back, and even more so when we hear his ending lines, about always wanting to be number 1 to someone, and that someone being his number 1 too, and how much of a miracle that is. for that same person, knowing he has to leave that person he loves the most, to say you can have 2 number 1s, saying to oumi its ok, you can move on, in the future you can have people that are precious to you, thats so fucking beautiful, and is an act of such love i cant even put it into words. you can feel so guilty sometimes for moving on from a loved one, for even feeling like you’re replacing them, so that gesture, that permission, that almost request, to not lose happiness and love because you’re losing them, to let yourself be happy again, because thats the biggest gift you could give to those you lose, thats just beautiful. 

and finally, the moments in episode 6 where koichi is starting to disappear, and when people start to walk into rooms and not see him, i don’t think i’ve ever seen such a good metaphor for what its like to have a same-sex partner and for them to never truly be seen as your partner. because when that nurse walked in and was just talking to oumi, like koichi wasn’t there and yet he was, and oumi got so mad because thats the most important person in his life how dare you not see him, how dare you ignore him. i think it was him saying ignore that connected it for me, because thats what its like when you walk in with a same sex partner and you’re not recognised or seen as a couple. I thought to myself if this nurse walked in and oumi was sat with a girl, how he’d instantly be asked if its his girlfriend, but no he’s sat with a boy so you dont even bother asking, either because you dont think to or dont want to. we get flashes of it throughout the show with people not knowing about their relationship or the relationship between the teachers, how the gay is hidden. and with koichi gone but not gone, he’s like a ghost in oumi’s world, and i feel like that’s what it can feel like sometimes, walking around with someone you feel like no one else can see when theyre all you can see. theyre there but no one draws attention to them, no one wants to acknowledge them or it, the relationship, the ghost in the room, to the point you want to scream they do exist, how dare you think they dont. and when oumi gets angry on koichi’s behalf, thats what happens, thats what it can sometimes feel like experiencing homophobia. its horrid and angering and you want to scream because how dare they do that to the most important person in the world but theyre at peace with it. koichi has accepted his fate much like someone learns to accept hate and harrasment, they become at peace with it. and you can get angry all you like but that doesn’t change anything, that doesnt stop it from happening, thats what it feels like. you get that when you lose someone, you get angry when other people have moved on when you cant, you wont, you dont want to, you think why dont people care anymore, how can they be so unfair and unkind and unfeeling, which is why its shocking that themes of loss can mirror these queer experiences, where a partner can feel invisible to everyone even when their heart is beating. thats why i think this blending of actual loss and actual invisibility with queerness being hidden and unseen is just heart-breaking genius.

this show is heavy, and has honestly brought out in me one of the most condensed visceral reactions to media ive ever had. i feel sad, i feel drained, i feel broken. ive cried so much, and my sadness is physical, my heart hurts, it feels heavy. and yet... i do feel at peace. i feel at peace with this sadness because its something you have to learn to do in life. these experiences are inevitable and ive always tried to avoid these heavier shows, things i know will hurt and make me sad and feel things, where there isn’t a core of happiness, a good ending to keep you together. but sometimes it has to be embraced to see the beauty in it, because as koichi said, despite what happens, despite the tragedy and sadness and loss, at the core of the story if two people meeting and falling in love, and how that simple, human connection, that we all have, is a miracle, so treasure it. 

[dienamights]

Ellipsism | K.Bakugou

Ellipsism: A sadness that you’ll never be able to know how history will turn out.

» Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader.

» Word count: 1.9K

» Genre: Angst 

» Summary: In a world where everyone is born with a unique tattoo on their ankle, and every time they fall in love with someone, their tattoo appears somewhere else on the body of the person they love. You come to the realization that it might not be as simple as that, and all your childhood dreams would come and bite you in the ass.

» Warning(s): ANGST, mentions of self-harm.

» Author’s notes: Listen, I don’t particularly like angst, but I love the way it hurts, y’know? Not sure if I want this to have a happy ending or not (in a second part) and honestly I’m leaning towards the latter, I love pain and I have no idea what would happen. Also, peep the “tattoo” in the header its relevant to the story ahaha

Thank you everyone for the support and love, it means the world to me that people enjoyed my Kacchan representation! Lemme give you smooches.

Big smooches to @tteokdoroki and @sightoru for making me feel good about hurting them🤧❤️

» Masterlist | Requests

The sun had awakened and was promptly emerging through the hazy sky. The cloudy layer created a gloomy blanket from the sun. You jolted awake, your neck aching from your sleeping position and you twisted your head side to side to relieve some of the pain, before reaching for your phone and holding the bright screen to your face to check the time. Alas, the screen was turned off without registering the time nor how long were you asleep for.

You lifted your eyes to see the grey out the window in front of you. With that fog, the trees and buildings never ended, they floated upwards, seemingly as endless as beanstalks. Reaching your head back, it met the wooden counter. You were in the kitchen, fell asleep on the floor and slumped against the counters, the empty bottle laying across from you a reminder of the event that transpired the previous night - maybe morning? You didn't really know.

You lazily extended your legs in front of you, eyeing your sock-clad feet and the tattoo that peaked from the clothing. Blooming lilacs that danced and branched out, the stem wrapping around your ankle oh so loosely, almost teasingly. Lilacs that represented happiness and tranquility, which you have never felt more far from. 

Remembering the old days, the better days, you with your poofy dress, so blindingly pink it demanded everyone's attention, giggling with your friends that adorned similar attire to yours, showing each other the tattoos that hugged your ankles, in endless shapes and sizes, dreaming about who the lucky person you’ll share your tattoo with would be, who was lucky enough to capture your heart and claim it as their own, and offering theirs in return.

Bedtime stories were your favorite quality time with your mother, where you’d both forget about the story cradled in her hands and you’d spend your night tracing the few tattoos that scattered across her arms. Asking her how could she love so many people and have them love her in return before loving her husband - your father - the only person she was meant to be with, only to wait with bated breath for an answer you already heard so many times you probably memorized it by now. You’d be entranced at the way her eyes always softened, a light gleaming in them as she would explain to you, again and again, with no sign of ever getting bored, how she have never and would never regret the people she loved, because in some twisted way of the universe, it led her to the father of her beautiful child, that snuggled her in her princess bed. 

Alas, asking her how you came to the world received a totally different reaction, and you refrained from asking her that again until later on in life.

Whenever your grandma visited, you’d run to hug her old and withered body, apologizing when she would howl about her aching back and dragging her to sit with the excuse to help her rest, but you both knew you wanted to hear stories, your teenage self was so ready to fall in love, so excited to have a piece of someone you adored with all your heart decorating your skin, inking it in the most beautiful forms of promise.

She always made her past lovers sound like prince charmings right out of a novel, the kind of guys with the power and confidence that seemed perfect in every way. The kind of guys schoolgirls woke up and went to school for in the morning. The kind of guys that hit women of all ages right between the eyes every time they were seen and stirred up their fantasies.

And by God, did you not realize that your grandmother wasn't spewing bullshit after all these years, because there he was, a storm in each step he took, fire in his knuckles erupting and seething with fierceness. He was an explosion of bare, raw, real mystery. A soft caress of the wind, warm sand, and pure silence. He was colors and textures and shapes and designs, all combined together in an artistic canvas that thrived for attention but wouldn't stoop to admitting it. 

You remembered the day your lilacs embellished his shoulder, shyly peeking through his hero suit, claiming everyone’s attention on their petals as they swayed on his skin, the attention of the media as the shoulder of the hero, Dynamight, was showcased on social media, people envying whoever was able to capture the exploding hero’s heart.

As if he wasn’t capable of love, they didn't see what you saw, they will never have the privilege, because when he dropped the façade of the hero, he’d come home to you, knock on your apartment door and you’d flee to open it to him to lay your eyes on him, a tired laugh, sore muscles, a teasing glint in crimson eyes, golden hair tasseled after a sleepless night. He was secure embraces oozing with warmth. He was toughness and hardness, perfectly mixed in with trust and care.

It was at that day it happened, in the middle of the living room while the newsman was talking nonsense about the hero, the warmth wrapped around your wrist, gripping it like a vice with no intention of letting go; yes it burned, you remembered the sting, it just paled in comparison to the warmth in your chest, the warmth of the tears escaping your eyes as you held your wrist close to your chest, happily whispering about how this was what love felt like. You also recalled that it was at that exact moment the hero, your hero, walked into your apartment, dropping everything and running the small distance to your hunched body to grab at your wrist to inspect the damage he thought was done to it.

Only for his eyes to meet that one wretched inking he loathed all his life, the - meaningless doodles, he’d call them - that blemished his skin, he remembered the remarks, how no one would be able to share that blotch of his with him because who could ever love him? Who could ever endure him, with all of that ego and all of that anger? And as time passed, he believed it, he believed them, that he wasn’t worthy to be loved, that he was only meant to save, not be saved as well, not even from himself.

But there you were, there you fucking were, crying and laughing and struggling to breath as you repeated the words you’ve been dying to confess, 

“I love you, Katsuki.”

Suddenly, that speckle that was always hidden under his socks brought him happiness, brought him love, and damn did he deserve it, because he fought for it, he endured hell for it, and there you were, wrapped around his arm and repeating those three words against his lips between heated kisses.

He was pleasure and lust. Rough groans and mutual needs. A burning touch. Your name hanging by his lips, breathless kisses and hair-tugging and hot flesh against hot flesh.

He was an illusion you thought it'll never materialize, and yet here he was. 

Here he was, all highs and lows, smiles and frowns, softness and roughness, carefulness and danger. Here he was, a tiny spark of thunder, sparkling with passion, loyalty and dedication, protection, satisfaction, confidence and love.

Here he was…

Where was he?

The inking you used to spend hours admiring now haunts you, the design that used to whirl and twirl across your wrist as you hummed while tracing it now felt like shackles, squeezing so tight against you as you tried to break free. The black almost shrouded by the coats of metallic red that spilled from your attempts of escape. The dark crimson that matches his eyes, the eyes you know you won't forget, you know you don't want to forget, no matter how you’ll feel better if you do.

The girl staring right at you through the distorted reflection created by the dishwasher judged you, all mangled and blurry, yet the tear stains and numb eyes are hard to ignore, easily cutting through the deformed reflection.

You and the girl in front of you envied your friend, the aromantic that was never interested to fall in love, only possessing their own tattoo that graced their ankle, with no one else's accompanying it, sure it looked lonely on some days, but who were you to judge?

You remembered what they always told you, that it wasn't always the fairy tales your family fed you. They told you about their mother, who had an affair and fell in love, spending almost a year hiding the tattoo of her fling from her husband before being caught, they told you how their father was broken beyond repair, he who also was so drunk on the idea of falling in love and being loved in return, just like you were for all those years. They told you of the heart break that you might have to face when your partner’s inking is embedded into you, but not the other way around, how you had to decide whether to wait for your own personal design to mark its location onto them or leave, always being haunted by the part of them that you can't get rid of, no matter what you do.

They never told you about this kind of heartbreak though, the one where you’re both so in love, so happy, destined to be together forever, because what could possibly go wrong?

You never got the answer to that, you remembered asking him as he dragged his suitcase out of the apartment, the tears cascading down his face never answered you as he apologized again and again, mumbled how you deserved to be loved by someone that wasn’t him, babbled about him not deserving you. About how he won’t ever love someone besides you when he caught your eye scanning whatever was visible of his arms, in fear of finding out a piece of someone that wasn't yourself.

You finally got up, legs numb and steps wobbly from sitting on the floor for so long, you eyed the door, still unlocked after his leave a couple of hours ago - maybe more it's still unclear - no urge of yours strong enough to get you up to lock it again. You moved slowly, as if the shuffle of your feet is causing you pain, and in a way, it did, because you know when you reach the living room couch, there won't be the warm arms that engulfed you, because what else did you have other than the warmth you surrounded yourself with when you told him to hold you close to him?

That's right, nothing. 

As you laid down on the couch and allowed yourself to be suffocated by the scent of caramel, you cursed at all the fantasies and dreams that clouded your mind day and night, you frowned and scrunched your nose at the scent that used to mean love and warmth, but now only burnt your nose and teared up your eyes.

A constant reminder, just like the defaced wrist you brought closer to inspect and hissing when the cold air bit at it. You recalled the lilacs and swore at them, the same lilacs that symbolized love and passion, but looking more withered and torn the more you looked at them.

Good, guess they know how I feel.

Borrowers (taglist):

if you want to be tagged with for any of my fics let me know ♡

[hazydaaze]

An analysis of the Bold Type that I need to get off my chest (it'll be worth it, I promise)

I studied English literature at university, and it has always been instinctive for me to analyse characters, storylines, bigger pictures and under the surface tensions in film & tv. Discussing emotions, motivations and themes with my gf and my pals late at night is one of my favourite pastimes ever and I love everything to do with filmography and art ahhhh. (I wrote my dissertation on David Bowie & The Artistry of Sexuality, ya feel me?)

The Bold Type isn't filmography at all, but I think Jane Sloan and Jacqueline Carlyle hit different for me, being a queer woman in my 20s and a full-time writer. I can't really explain why. I guess there are a lot of queer female characters in film & tv that don't really feel inherently queer, and even as two identifying straight women Jane and Jacqueline felt queer to me. Their connection and understanding of each other was authentic and quite complex. I think they had potential to be something that we'd never seen before in mainstream media, because of their age difference and life experiences. I thought that was so compelling and so important to talk about and to give a recognised space to.

There is one thing that struck me most about them and it's insane to me that I haven't seen a lot of analysis on it, so it's the point of this post.

To my knowledge the show or actors haven't delved too deeply into it either, and given what went down I don't understand why people AREN'T talking about it. I wanted to bring it up. Btw, this post contains spoilers.

***Sexual abuse trigger warning***

In season 1, we learn that Jacqueline is the victim of rape, and the only person she has told about it is her husband, Ian. Given that she mentions that they've been married for around 19 years and the assault happened before they met, we can assume Jacqueline has been carrying the weight of what happened to her for over two decades. During all that time she didn't talk about it with anyone else, not a single other person.

And then Tiny Jane comes along. Jane Sloan, the big swing writer who just wants to write meaningful stories that help other women and girls that need it, like she did growing up. She fucks up a lot on the way and slowly begins discarding her judgemental opinions as she grows. But when she is at her best she has genuine compassion and empathy for people, and despite her reservations, Jacqueline gives her the opportunity to write about the story of a rape survivor and performance artist. She isn't aware, at the time, what that means for her own trauma or her own acceptance of it. But she does it anyway, because she sees something in Jane and she has seen it there from the beginning.

Jane starts to write and, as we know, in the most beautiful and compelling moment at the season 1 finale, Jacqueline is confronted with what happened to her. She stands in Central Park holding these weights, and you can see the crushing pain in her eyes as the realisation descends down on her. She shares a look with Jane, and a moment of understanding passes between them at what this means.

Despite all this, she lets Jane capture her trauma. She lets her publish her untold experience of her rape from two decades gone. She lets millions of people see her story in writing, with Jane Sloan's name printed above it. She re-lives and faces up to the harsh reality of that pain and that truth, through Jane.

Can you even imagine the trust you must have in someone to do that? The sheer love that took, for Jacqueline to give Jane her voice and her truth, with all its painful and hard repercussions?

This storyline is the boldest part of the Bold Type. It's the most honest and the most authentic. It captures the raw emotion of Jacqueline, and of Jane, and the two characters really see each other for who they are. It's one of the reasons why their relationship is so central to the other's storyline.

We don't ever see Jane truly unpick in detail what Jacqueline did for her. It spoke so many volumes and ... well, isn't that what love is?

It's this storyline that sets the tone for their relationship over the course of the show. Jacqueline sacrifices herself for Jane again and again. She publishes the article about the lack of accessible healthcare at Safford and gets fired for doing so, purely so Jane can afford to freeze her eggs. Jacqueline says there were a lot of other things that contributed to it, but Jane knows her article was the final straw, the point of no return.

Over a decade of pouring everything she could give into Scarlet Magazine and it’s readers, only to be gone in a second. All for Jane.

And again, in season 4, in the few real moments we are given between them, one of their final interactions is Jacqueline giving Jane the go-ahead to explore a story of potential abuse at States & Nations, a company Ian is associated with. Ian literally asks Jacqueline to stop pursuing the story, due to the sexual relationship he had with the source when he and Jacqueline were separated. When Jane challenges Jacqueline over her reasoning for pulling the story, she asks her to give the story a chance. Jacqueline lets her, knowing full well that it could prove irreparably damaging to her marriage and her family, and she does it anyway.

Jacqueline chooses the truth, over her career and over her marriage. She chooses Jane. As humans, there isn't much more you can give to someone else. I’m wracking my brains trying to think of a way Jacqueline could portray her love for Jane more, and I’m all out of ideas.

I want to reiterate again how insane it is to me that none of this is really acknowledged, or at least not nearly as much as it should be amongst the show, its creators and its viewers, Jacqueline continually falls on her sword for Jane (weird analogy, but she does) and it is repeatedly glossed over. Their relationship is quickly dismissed as a "mother Jane never had" or a simple "boss/employee" power dynamic, and it seems so hollow, unjust and sorry - so unbelievably boring - in contrast to the experiences they have shared together and the sacrifices they have made.

I understand Jacqueline’s character was based on Cosmopolitan Editor in Chief, Joanna Coles, and therefore it makes sense that this queerness to her relationship with Jane was not intended. However, it’s there. Everything I mentioned in the post happened on the show in canon.

In 2021, the possibility that these two women could have romantic or sexual feelings towards each other shouldn't be a stretch. If either of these women were male characters with this much intertwined investment, high stakes and sacrifice, there would be no doubt they would be endgame. They would run away, have the hottest sex, all the while their reputations would be forever ruined in the name of love. And we, as viewers, would celebrate it without question - we would never dismiss it.

The concept of what they are, and what they can be as two women should be able to live and thrive. It should be given a beating heart. In the very least, the reality of it should be on the table and up for debate. But for many viewers, and the show’s creators, it just isn’t. And here lies the problem.

Jane and Jacqueline have such a beautiful dynamic, it is so deep and soul-wrenching. How can we ever limit what these two women are and what they would do for each other?

I really hope that one day we can see a relationship like theirs given the queer space it deserves. Because it would've been the bold thing (and the right thing) to do.

I'm going to publish a longer and more in-depth article about this on Medium, because as I said, analysing is my favourite pastime and I can't stop doing it. But for now, this is all I can manage.

Edit: Read my published Medium article.

Here's to Jane and Jacqueline and what could've been.

[ddeonghwaluv]

Not so possessive | Choi San + Park Seonghwa (m)

—

warnings: sexual content, oral sex (fem receiving), dirty talk, hwa watching you and San, and grab some holy water on the way

word count: 3,6k

— 

San loved you very dearly. Whether it be by words or actions, he always knew exactly what to say and do to make sure you knew that you had him wrapped around your tiny finger the same way he did with you. A pretty cute relationship you had there.

If you could describe the dynamic that you had with the dark haired male, it would definitely be fun, spontaneous and lively. You always had something to do with him; from going to the supermarket at three in the morning to sitting on a rooftop on a cold, snowy winter night where you held your mugs filled with hot chocolate and some marshmallow on top, sharing giggles and stories of stuff that you’ve done together like it was the first time you ever do it.

You were deeply in love with him there was absolutely no doubt.

San was a simple man though, if he says that something is his, it is his without further discussion and it was no different when it came to you.

To put it in simple words, he was possessive.

Small gestures like gripping your thigh when you’re sitting down next to each other, squeezing your hip, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pressing his groin against your behind—he was shameless to say the least and very explicit about making sure everyone knew who you belonged to. Especially when you tried to misbehave and forgot exactly who pounded you into the mattress and made you spout out sounds and noises you wouldn’t want anyone besides him to hear and elicit from you. God, did he have so much effect on you.

The very first few months into your relationship, when you hadn’t started being sexually active yet, he fooled you with his innocence. Burying his face in the pillow when you popped a random sex joke, blushing when you called him pretty and easily manipulated you into thinking you could top and dominate him very easily when the time came.

But oh were you delusional,

You were proved wrong the moment you straddled him, smirking down at him before saying “why don’t we see if you’re a good boy, then I’ll let you cum,” watching as the light disappeared from San’s eyes and was replaced with a mischievous, dark glint that sent shivers down your spine.

Wrong move.

You didn’t know how fast it happened, but you were immediately flipped, face buried in the pillow while you choked out sobs, ass up in the air for San to do as he pleased with it as he called your little stunt “funny” since now, he had you all laid out for him, looking pretty and ready to be fucked raw.

Thankfully, the dom/sub relationship that you had in the bedroom suited you very well, the idea of submitting to your boyfriend, let him be in control while adding a little bit of bratty behavior just to get that thin thread of control that he had to snap and lose himself with you being more than satisfying.

You loved San’s teammates, they were absolutely the sweetest. You won’t deny the fact that they did get a little bit suspicious when your boyfriend had first introduced you to them, but seeing how protective they were of one another, you didn’t feel offended at all and answered their questions very calmly. Yes, they interviewed you to make sure you weren’t going to hurt their precious little San-ie.

You, Wooyoung, Mingi, Yunho, Yeosang and Jongho were practically best buds.

You and Wooyoung didn’t exactly have a good start, since the latter was just scared that his best friend was going to get heartbroken but it took him one joke from you and the guy was like “okay, she’s cool!”

Mingi and Yunho were one package, if you want to befriend the first one, you’re going to have to befriend the other one without even realizing and thankfully, they were both much friendlier than Wooyoung, seeing how their dear friend trusted and loved you, they felt like they could trust his feeling.

Now, Yeosang was the last one you had expected for him to like you. Based on what your boyfriend had told you, he was rather quiet and reserved, not the easiest to approach and yet with one smile and one snarky remark towards Wooyoung from you, he was smiling at you and slowly approaching you to become your friend as well.

Jongho was the baby,

You were smitten, to say the least, in the most sibling-like way possible. You wanted to protect him with everything that you had even if his strength wasn’t human but his behavior sometimes indicated that he was indeed still a baby that just needed protection at all costs.

When it came to the leader, you knew you could count on him on anything. He was a pure soul, although a bit stern at first but the hard façade dropped the moment your words reassured him about your true intentions with his member. Being the leader was a huge responsibility and Hongjoong was owning up to it like it was a piece of cake.

You had very platonic feelings for every one of your boyfriend’s friends. Everyone but the eldest; Seonghwa.

You didn’t know why, you didn’t know how or when but you couldn’t look at him and he looked very amused by the situation, way too amused that it ticked you off how the little fucker knew exactly the effect that he had on you despite his friend literally being your boyfriend.

Many things about Seonghwa irritated you to be quite frank; from the way his shirt always hugged his upper body so well, the way his voice drops everytime he became serious to the way his gaze always rendered you a stuttering mess even if you weren't even conversing with him, which didn't happen that often since you tried to avoid him like the plague to save yourself the embarrassment of having your panties turn so wet by just standing in the man's presence.

And you knew how much San trusted his friends. He knew he could trust them with his whole life so you were no different. He knew that he didn't need to show them who you belong to because the love bite on your neck was enough to say that you were definitely very taken by San.

"I know Seonghwa-hyung could never lay a single finger on you the wrong way, I trust him."

You should've paid more attention when he said "the wrong way,". You should've expected yourself to end up in this position with how Hwa eyed you everytime you wore an outfit that San specifically chose for you.

You should've been more careful, but you didn't exactly regret the position you were in.

San didn't say anything about a third party, he didn't give you a hint that someone else might be joining but you should've at least had your doubts when he said that he had a nice present waiting for you in his room and when you found nothing, you just assumed that it was the sex.

But no, it was beyond that.

"Do you trust him, love?" San purred in your ear, a hand delicately wrapped around your neck as he made you look up to stare at the man standing at the doorway of San's room, a look on his face that sent shivers down your spine.

Seonghwa looked calm as usual, he looked as if he had everything under control, as if the way your and San's figures standing facing him in almost nothing, San's chest pressed against your back while one hand wrapped itself around your neck and the other one was buried in your pants wasn't giving him the urge to just push you on the bed and ravish you until you were left a drooling mess.

But his body betrayed him, the bulge in his pants indicating that he was very close to losing control.

"You might want to answer him, pretty thing," You didn't know if it was the way his voice dropped or how he locked the door of the room behind him after he fully stepped in, but a shiver went down your spine and a whine found its way out of your mouth as a response to San's question, and your boyfriend wasn't satisfied to say the least.

"Use your words," San almost growled, hand slowly tightening its hold around your neck enough to have you a bit dizzy from the lack of oxygen in your brain and you knew he was doing it on purpose. Choking you has always been the best way to make you spout the dirtiest things without you even realizing it which your boyfriend always found extremely amusing.

"Y-Yes," the chuckle that left both men's mouths made your face burn, your hands immediately flying up to grip your boyfriend's arm in hopes of having him save you from Seonghwa's intense gaze.

"Is that so?" The sarcasm laced in the eldest's voice made your heart stutter and you found yourself nodding to his words without even realizing it, the closer he got to you the more you tried to press yourself against San's body but he, himself, wasn't helping with the situation when his hard-on was basically rubbing against your ass.

Seonghwa chuckled at your almost robotic response, his index and thumb holding up your chin so that you fully looked him in the eye and you were almost going to look away if it wasn't for the way he gripped your chin when you tried to move away from his hold.

"So you'd let me fuck you while your boyfriend held you nice and still for me?"

His words made you freeze almost instantly, eyebrows furrowing slightly at his question and you were about to ask San if he was actually okay with it considering his possessive demeanor until you felt him pull his hand away from your neck to bury his face in it and stifle a moan, your eyes widening at how turned on he sounded.

So he was actually into this? Or was it just with Seonghwa?

"Shit, you'd look so pretty while Seonghwa-hyung fucked you raw," the dirty words San whispered against your neck made you moan almost instantly, head thrown back on his shoulder while he peppered open mouthed kisses on your neck, almost forgetting about Seonghwa standing not even three inches away from you two.

Seonghwa stood quiet for a moment, observing the way you were easily very putty in San's hands before stepping away from you two and burying his hands in his pockets, something about his stance screaming authority and that he was the one in charge tonight which was quite the case.

"On the bed, both of you."

You didn't know how you did it but you were quick to jump on the bed, unable to keep your hands to yourselves as San peppered kisses all over your neck before feeling Hwa's fingers through his hair, gentle and delicate, silently asking him to pull away from you which your boyfriend did almost immediately, watching you with hazy as he imagined all the positions he could put you in in front of his hyung.

"Come here," Seonghwa didn't need to say it twice before you were sitting on your knees on the mattress in front of the tall male, something about the way you were looking at him and being so obedient while your boyfriend was still there making him groan before he was smashing his lips against yours, pushing your body down on the mattress in the process.

His lips were just like how you imagined, so soft and plushy. He tasted sweet too, yet the way his tongue worked wonders on your mouth made you feel intoxicated. A moan managed to escape when his hand dipped inside your pants, your cheeks burning again when you saw him pull his hand out to show you just how wet you are before turning towards San who was sitting on the chair, watching you two with a smirk.

"San, she's so wet,"

"I know right? You should see when you kiss her neck,"

It was as if Hwa was waiting for San to say these exact same words before he was moving his lips down to your neck almost automatically, abusing the soft skin while burying his hand back down your pants and pressing at your clit on purpose to make you gush out more arousal than you already were.

Your hips bucked up immediately at his touch, a whine escaping your lips as you threw your head back to look at your boyfriend, silently asking him to help you a little bit, tell his hyung to just hurry up and make you cum.

San slowly approached you, cooing at the way you were looking up at him with doe eyes before he was leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"If anyone's gonna make you cum first tonight, then it's gonna be him love, not me,"

"But San-"

"San, why don't you hold her for me while I eat her out,"

"Sounds perfect hyung,"

They were having a conversation as if you weren't there, the words they were exchanging making you heave out a sigh mixed with a moan that soon changed into a yelp when San yanked you back so that you were sitting on his lap, your back pressed against his chest as you sat between his legs on the bed.

How did he even get there?

You didn't really have time to think of an answer, hands gripping at San's legs when Seonghwa slowly started pulling some your pants along with your underwear, the lustful look on his face making you whimper before trying to close your legs.

But of course, both men weren't having it.

"Open them and show him how pretty your pussy is," San whispered filthily, and you obliged wordlessly, hands resting at your thighs while you slowly spread them for the eldest to see as much ad he wanted.

And he looked at it for a few moments before shamelessly licking his lips, settling himself between your thighs and you didn't even know how the moan left your lips, but the sight of Hwa about to go down on you just made you feel so many things and you found yourself blushing again at how lewd the whole situation was.

"It's indeed so pretty. Fuck, San you got so lucky," Hwa commented, his thumb pressing at your clit and smiling playfully at the way your hips jolted immediately, a hand pushing them down to hold them in place before he was looking up at your boyfriend. "and she's super sensitive too,"

"Try to do this," San quickly reached down and slapped your sensitive bud several times, Hwa's head making you unable to close your legs but you still moaned loudly, body arching away from your boyfriend.

"S-San," you whined at your boyfriend, looking up at him with a small pout on your lips which obviously didn't affect him that much right now.

"Oh no, don't moan my name baby, it's hyung who's gonna eat you out so you better be nice for him,"

It was the cue for Seonghwa to place his lips on your heat, your eyes immediately rolling to the back of your head when he lapped at your clit with quick, experienced licks before he was wrapping his lips around it,

"Oh shit," you breathed out, hand reaching down to grip Hwa's hair which he didnt look like he was minding much since he was too focused on making you cum with his mouth.

And he was close to doing so, having picked up his pace and just held your hips, helping you grind down on his tongue while he made eye contact with San, the latter immediately understanding the message.

"Look at him when you cum," You were far too fucked out to respond anyway, the way San held your chin down to look at his hyung making you whine a little but what made the knot finally snap inside your stomach was the look on Seonghwa's face, the determination to make you cum along with his mouth of your own heat being way too much for you to handle.

So you let go, orgasming all over his mouth while San held your hips in place, smirking when your moans turned into little yelps when Seonghwa wouldn't pull away, watching as the eldest continued his abuse on your sensitive bud until he guaranteed that you were a writhing mess.

"S-San—" you tried to choke out, much to the said man's displeasure as he buried his fingers in your hair to slowly yank your head back until you were looking up at him with teary eyes.

"I'm not the one eating you out, hyung is. So moan his name, love," his filthy words added more color to your cheeks and you tried your best to keep your eyes open while looking down at the eldest of the two men on the bed, whimpering when you locked eyes, your sensitive bud starting to go numb from Hwa's ministrations.

"H-Hwa, fuck Seonghwa please—" the way his name left your lips made him groan against your core once again, feeling his grip on your thighs tighten, a sign that he enjoyed the sounds leaving your lips a little bit too much. You still had an effect on him after all, huh.

White flashed before your eyes as you reached your second orgasm of the night, feeling as if your soul was about to leave your body when Hwa finally pulled away from between your legs, looking up at you with a shiny chin and lips coated with your release, and you felt yourself throb when he licked his lips shamelessly while still intensely keeping his eyes locked on yours.

He was intoxicating, you found yourself pulling yourself towards him for a kiss without even realizing it, San humming from behind you in approval. He sure was enjoying the scene.

You shared an intense kiss with Seonghwa, missing the way San shifted from behind you to stand up and undo his pants slowly, watching you and Seonghwa intensely.

"Hyung," San's deep voice made Seonghwa pull away from your bruised lips, your teary eyes staring up at your boyfriend breathlessly and he could've sworn he felt a shiver run down his spine.

"My turn," that was all what your boyfriend said before Hwa was pulling away from you with a smirk, moving to sit on the couch with his legs spread wide open but you didn't have enough time to check him out before San was pressing his lips against yours as a way of asking you to focus on him and only him this time.

God, did you love it when he became possessive like this.

He nipped at your already bruised lips like he hasn't kissed you in years, hands squeezing your sides as if he was trying to remind you of who was allowed to have his dick inside of you between him and Seonghwa.

"San, please," your whines always kept your boyfriend going, he found himself losing control over his body so easily because of your sounds and the way your body reacted to his touch.

"I'll be nice to you this time," was all what he gave as a response before he was pushing his way inside you, your brain completely blurring out the fact that Seonghwa was sitting on the chair next to you two.

San's pace was unforgiving, watching you with a smirk as you slowly started losing control over your own reactions, pressing your cheek to the bed and making the mistake of opening your eyes, because the sight that greeted you was heavenly.

Seonghwa looked so fucked out. His hair was wet with sweat and he was running his fingers through it while his other hand helped him jerk himself off to the sight of you and your boyfriend fucking. Why did you find this so hot?

But San was quick to remind you of who you were supposed to look at and gave you a sharp thrust to the right spot, chuckling when you threw your head back and gripped his shoulders.

"Getting turned on by hyung jacking off to you getting fucked like a rag doll? What a dirty little girl that you are," he whispered filthily, driving you closer to your third orgasm of the night, your face contorting to one of pleasure when he kept pushing his hips the right way.

And you didn't know if it was because of Hwa's soft moans as he came or because of San's filthy words, but something definitely made the knot inside your stomach snap faster than usual, your body spasming between your boyfriend's hands.

"Fuck, you're so hot," San whispered, chasing his own orgasm which you assumed was very close based on how erratic and uncalculated his thrusts became.

Silence fell on all three of you, only your soft breaths and the two men trying the catch their breaths filling the room.

You weren't going to lie, you didn't feel the slightest bit uncomfortable with Seonghwa being around, so when he wordlessly grabbed some tissues to clean himself up and handed San a towel to clean you, you found yourself gripping his wrist before pulling him down towards you and you were very thankful that San did the talking.

"Stay hyung, we would love it"

—

thank you for making it this far ♡︎ hope you enjoyed reading this!!

[jojo-reader-hell]

hi could i please get a rohan x sibling reader during the events of DIU?? and if u dont mind, could the reader be around 15ish and a stand user?? sorry if this is too vague

No worries! I had to do a bit of research for this one, so I hope you enjoy it regardless! I didn’t know his character too well, let me know if I did Rohan justice!

Rohan Kishibe and Sister!Reader: Tales from Moominvalley

“Are you reading that pathetic excuse of chicken scratch again?”

You looked up from your Moomin anthology, a scowl on your face when your eyes met with Rohan’s. You never understood why you got the short end of the stick with this piss poor excuse of a brother. He mocked everything you did, most brothers would protect their baby sisters from any harm in the world. A normal big brother would sacrifice life and limb, climb any mountain, face any foe, stop his own heart to pull his baby sister free from a centuries long curse. Rohan called you a basement dweller because you held weekly sessions of Dungeons and Dragons at the cyber cafe in town (it used to be held at your home, until Rohan started coming in and making fun of the plot you’d created). He would demean you as a person for getting less than perfect marks at school. Put on a good enough show for the adults that worshiped him and for the fans of his works, but treated you like a disease.

“It’s called literature, Rowboat. As in, the artist is also an accomplished writer who understands world building and human emotion. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? Go back to your cartoons.”

You had to be harsh, to protect yourself from him.

“What did you say, you little basement dweller?!” He growled.

“I said you’re nowhere near the accomplishments of Tove Jansson, artistically or in terms of writing. Now shut up and leave me alone. I’m reading about REAL emotions.”

You both continued like this back and forth, until Rohan refused to cook you dinner and you stormed out of the house in a huff, not letting him see the tears that fell down your cheeks as you slammed the door. He knew you didn’t have much money, but the way you insulted him, he couldn’t take the abuse lying down.

Not even if he had to be the responsible one, because your parents didn’t want to take care of a child anymore. Not even if he’d been the one to come and claim you, never alluding to how much he’d cried when he was told that the courts approved his request to become your legal guardian, or how excited he’d been to have the privilege of raising such a fine baby sister such as you were.

Pride got in the way. Useless pride, and perhaps even a bit of envy when he first heard you telling stories to your Stand. Defying Gravity always sat perfectly still when he saw her through the crack in your door, her head cocked as you went on and on about the worlds inside your head and the characters you thought of. Some of them seemed so familiar, and it was when he’d taken you on some outings in the city for school supplies that he noticed you were very quiet and contemplative, always watching everyone else around you live their lives as though you were watching fish swimming in an aquarium. It was always pride, because no matter how many times Rohan used his Stand on others he couldn’t seem to connect the dots like you could. Understanding people and emotions, it came so naturally to you, and yet it never seemed as though you were able to read your own brother accurately.

He noticed as he trekked to the kitchen to make some coffee that you’d left your Moomin book on the table. Strange... you never put the stupid thing down, and he never had a chance to see what it was about even though he could have easily gone to the store and picked up a copy himself. He noticed heathen that you were, you marked pages and smiled to yourself when no one was looking.

When he picked up the book, perusing random pages, he noticed you had starred some very important text bubbles, and sinking into the chair, he decided to thumb through the pages and read every bit of text that you deemed important.

“But one needs a change sometimes. We take everything too much for granted, including each other.”

“I only want to live in peace, plant potatoes and dream!”

“All things are so very uncertain, and that's exactly what makes me feel reassured.”

“It’s funny about paths and rivers, you see them go by, and suddenly you feel upset and want to be somewhere else – wherever the path or the river is going, perhaps.”

"Oh! I should like to live in that shell. I want to go inside and see who is whispering in there."

"It's only the sea. Every wave that dies on the beach sings a little song to a shell. But you mustn't go inside because it's a labyrinth and you may never come out."

“I used to stand before the mirror and look deep in my unhappy eyes and heave sighs such as: ‘Oh cruel fate!’ ‘Oh terrible lot’ ‘Nevermore.’ And in a few minutes I felt a little bit better.”

Such beauty in words, he could hardly put the book down and continued to thumb through it, gaining a little bit more insight into the cunning and beautiful thoughts you must have had every single day. He teased you because he envied you. Manga was all practicality. Never any freedom because his editor always breathed heavily down his neck at any original thought that would not sell and make Rohan an instant success. This was the fault in his craft, and he envied you because you were a dreamer. You lived your life skipping barefoot in the clouds of your imagination, but only crashing down to earth again when he jarred you with his mean spirit. To read about the words that inspired you from your favorite book, and to know you as he never could if you were standing in front of him, it felt so raw and open that his heart ached in such a way that it never had before.

And then he was shot in the chest again, because the very last passage you had underlined made him choke up with guilt.

“I put my trivial surroundings aside and mused more and more about myself, and I found this to be a bewitching occupation. I stopped asking and longed instead to speak of my thoughts and feelings. Alas, there was no one besides myself who found me interesting.”

Didn’t he have a hand in that? You used to want to tell him stories. You used to be so excited and blooming with life that no matter how many times he tried to recreate that pure enthusiasm he always failed. It was something so uniquely belonging to his baby sister that was like a daughter to him. Your sparkle, is what he called it. Your sparkle used to shine so brightly when you tried to explain the world within you, only to be shot down cruelly because he had a deadline to meet. He had a manuscript to complete because the bills were due and he had to get you a new uniform and new shoes, had to struggle and pull the strength out of himself to keep you happy and healthy, only to push you away and make you angry at him.

He was unreadable to you, Rohan realized, because you couldn’t comprehend why someone you loved and trusted with your true self rejected you so harshly.

Guilt ate at him as he put the book down where it came from, instinct pulling him into the kitchen where he began to chop vegetables and cook rice for a simple meal to be waiting for you when you returned. Rohan knew you didn’t have enough money, maybe for some chips from the convenience store, but not enough for any kind of a meal that he could take the time to cook. He had four days off, he could make you something that gave you substantial leftovers and even get to work on a lunch for you to take to school tomorrow, he could start off new. Show you how much he loved you and cared for you, his only baby in the whole wide world that he ran himself ragged for.

[invokeinspiration]

Reflections on Orthodox Judaism/Hasidic Communities

Like many people during COVID, I am watching a lot of Netflix. I’ve finished the entire Vampire Diaries universe (The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, and Legacies), I’ve also binged on Hannibal (of which I am currently writing a very in-depth fanfic), and I have watched countless fantastic films. I’ve watched Ip Man 1 and 2 and will be watching 3 and 4 soon. I have watched The Lobster, Moonlight, Resident Evil, Adams Family, The Danish Girl, and The Hater. I have watched shows and movies that have made me cry, made me laugh, made me do some research, and made me think about the story and characters long after the end credits. But early into my quarantine period, back before April, I came across a trailer for the show Unorthodox and it began a journey that I’d like to share. 

Unorthodox is an American/German limited series on Netflix that follows the story of a young woman, Esther (Shira Haas), who begins a marriage in a Hasidic Jewish community in Brooklyn. She was a member of the Satmar sect that began with the Hasidic community in Hungary but migrated to New York after WWII. The Satmar sect is characterized as being more strict than the European Hasidic sects with a complete rejection of modern culture, fierce anti-Zionism, and strict adherence to male-only education. The story is based on the true life events of Deborah Feldman’s life depicted in her memoir. When I first saw the trailer, I was uncertain. I actually didn’t immediately watch it but after seeing the preview a few times, I thought to just take a risk and I am certainly glad I did. The visual style of the show was beautiful. There was an authenticity to the show that I was entranced by. I felt like I was truly in a Hasidic family and understanding Hasidic roots and traditions. I love it when good television transports me into a new world and allows me to really see all sides. 

Shira Haas was a breakthrough performer. She had a gentle brokenness that felt pure and raw. As a young woman, Esther wanted to be a part of her community but also felt a deep split emerging between her love for her culture and the desire for something that would break her from those roots. She made an extremely difficult decision by leaving her Hasidic family in Brooklyn for a life of uncertainty in Berlin. It was definitely a tale of an idealistic young woman following her heart, a story that we can all get behind. What was refreshing though, was depicting the reality of the loss of her community. It was never going to be a clean break and I’m glad the show told the difficult story as well as the happy one. 

She wanted to experience individual expression, something that was taboo in her culture where standing out made you troublesome and difficult. When her family told her to stop chasing after her mother that abandoned her for the secular world, she went anyway. When her family told her that her life goal should be to bear children and be a good wife for her community, she decided to chase her dreams of studying music. When she felt trapped in a loveless marriage, she wanted to find a passionate love. Even though she found moments of clarity and happiness, she still felt lost, trapped in between two worlds. The difficult decision of leaving home oftentimes made her feel confused and wanting to go back to the comforts of the only support system she thought she knew. Even though her husband came searching for her, she knew that she couldn’t trust that support system again. She had to create a new one.

As the story continued, not only about Esther but the dynamic characters that surrounded her, I became enveloped in the visceral empathy of their situation. I know that I am not a part of the community, but I could feel the turmoil as they were feeling turmoil. I could feel the frustrations from many sides as though I was feeling them. For example, Esther’s husband Yakov (played by Amit Rahav), was difficult to relate to at the beginning of the show. I know too many men in my personal life that have no interest in being truly sympathetic to women’s needs or follow along with the pressures of society without having enough courage to think for themselves. For the first few episodes, that was Yakov, but as the story continued, I began to see where he was coming from and felt like he was truly a good man. It’s not often that I see a beta male antagonist become a truly developed, sensitive man. It makes me feel hopeful that there may be more intellectual, loving, good men in the Hasidic community. These relationships, including every character’s relationship with God, were complex and ugly at times but it didn’t leave me with a bad taste in my mouth for the community. In fact, it left me curious. I wanted more. 

Netflix came out with a behind the scenes short documentary about the show and there was so much that went into the details of the show that really embodied the community as a whole. The writers and producers wanted to show as much as they could about the Hasidic community. They wanted to maintain respect for the community while also commentating on how the secular world sees it from the outside and how someone like Esther might feel trapped in between. There was still a whole universe I didn’t yet understand.

Since I, unfortunately, don’t have Hasidic friends to talk to about my new obsession for the community, I wanted to watch whatever Netflix had to offer. I came across the documentary, One of Us, which follows three ex-Hasidic Jews who left the community for a variety of reasons. Ari was a young man of about 19 or so who was sexually assaulted during his adolescent years and, after not feeling supported by his community, turned to alcohol and drugs. Etty, after years of suffering domestic violence in her marriage, decided to leave the community which left her in a custody battle of her five children, of which she subsequently lost. The third person, Luzer, decided to leave the community after he felt abandoned when he asked questions about God’s existence. Watching their stories also made me realize another piece to the puzzle of the Hasidic community. When I watched Unorthodox, I felt that it made most sense that women would be the ones to leave the community because they were significantly more oppressed than the men, as in most religious societies. However, after watching One of Us, I realized that men leave too. Men feel abandoned and invisible in the community just as women do. 

There was a point in the documentary where Luzer asked one of his Hasidic friends why the community is this way and his friend responded to say that, “it’s all about the survival of the Jewish community.” Without strict control, the community would fall privy to the secular world and lose its strength over time. It’s clear that the community leaders of the Hasidic community don’t want to lose people to the secular world. It is also clear that a lot of ex-Hasidic individuals miss and love their community, even with its problems and constrictions. I think that if the community wants to prevent more people from leaving, they may have to compromise by providing more support for people. There are times in every pious person’s life where there are doubts about God. For a lot of people, those doubts can be strong. 

For most Jews, there is profound respect for the rabbi and if more rabbis can encourage a more open dialogue about the doubts about God and the community, then perhaps people won't feel so isolated. For men and women suffering from sexual health or marital issues like abuse, there should be a trusted system in place to protect these individuals. It’s not the issues themselves that make people want to leave, it’s the feeling of abandonment of these issues by the entire community that make people feel isolated and wanting out. The specific issues discussed in the documentary may be why I have more specific ideas on how to approach a more progressive Hasidic community. This is what I gather from what I see in both Unorthodox, One of Us, and my own research. 

The end of One of Us left me to be more critical, rather than the appreciative aftertaste I got after watching Unorthodox. I appreciate that every religious community has its own faults, and harshly criticizing it hardly makes sense coming from a non-Jew. So, I return to simple appreciation, observation, and curiosity rather than harsh criticism.

If any individual reading this has any opposition, comment or question about my thought process on this topic, I highly encourage discourse. I love to be re-educated. 

However, my interest in the Hasidic community still has not stopped. It’s not because I am religious, but because I am deeply fascinated by the complicated world of Judaism and of strict religious communities. I also wanted to continue watching some of the more beautiful and interesting traditions that I grew fond to appreciate in Unorthodox. 

Which has led me to a bit of a different kind of show, Shtisel. Shtisel is an Israeli drama television show completely filmed in Yiddish. It’s a fairly recent show, with the first season released in 2013 and it’s newest season greenlit for production at the end of 2020. I’ve just started it but I am hooked. The actress, Shira Haas, who plays Esther in Unorthodox plays one of the supporting character’s daughters in this show.The show follows Akiva Shtisel, the protagonist, a young man who falls for an older, twice widowed woman. Though, his family disapproves, he can’t seem to get her off his mind. There’s lots of additional side stories that make the show interesting and I’m excited that a third season is coming. I’ve just started the show, but right now I am enjoying the story because it’s different than what I’ve seen before. I wanted to see more about the lives of people actually still in the community, rather than those who want to leave or have left. Shtisel is refreshingly different from Unorthodox, in the way that the Hasidic Jews in Shitsel are Israeli, which supposedly implies a more lax community. In some ways, I’ve noticed the changes. I noticed that there are women who work in the Torah schools and men who speak more freely about marrying for love rather than for community pressures, which seems to be different from the Satmar sect. 

I have a lot more I want to see and learn. I have a billion questions to ask about this world and I want to get to know more. I hope that more people become interested, just as I have. I want more people to find a new respect for the Hasidic community, the Jewish faith and of religious groups in general. I think the more we try to learn about each other, the closer we become as people. Sometimes, it isn’t as hard as we make it out to be. All it takes is a little Netflix surfing. 

Shalom.

[theladyofdeath]

V O I D { T H R E E }

Chapter 3. An ACOTAR fanfiction.

Nessian. Elriel. Feysand.

Previous chapters:  Fanfic Masterlist

“This moment will just be another story someday.”  ― Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Three weeks passed before Nesta began banging on Tomas’ door.

He’d been texting her, and she rarely replied. She hadn’t answered anyone’s calls or texts. She had hardly gotten out of bed.

She was already failing all of her classes due to lack of attendance, so she dropped out.

Then, she had packed up everything she owned, left the rest of the month's rent on her counter with a notice, and went to Tomas’ apartment.

He opened the door, clearly annoyed. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“No,” she said. “I dropped out. I’m leaving town. Just thought you should know.”

He took a moment to process her words before shaking his head. “You’re really determined to ruin your life, aren’t you?”

She looked at him without saying a word. Part of her thought she should just turn around, walk away, and leave it at that.

The last three weeks were full of self-loathing and pure anger. She hadn’t always been like that. It had all began with him, the poor excuse of a man standing in front of her. He had destroyed her, had changed her, had ruined her.

“You were my best friend,” she said, quietly, when he had turned to leave her standing alone in the doorway. “I trusted you more than I trusted anyone. But you changed. The minute I slept with you, you changed.” She hadn’t even realized she’d begun to cry until the sweet salty taste hit her lips. “I hate you. I hate everything that you are, everything that you stand for, and every fucking thing that you’ve done to me. You are pathetic, and cruel, and you used me. You knew me, better than anyone, and you used me!” She pushed his back as hard as she could, hating him even more when he wouldn’t turn to face her. “You used me and you don’t even care! You don’t care about me! Everything was a lie, and I hate you!”

She yelled the words, screamed them until her throat felt raw.

Tomas said nothing. He simply turned to face her, at last, not a hint of sympathy in those eyes.

“I was your sex toy,” she said, her voice falling back to a whisper. “And I hate myself, every day, for falling in love with you.”

There it was. Everything she had felt for nearly two years, laying bare on the table. She had finally gotten the courage to leave, to walk away from him, and now she was a hurricane of anger and bitterness.

“You’ll come back,” he said, when it was clear that she would say no more. “You always do.”

Without another word, Nesta walked away.

When she made it a mile down the street, she pulled her car over and puked.

~~~

Rhysand got to Cassian’s apartment and opened it without knocking.

Cassian was sitting on his couch, brows lifted as he flipped through his biology text. “Rough day?”

Rhys went straight to the fridge and helped himself to a water. “Where’s Az?”

“Work,” Cassian replied, slowly. “You seem distracted.”

Rhysand shrugged, downing the water bottle before grabbing another one.

“Who is she?”

When Rhys looked over his shoulder, Cassian was still reading his book. “Excuse me?”

“I assume there’s a girl,” he replied, grinning. “And I assume she doesn’t like you. That’s a first. A girl who Rhys can’t have.”

Rhysand took a deep breath to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Who told you?”

Cassian’s grin widened. “Kallias. Saw him last night at the pub.”

Cassian worked at a pub on the corner of his street. It had become a popular hangout throughout the years.

“Yeah, well, Kallias is an idiot,” Rhys mumbled, plopping down in an armchair. “How're classes?”

“Hard,” Cassian said. “I fully regret my decision to go to college.”

Rhysand laughed at that. Cassian’s mother had always wanted him to go to college because she didn’t have the opportunity to. After her death, it was his biggest goal: get accepted to the University of Velaris.

And he did.

“Saw your dad this morning, by the way.”

Rhysand’s smile faded, quickly. “Did he say anything to you?”

Cassian tossed his book onto the coffee table as he stretched his long legs out on the couch. “Yeah. Told me to tell you he says hi and that your mom misses you.”

Rhysand scoffed. “Notice he didn’t say that he missed me.”

“I’m sure he does,” Cassian offered, hesitantly. “In his own…unique…way.”

They both knew that wasn’t true.

His dad had given him an ultimatum a week before school began.

Get back on the team, or leave.

Rhysand used to love basketball, but his father had quickly ruined it for him. A simple win wasn’t good enough. He had to live and breathe basketball, and in the end, he hadn’t enjoyed it anymore.

He had fallen in love with music, instead.

His dad had laughed in his face when Rhys told him as much.

Cassian and Azriel had offered their place without hesitation when Rhys told them that he had to leave his own home, only because he didn’t do what his father wanted him to.

He was eighteen.

Eighteen years of having to do everything that bastard asked of him.

Rhys was done.

So, until his dad stopped being a controlling prick, Rhysand was sleeping on Cassian and Azriel’s couch.

The door of the apartment burst open once more but it wasn’t Azriel who entered.

Mor came in, her cheer outfit neat and clean. She immediately went to the couch and ruffled Cassian's hair.

“I hate it when you do that,” he mumbled. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Morrigan?”

“Senior bonfire is tonight,” she grinned. “You two turds coming?”

Neither of them answered.

“Big college man too important to hang out with us high school kids?” Mor asked, sitting on top of Cassian's legs.

“Yes,” he answered, plainly.

Rhys laughed.

“Come,” Mor begged. “Rumor is Feyre will be there.”

Rhys blinked. “Is this coming from a reliable source or is this cheerleader gossip?”

Mor rolled her eyes. “Both. Elain is on the squad, and she told me that she’s bringing Feyre.”

Cassian looked to Rhys. “Reliable enough for you?”

“I’ll go if Cassian goes,” was all Rhysand said.

“Damn it,” Cassian muttered. “Fine.”

Mor clapped her hands. “Good! I feel like our little group hasn’t been spending enough time together. Amren is having withdrawals.”

“First of all, Amren showing emotion of any kind is shocking,” Cassian began. “Secondly, we literally spent every day this summer together.  But it’s nice to know that you can’t go so long without me, Morrigan.”

“Call me Morrigan one more time. I dare you.”

Cassian just grinned and poked her in the side.

Rhys shook his head as she swatted at him. The two of them could do this all day.

“Make Az come,” Mor said, rising to her feet. “After he says no, drag him by his earlobe.”

Az would say no.

He always said no.

Yet, he somehow always managed to tag along with their crazy little group.

He secretly loved them all.

“Yes, Morrigan,” Cassian crooned, dragging out her full name.

She pinched his arm before walking out of the apartment, slamming the door dramatically behind her.

~~~~

“Good. Let’s go before dad gets back and tells me to change.”

Elain looked at her sister and chuckled. She was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved, flannel button down.

“What does he expect you to wear? A turtle neck?”

Feyre chuckled. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he did.”

Elain slipped on her little brown ankle boots and stood, brushing down her tee shirt.

“Trying to impress somebody?” Feyre asked, brows raised as she grabbed her phone off Elain’s dresser.

“No,” Elain said, looking at herself one last time in the mirror. “But, if I happened to stumble upon someone, I wouldn’t be mad about it. And you? Think you’ll see Rhys?”

Feyre turned to leave. “I certainly hope not.”

“Why are you so against him?” Elain pressed, following her down the stairs. “He’s cute.”

“So you go out with him, then.”

Elain just smiled. “Don’t think so. Besides, he’s smitten with you.”

“Smitten?” Feyre repeated. “Who uses smitten?”

Elain took her keys and wallet from the little table by the door before she said, “It wouldn’t hurt you. To get yourself out there.”

“Why do I need someone?”

Elain rolled her eyes, locking the front door behind them. “I didn’t say you needed him. You don’t need anyone. But, you might have fun, and fun is not a bad thing.”

It wasn’t.

Yet, Feyre had secluded herself during her first three weeks at Velaris High. She had made no effort to make new friends. Rhysand tried talking to her, daily, and she dutifully ignored him.

Elain had stared at her in complete shock when Feyre accepted her offer to join her at the bonfire.

But as they pulled onto the field where the bonfire was taking place, Feyre felt uneasy. It wasn’t that she didn’t like other people. In fact, she used to be incredibly sociable. After her mother passed and things became tense between her and her father, though, she had been spending a lot more time alone.

And she liked the solitude.

Elain noticed her little sister’s shift in emotions. As she parked the car, she said, “If at any time you want to leave, find me and we’ll go. Okay?”

Feyre hated the look of concern that washed over Elain’s face. Elain was so excited. She didn’t want to ruin her night.

“It’ll be fun,” Feyre smiled. “I’ll be fine.”

At least, she would pretend to be.

~~~

“Someone spiked the punch.”

Azriel shook his head, completely unsurprised. “Who?”

Cassian shrugged. “Don’t know, but holy shit, that’s a lot of tequila.”

He looked at his plastic cup with a scrunched nose before taking another gulp.

Rhysand laughed. “Apparently it’s not stopping you.”

“Oh, it’s not stopping anyone. It’s gonna be a shit show up in here in about an hour.”

“Rhys!” Kallias called from where he stood around the fire pit. “Come help light it up!”

Rhysand sighed, hopping off the bed of his truck and trudging through the field to the fire pit.

“Long day at work?”

Azriel chuckled. “Yeah. Some old rich bastard came and yelled at me because I hadn’t started on his car yet.”

Cassian blinked. “When did he bring it in?”

“This morning. Told him we were backed up and it wouldn’t be done until tomorrow. Apparently, he wasn’t happy with that answer.”

Cassian shook his head. “Regret not going to college?”

“Not at all. Especially not after seeing your nose stuck in a book non-stop for the last month.”

Cassian raised his glass before taking another drink.

Azriel just laughed and fell back against the flannel blankets in the back of Rhys’ truck.

The sun was nearly down as Kallias began to howl. The fire came to life. Azriel had a hunch that a lot of lighter fluid was involved. High school seniors were not known for safely starting bonfires.

Azriel had graduated with Cassian the year before. While Cassian started at the university, Azriel made his part job time at the garage a full time job. He knew cars, he was good with them. School had never really been his thing. He’d gotten okay grades in high school, but nothing ever interested him too much. But, cars? He loved them.

“Never let Kallias be in charge of starting the fire again,” Rhys muttered, hopping up on the truck bed. “I need everyone to make note of that right now.”

Cassian laughed, a lot more than he should’ve. Azriel assumed it had a lot to do with the punch.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Cassian crooned. “Is tonight the night?”

Rhysand rolled his eyes as Azriel blinked. “The night? The night for what?”

“Cass is convinced she’s going home with me,” Rhys said, shaking his head. “Which would be surprising, considering she hates me.”

Azriel shoved Cassian in the knee with the bottom of his boot. “Don’t be an ass.”

Cassian gave them both his most innocent look. “What?”

“Listen to Az, he’s always been the gentleman of the group.”

Azriel rose up on his elbows to find Mor, along with Amren and a tall, curly black-haired girl, standing at the end of the tailgate.

Mor winked. “I’ve always liked that about you, Az.”

Az couldn’t help the smile that graced his mouth. “At least someone’s on my side.”

Amren’s eyes narrowed, glaring at Cassian’s cup. “How many of those have you had?”

“Oh, Amren,” he chuckled, jumping off the bed and tossing an arm around Amren’s shoulders as his boots hit the dirt. “Walk with me.”

He led her away, a small amused smirk on Amren’s lips as they went to find more punch.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Mor?” Rhys asked, nodding toward her date.

“Oh!” Mor said, twirling around and taking the girl’s hand. “This is Carmen. We met at Rita’s a few weeks ago.”

Rhys rose to his feet. “Weeks? And you haven’t told us about her? Damn, Morrigan.”

“Don’t call her Morrigan. She’ll beat your ass,” Azriel muttered, then smiled at Carmen. “Nice to meet you. Ignore him.” He jerked his head in Rhys’ direction.

Carmen laughed as the music began blaring from the speakers in the back of someone’s car.

Mor gasped. “I love this song! Let’s dance. Az, come dance with us.”

“I’ll watch,” he promised.

Mor rolled her eyes but didn’t try and beg him to change his mind.

Rhysand cursed under his breath and Azriel quickly followed his gaze.

But his eyes landed on a girl with brown hair in perfect ringlets and a soft, lavender tee handing off her pale shoulders.

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

“Who is that?”

“Elain,” Rhysand said, glancing down at where Azriel was lying in the bed. “Feyre’s sister.”

Azriel grunted and nodded, unable to avert his eyes. She was beautiful.

And looking far more excited than her sister.

Feyre looked in their direction, connected eyes with Rhysand, and lifted her cup before downing its contents.

~~~

The house was quiet.

Nesta knocked on the door, anyways.

She waited for a moment, on the dark quiet front porch, before the door swung open.

Her father stood on the welcome mat, eyes wide as he beheld his oldest daughter.

Her clothes were wrinkled, her hair buzzed, her eyes red and puffy.

“Elain said there’s a room for me.”

Isaac nodded, not saying a word.

“I’d like to live in it, if I can. Just for a little while.”

Isaac simply took his daughter’s frail frame into his arms.

After a minute passed and he didn’t let go, Nesta wrapped her arms around him, too.

“Of course,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Of course.”

~~~

Chapter 4 coming soon.

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[living-in-the-state-of-dreaming]

Hey, would you write a scenario with Dazai kidnapping his chosen s/o after she refuses his advances? Thank you!

Well, this took far too long for me to get to. x_x I’m so sorry. I hope you enjoy it though. ^~^

Yandere! Osamu Dazai Scenario.

The rope around your wrists rubbed your skin raw, your thoughts hazy and your mind a confused and puzzled mess. You tried to recall the events that had led up to your current predicament, yet the fog that clouded and impeded your memory and thoughts from sleep prevented you from doing so. All you could recall was a name whose importance screamed to you even though the throbbing you could still feel in your head. 

Dazai. 

As soon as the name passed through your thoughts some of the fog began to lift, as your senses slowly began to become more alert as the grogginess started to fade. 

Yes, Dazai was your friend, your close friend; someone whom you had and would happily tell anything to. You trusted him just as much as you cared for him, and it was because of that care that you had been honest and told him the truth when his advances became far more than just friendly though he had never done anything untoward. The light that had been in his eyes had dimmed as soon as the words had left your mouth but what else could you do? You couldn’t lie to him. That wasn’t right. You wouldn’t do that to Dazai, you refused. However whatever worries that you had seemed to be blown out of proportion as things had been going well, much to your great relief. Dazai hadn’t seemed to hold it against you and from the smile he’d worn and how he’d expressed how happy he was for you when you found someone you had believed that you both were back to normal. 

You were so excited, so very excited. The relief that you felt was like something being lifted from your shoulders, Dazai was still your friend and so you had gone out with your boyfriend who you had met a few weeks ago with a smile. Or at least you had been. 

You had taken the same alley you always took, not just because it was convenient but because it was the quickest route to the restaurant that you were meeting your boyfriend at, but just before you had rounded the corner and made it to the end of the route- Nothing. Blackness had impaired your vision and now here you were. Waking up in your current situation. Raising your head, your eyes briefly closed from the pain that you could still feel in the side of your head; but you did your best to ignore it as you looked around with your still partially blurry vision, the blurs running around the outside of it like some sort of picture frame. 

The room was small, a basement? The low hanging ceiling above you and the musty but kempt feel of the room, along with the dim lighting all pointed to that answer but you knew it wasn’t yours. Your apartment was big but it was only a one-story, it didn’t have a basement, only an attic so then- A shiver rushed down your spine, sending ice-cold fear into your heart as your thoughts reached a frightening conclusion. Someone had kidnapped you. You’d known that Yokohoma held dangerous people living among the other citizens but you’d never thought that you would be a target. What business would they have to kidnap you? You’d done nothing wrong, or at least, you were pretty sure you hadn’t. 

The thoughts continued to rush through your head, only serving to add to the building anxiety that was stirring inside of you and causing your thoughts to rush from one thing to another. 

The sound of a door opening from somewhere upstairs and then closing caused you to freeze as you listened in silence. The sound was soon followed by footsteps as they began to walk above you, getting closer and closer- before the sound of a key unlocking a lock to a door could be heard as the footsteps stopped; only to continue again after the lock was heard once more but this time they were coming down the stairs. 

As the approaching footsteps descended the stairs your heart thumped in your chest, fear forming in sweat as a single bead appeared on the side of your head, while your heart stayed beating in a constant fear fulled melody; as you could only stare in silence at the door, helplessly awaiting whoever was about to come through that door and deliver you your certain demise. 

When the door opened and your eyes made out the figure that stepped inside, closing the door behind him with his slender hand, your hues widened in stunned and disbelieving shock. Even in this dim lighting, you could still make out his short brown hair that matched his coffee tinted optics; the fresh white bandages that most of his upper body was wrapped in, visible through his shirt and the long coat that he always wore. Even, as you knew otherwise the stunned disbelief that went through you, remained, causing you to be unable to speak as you could only sit in that same silence.

That morning had been good, so much so that he’d hardly been able to keep the smile from his face as he made his way to work, whistling to himself while he’d stepped inside of the headquarters of the Armed Detective Agency. He’d focused on his work while listening to his headphones and singing along to his favorite song, of course, he knew that Kunikida and the others were watching him with no doubt confused and puzzled looks on their expressions but he truly didn’t care. He was in a good mood, brilliant even and by the time, the time for him to head home came around Dazai had simply stood up, the now finished paperwork stacked on his desk and left with his arms behind his head while humming his favored tune to his himself. 

Every step filled him with anticipation and the closer he got to his home the more it grew as excitement rushed through his veins, prolonging the smile that had still yet to leave his expression. Upon finally reaching the front door of his apartment he lowered his hands back down to his side, slipped his hand into his pocket, fished out the keys and opened the door before stepping inside and shutting it once again; before heading downstairs to the basement. Even if he knew the length of time it was taking him wasn’t long, it still felt far too long for Dazai but he was always a patient man so, tucking his hands into his pockets, the smile still on his expression, he’d descended down the stairs only taking his hands out to unlock the door before him before returning the key to his pocket. 

The sight that greeted him made delight rush through him, as his smile shifted to a more genuine one when his eyes landed on you tied and bound to the chair. 

“ Oh good, you’re awake. “ 

Of course, he wasn’t oblivious to the fear that was in your eyes, the way your slender body and gentle hands trembled with fear as you could do nothing but sit there and look at him with stunned shock. Helpless as the prey was to the predator. He knew this would be your reaction, after all, you saw him as only your friend, the same friend that couldn’t harm a fly, who had given you his shoulder and ear whenever you needed it, the same friend that had always listened, given you advice and who had always been there for you. Getting close to someone had never been something that Dazai was skilled at and nor had it been something that he was very willing to do; especially not after Odasaku but you with your warm and kind heart; had managed to break down every single wall he’d built up around himself like it was nothing. 

He trusted you, cared for you deeply despite knowing just how foolish and risky it was to do so. He should’ve predicted it, should’ve seen it coming when he pushed his luck but the inevitable happened, the words that had stuck with him all night, the same words that still stuck with him now. You refused him, not just his advances but him altogether and the soft reassurance that you loved him but only as a friend felt more like sandpaper scraping against his skin than it felt gentle. 

‘Friend’. That’s all you saw him as.

While the young man that he’d seen you- watched you with- had somehow gotten your heart instead. Even now the memory and thought of it filled him with a bitter edge that went far beyond simple annoyance.

As the days went on you returned to how you usually were; the guilt that had been in your eyes the last few days prior had completely left your expression as did any awkwardness as you had returned to your normal cheerful and relaxed self; just as you always were whenever you were in his company. Yet even as he had pulled off the perfect performance Dazai loathed the word ‘friend’ when it came to you. He didn’t want to be your friend at all. Of course not. He wanted you and that desire only festered within him more and more, bringing to life the darkness that he was constantly fighting against within himself as it stirred on this growing desire. The more he watched you while you remained oblivious and ignorant to the watchful eyes that remained on you from the shadows, the less he could stand it. In a way, it almost disgusted him just how much he wanted you, needed you but oh he did. Your heart was too sweet, too good, too pure for anyone else to have and as he watched your trembling form for just a moment his heart pulled with regret before it was swallowed within the blackness that had come with his growing need for you. 

He could see the pieces being put together inside of your head as your gaze remained locked with his own, the surprise and shock you were still feeling no doubt keeping you from answering him but he didn’t mind, after all, he didn’t intend to let you out of those bindings any time soon. 

For a long moment he only watched as you worked through your thoughts, and the way the look in your eyes shifted from fear to terror; caused him to instantly know you had come to the realization and at seeing this his smile grow; consequently causing you to begin struggling and tugging at the ropes around your wrists. Moving closer to you, the sounds of his footsteps echoing off the walls of the basement before coming to a stop once he was standing in front of you; gentle hands took your face into them, holding both of your cheeks in the palm of his hands. The fear in your eyes as tears ran down your cheeks somehow only made your eyes more beautiful, as his thumbs wiped them away while his chocolate brown hues, now twinged with a look of tenderness looked into your own.

“ Shh, it’s okay Y/N you’re safe I promise. “ Pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his own rested gently against your own for a moment as his eyes fell shut; only to open once again after a brief moment as he heard you begin to speak with traces of what he could only describe as restrained fear, causing it to tremble. 

“ W-Why are you doing this? “ 

His eyes narrowed in innocent and puzzled confusion for the briefest of moments as he pulled away before his expression shifted into the same innocent and cheerful smile before closing his eyes.

“ Isn’t it obvious Y/N?~ “

Taking your silence as an answer his cheerful smile remained

“ I told you earlier remember~? How I wanted more than just a friendship with you? You really hurt my feelings when you said you didn’t return them you know. “ his smile changed into a look of disappointment and hurt, his voice matching the look in his eyes while his gaze left your own for a moment but just as quickly as it had appeared it left “ But that’s alright. “ 

Whatever you had been about to say; whatever apology that you had been about to speak all seemed to die on your lips with what he said at the end and Dazai could not help but find it adorable how puzzled you looked at that moment, just like how your voice was as it sounded nothing short of mousy.

“ W-What? “ 

Keeping eye contact with you, the soft reassuring smile, the tenderness in his eyes all seemed to be swallowed up as darkness- one that terrified you- came to his coffee brown hues, while his smile shifted into a dark and satisfied smirk 

“ I have you here now don’t I? I’m a patient man Y/N, you know that and that means I can have all the time I need to make you change that answer. “ the smoothness that came to his voice was deep, just like the bottomless darkness that captured you and at that moment those eyes, the same eyes that had always comforted you, reassured you and calmed you had never looked less human, more terrifying as they gazed back at you. Patience had always been one of his strong suits, he’d used it many times and this plan had been no different, just as you would be but the amount of time it’d take for you to submit didn’t matter to Dazai, he was just satisfied enough with the knowledge that you were here. To know that he finally had his sweet darling. While he would’ve rathered you not be restrained he knew that it was necessary; since he knew that you would only try fighting him if he gave you the chance, even with that fear that was still shining in your beautiful eyes he knew that would change quickly. 

Since the only company you would be getting would be his own he knew that your willingness to behave would come quickly. All he needed to do was be patient. The thought of that, even if it was just the beginning sent a chill of delight down his spine as his smirk grew.

After all, as his enemies and even the most feared in the port Mafia knew his predictions were never wrong, in the end, they always came true.

[distrustedace]

“Apparently Virgil is a better actor than Roman. Who knew?”

AN: I want to make this into a series but its is going to be shorter then the Janus series. Also it might be a little messy since I am improvising the storyline. I hope this isn't a complete and utter disaster. 

“Apparently, Virgil is a better actor than Roman. Who knew?”

Roman found out that his newest lead is going to be a boy. And honestly, he was so excited! Finally, some gay representation in musicals. And this time, Roman knew it was going to be a totally new experience. Yes, the heathers will be girls as always, mostly because the heathers are too iconic to have a gender change. But, the newbie is going to play “Veronica” who’s name change is going to be Verona. Roman, on the other hand, is going to play JD. He wasn’t thrilled about playing a sociopathic kid with daddy issues but he got used to the fact that he had to play the villain. Besides, what's a story without the main antagonist?

Roman strode into the theatre to attend the rehearsals. He didn’t know who got casted for Verona since he missed the auditions for the other character , and completely forgot to check the list of people who got in. So on top of that, Roman was ready to be pleasantly surprised upon seeing his Co star. He suddenly heard a low tone speaking a line out of the musical , “and there is Heather Chandler, head cheerleader and main leader in the trio. And she is a mythic bitch.” Roman, upon hearing that line, immediately knew that his co-star is the greatest fit for Verona, he was instantly thrilled to be working with him. He looked up and saw.. Virgil?

“Wow, I never knew Virgil was the theatre kid.” Roman muttered. He was more than pleasantly surprised at Virgil’s acting skills. His tone of voice was authentic, he stayed on point, saying the words verbatim without the script and…. He looked the part. Especially the emotional aspect, Roman was excited to see that Virgil was better at conveying emotions then he is. It gives him some competition and a fresh new perspective in the world of acting. Roman smiled to himself, “Well, this is going to be a new experience.” He thought.

Virgil, actually felt like a human while playing the part of a fictional character. He wasn’t really antiquated with his emotions. Heck he doesn’t know how anger , fear, happiness or sadness felt like since he barely felt them. The only reason he got into theatre in the first place was because he seemed to only feel them, while playing a fictional character. He hoped to gain a full understanding of his emotions. Sure, he stopped acting by 7th grade in middle school, but he picked it up so he can have a “fun past time.” as his father put it. It was pleasantly enjoyable for him. But his main concern was if Roman would be willing to work with him. He knew that some of the rumors paint Roman to be a massive diva. Of course Virgil wasn’t sold on most of the rumors he heard of in his school, but it gives him small suspicion about Roman. He heard the door open and close and looked up to see Roman. Who was neatly dressed. He had his signature haircut which was combed to the right and gelled. He was always wearing a red jacket with a royal emblem on his chest. It indicated to him that Roman has already committed to pursue a degree in acting in the Chamberlin university, all the way in London , England.

“Ay, it's my greatest star, Roman. How was your day, busy?” the director said.

“Eh, not too busy. You know me, I always get my work done on time.” Roman responded. Virgil noticed the easy tone of his voice. He wondered if someday he can be as calm as Roman. But he was relieved that Roman might be open to working with Virgil. Virgil wanted to make sure he avoids any type of confrontation with his crew members. Infighting within a group can only lead to disaster.

I stepped up to the stage to finally talk to Virgil. “Hello, my name is Roman, and I will be playing the part of JD. Nice to meet you, Virgil, I have heard of you around school.” I said as I headed out.

Virgil gave me an firm hand shake before saying, “

It is nice to meet you too, Roman. I am relieved to have a kind person to be the lead of the show. I wonder, how did you  hear of me?” Virgil asked.

“Well, I guess you’re well known for your literary skills. Especially your narrative writing. I am quite impressed by your newest story.” I admitted.

“Oh, I didn’t peg you as the type to read stories like mine. Sometimes they can be too dark for a lot of people. Thank you for reading my stories.” He replied.

Virgil seemed monotonous, but I knew he meant well. I felt excited to work with him.

“Alright, so I assume that you already know the whole script. So, let's skip to rehearsing the “meant to be” number. I want to see how well you can convey Verona’s emotions.” I said

“All is forgiven baby! Come on get dressed. You’re my date to the pep rally  tonight!” I recited, with a low but slightly manic tone. As to establish JD’s mental state in the beginning of the song. I needed to convey that JD feels manic, and morbidly happy, but also had to mask his depressed and angry state.

“What! Why?” Virgil recited with a seemingly calm but anxious tone. That was really

Good considering his first line.

“Our classmates thought they were signing a petition! You gotta come out and see what

they really signed.” I recited, making sure to convey madness in the last part of the quote.

“You chucked me out like I was trash. For that you should be dead!” I sang, pausing a little before saying, “ but,but ,but!”

“Then it hit me like a flash. What if high school went away instead!”

I sang, making sure to enunciate the last sentence to seem like JD is slowly spiraling down to insanity. I remind myself to convey the song in a rebellious tone but to have undertones of morbidity.

“Those assholes are the key,” I belted out, before saying, “They’re keeping you away

from me.”

i announciated since the key words needed to be known to the audience. I wanted to show an obsessive side to JD. Since that is his main character trait.

“They made you blind, messed up your mind, but I can set you free!”

I sang out, I growled when I said  “messed” to show a small snippet of JD’s rage. As I did that, I made sure to build up the tone of the quote, starting from a normal tone, to an angry tone and then ending off with an easy, calm emotion. I also swiped my hand out while saying messed, to show how mad JD gets when he mentions what happened in the highschool .

“You left me and I fell apart for that you should be dead,”I said, while trying to convey a mix of sadness and anger. I hope I executed that correctly.

“I punched the wall instead, BAM BAM BAM!” I bellowed, wanting to show the pure anger dripping from JD’s quote.

“Then I found you fell apart, and set lose all  that truthful shit instead!”I sang out, while chuckling during the truthful part of the quote. I was taking a little artistic liberty with that. I wanted to show how JD is trying to put apart his anger with some humor.

“And so I built a bomb. Tonight,are school is vietnam.Lets guarantee they never see their senior prom.” I finally sang, I loved this quote since it gives me so many creative freedoms. I growled and sang a light but firm tone. After ending with a joyous high note. I noticed that virgil dropped at his knees, shakenly holding his torso with his right hand and covering his mouth with his left hand. Like he was stifling his sobs. I can hear his quiet whimpers. I almost faltered, I was convinced for a moment that Virgil was actually crying. I actually saw slight tears flowing from his eyes. That was an intense add on to the song.And it is magnificent.

“I was meant to be yours, We were meant to be one, Don’t give up on me now,Finish what we’ve begun, I was meant to be yours”

I sang the whole verse, doing the same thing as I did before but trying to improve the emotional appeal bit by bit to build up to the climax.

“We the students of westerburg high, will die!” *gasp!* “Our burnt bodies may finally get through, to you.” *oh-oh god!* “Your society churns out slaves and blanks, no thanks.” *whimper* “Signed the students of westerburg high. GOODBYE!” I ended with a manic tone. Virgil’s head snapped up while I said goodbye. His eyes were wide, his mouth was tightly frowning and tears were still flowing down his face. I instantly felt horrible after saying that. I know full well that this is just a simple rehearsal but, I am honestly worried for virgil. And if he gets me, worried for him. Then I know that I am dealing with serious competition.

After singing the next few verses I got ready to sing the climax to the song. I hope to god I get this right. One flaw of mine was expressing grief and anxiety. Something that can be Virgil’s biggest strength.

“Verona, open the, open the door please, Verona open the door!” I cautiously but anxiously said. I actually felt like trying to get Virgil to look at me.

“Verona can we not fight any more please, can we not fight any more!” I sang, making sure my voice wavered a little bit. I’m actually feeling apologetic. This is the first time I ever felt the way I am acting. I am both confused but excited to use this to my advantage.

“Verona sure you’re scared I’ve been there, I can set you free! Verona Don't make me come in there. I’m gonna count to three!

“One.”

“Two.”

“DAMMIT!”

I sang as I strided to virgil, getting desperate to see him.The music swelled and completely stopped. The bass played a hopeless tune, to convey the pure, raw emotion of my reaction to Verona’s dead body.

“Oh-Oh-” I immediately covered my mouth, vomiting almost lurching up my throat. Virgil’s body lay lifelessly against the wall. His arms were hanging out, his legs were strewn apart and his eyes… Oh god his eyes…  It was blank, it looked lifeless. He didn’t even close them! How- is he fucking ok?!

“P-please don’t leave me alone,” I whimpered out, somewhat crying at Virgil’s parasuicide, “You were all I could trust,”I desperately and depressingly sang out. I feel like my soulmate died. Holy shit.

“I can’t do this alone,” I sang out, building my tone up to the eventual climax.

“STILL I’LL WILL IF I MUST!”  I belted out. I was beyond furious. Emotions were spewing out as my expression morphed into someone that is wordlessly screaming. But thank god I still kept the volume at a normal tone.

The music stopped and my heart was still beating. My chest was puffing in and out as I struggled to come down from my newly found emotions. Virgil stood up and I heard his footsteps stride to me.

“R-Roman, are you ok? You were more intense than usual. Is there anything I can-” Virigil worried before I tackled him into a crushing hug. He staggered back for a bit. His arms falling limply. I took a deep breath, smelling the hood of his jacket. I was desperately making sure that Virgil was actually ok. That he was living. That he was breathing.

“Vi-virgil. Are you unharmed?” I meekly asked.

“R-roman I am completely alright. Did I trigger you?” Virgil assured me.

“N-no, it's just that… you were too believable. I just- for some reason I can’t stand the

sight of you dead.” I breathed out.

Virgil lifted his right arm and awkwardly patted my back. But it gave me comfort.

“It's alright Roman, the song was intense and I bet you were tired for today.Lets just get you to the seat and I will get you something to snack on. You did an exemplary job.” Virgil assured me.

While I was making my way to the seat I realized that my emotions are not a product of stress or burnout.

I think I fell for Virgil.

[cptn-stvngrntrgrs]

Fic: Sign of the Times

Relationship: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff

Summary:

His job is simple - return the stones and try not to mess up. Then come back to the present, live his life with his best friends. But he knew. He knew he can’t come back. Not if she’s not with him. But if what if they can start all over again? -- Just stop your crying Have the time of your life Breaking through the atmosphere And things are pretty good from here Remember everything will be alright We can meet again somewhere Somewhere far away from here

Also on AO3!

She isn’t coming back.

Steve still has trouble wrapping this idea around his head. She was just gone for a minute and she promised to see him after that, but she never did.

At that moment, Steve knew. This fight is all or nothing, whatever it takes. The anger and pure sadness are fighting for dominance, but both are crushing his heart. The devastation of Natasha’s loss was something he was never prepared for; something he never thought he would experience again. He remembered this feeling, pain so raw that he thought his heart was going to burst. The only time he felt this way was seeing Bucky fall from that train and waking up in the 21st century, taking in the fact that his old life was gone. And it really was.

That was, until Natasha came. She came into his life with her sarcasm and wit and humor, and the fact that she can totally beat Steve in combat. Her fearless and selfless nature that mirrors Steve’s; making her his true partner. But now she’s also gone.

Anger overtook sadness then. He wants to crush Thanos. He wants him to pay for Nat’s death. But most importantly, he wants them to win. For her. So her life being gone wouldn’t be in vain.

---

If Steve was being honest, he thought he was done for. With his shield breaking and Thanos and his army gaining advantage, he didn’t think they’d stand a chance. But alas, they had to try - he had to try. That’s what Nat would’ve done - fight til the end.

Everyone came back and they had done it - they won. But god, at what cost?

---

Clint insisted that Natasha’s funeral will be held in his farm; it’s only fitting, he said. He hasn’t been the same since Vormir: sure, he’s happy that his family is back, but it’s not complete. And it’s because of him. Steve understands his pain, him being in the same shoes with Bucky all those years ago.

“You loved her,” were the words Clint whispered to him during Nat’s funeral. Since her body wasn’t physically there, they made sure that their memory of hers is. The kids drew pictures of their Auntie Nat and Clint and Steve printed out pictures of them with her. It’s a mini-shrine dedicated to her, overflowing with flowers and pictures of her smile. The kids said a few words to her, and so did Clint. Steve couldn’t bring himself to say anything so he just stayed standing, quietly weeping to himself.

When Clint came back from Vormir alone, there was no time to mourn. They were ambushed and they had a job to do. He didn’t forget her - he never will, nor can he even if he wanted to - but he had something in front of him. Now, everything is final. She really isn't coming back. And Steve is not ready for that.

---

His job is simple - return the stones and try not to mess up. Then come back to the present, live his life with his best friends.

But he knew. He knew he can’t come back. Not if she’s not with him.

Thankfully, Bucky and Sam understood, just like he knew they would. They understood what Natasha meant to him, and as much as he loved them and vice versa, he just couldn’t see living his life without her.

“Hm, maybe you can save me from Hydra,” Bucky suggested. It was the night before Steve travels to put the stones back; their last night with him. “Then we’ll still be together.”

Sam sighed, not really wanting to think about the whole time travel fiasco. “Yeah sure, then when you’re a literal old man when you come back, just give me the shield. We’ll be the newer, cooler duo,” he joked, pointing between him and Bucky.

Steve let out a smile. He’s going to miss them.

---

Steve travelled to 2012 to return the stones and that was when he saw her again, and he felt his breath get caught in his throat. Her bright red hair, her gleaming green eyes. He itched to run to her, to tell them that they’ve won, despite knowing full well she won’t know what he was talking about and just get even more in trouble.

No, but he has a plan.

And he had to make it work.

After dutifully returning the stones from that year, Steve snuck into the tower, making sure that 2012-Steve wasn’t there. He waited on his floor, making himself comfortable in the couch. He looked around and smiled; there were so many good memories in this tower, and felt a pang of pain in his chest knowing that a certain redhead was the reason behind that.

He composed himself together, running his plan in his mind over and over, and convincing himself that it’ll work.

Almost two hours later, the elevator opened and 2012-Steve walked out of it, alone, just as Steve has expected.

“Hey man,” Steve called out, shield in hand, in case that he won’t be treated nicely.

And sure enough, a shield was thrown at him.

“What the hell!” other-Steve shouted out, still in his uniform and looking both parts exhausted and angry and confused, catching his shield back with a frown.

“Listen, I can explain.” Steve said, dropping his shield in front of him and raising his hands up - an indication that he’s harmless. “I’m you. But from 2023.”

2012-Steve had the audacity to roll his eyes. Steve had to stop himself from doing the same. “I don’t know what kind of prank Tony-” he started, but was cut off when Steve started talking.

“My, well, our mother’s name is Sarah Rogers. Back before the serum, you wore newspaper in your shoes and Bucky never let you live it down. He promised to take you the the “future” and took you to Stark’s expo. Do you want me to continue?” he rattled off. These are what he guesses are facts that Steve and only Steve would know, in hopes that he’ll get his past self’s trust.

2012-Steve was staring at him intently, brows still furrowed in confusion, but he too, lowered his shield. He didn’t let go of it, but it’s less… threatening. “Why are you telling me these things?”

“To prove to you that I’m you. But from the future.”

“What do you need from me? Why are you here? How is this even possible?” past-Steve asked in rapid succession, but it looks like he’s finally starting to believe what he’s seeing.

“It’s actually a very long story. Care to sit with me to talk about it?” Steve asked, gesturing to the couch. 2012-Steve nodded and sat across from him, still looking very confused, but he can tell that there’s still fascination and curiosity in his eyes.

Steve launched into the story of basically, everything from that year on. He talked about Thanos, the Time Heist, and Pym Particles, and what his mission was. He’d get a few questions here and there from the other but mostly just little details or clarification. The longest part was about Bucky and everything involving him, but they eventually got over it.

When he finished, 2012-Steve sat back, stared straight ahead in silence, before standing up and getting a bottle of vodka. present-Steve smiled, knowing who got him to start drinking that, knowing full well it won’t affect him.

“So what do you really want then?” 2012-Steve asked, after a couple moments of them passing the bottle between each other and drinking.

“Well, as you know, I could’ve just gone back there like, a couple of days ago. My mission was over,” Steve started to explain, fiddling with his hands. “But I can’t. I can’t go back, not after…” he took a deep breath. “Not after Natasha not making it back.”

2012-Steve raised an eyebrow. Oh. “Were you two…?” he trailed off, knowing that Steve understands the question. Steve nodded and put his hands over his face.

“We were together,” he whispered, gulping as he can feel tears threatening to fall. “I just… she was my everything, you know? I didn’t think I can love like that again, after Peggy, but,” Steve shook his head and smiled bitterly. “I did. I don’t think I loved anyone as much as I love Natasha.”

Steve looked at his past-self. “I know exactly what you’re feeling. It’s almost the same - after waking up from the ice, I don’t see what my purpose here is when everything and everyone I knew was gone. That’s the life that will welcome me if I were to come back to the future. A life without Natasha. I mean, there’s Bucky and Sam, but…”

“It’s just not the same.” 2012-Steve finished for him.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the city getting darker and darker, but also brighter.

“So what do you want me to do?” 2012-Steve asked.

“Go back in time, around the time of the plane crash, so you can live the life you wanted. With Peggy and the Commandos. Maybe even rescue Bucky,” Steve answered.

“While you live your life here in my place, and get to live the life you want with Natasha. And hopefully prevent the whole Thanos thing from happening. From this timeline, at least. Did I guess correctly?” there was a gentle smile in his face - this is such a Steve thing to think of, no matter which timeline he’s from.

Steve chuckled and nodded. “Now, I know it has some concerning things. Like if you were to go back, there will be a Steve in that year that is under the ice. Maybe just… leave him? But I only ask you to explain everything to Peggy and hopefully she’s understand.”

2012-Steve thought about it for a moment before nodding. “You’re insane, but okay, I’ll take it. I just have to ask - why me? Why choose 2012 you?”

“Because I know you. Still fresh from the ice and most of your memories are still from the time before. The 1940s were a mere 6 months ago instead of 70 years. And the girl I love is here.” Steve shrugged. “It just… seemed like it made sense.”

2012-Steve pondered it over. “Yeah… I mean, of course right now, I do like Natasha, but not in that way yet. But,” he sighed, “Peggy… I miss her so much. Wait, didn’t you mention that from your timeline, she got married and had kids with Daniel? What happens if I go back to 1945?”

Steve actually asked Bruce about that, so he was ready. “Nothing. That still happens but in a different timeline. Like I told you, time travel doesn’t exactly create a domino effect.”

Later that night, they set their plan in motion. Steve taught past-Steve what was going to happen. “Remember, get Bucky, okay? You have to rescue him,” Steve reminded him. 2012-Steve nodded and gave him a thumbs up.

In a matter of seconds, he’s gone.

And Steve’s back in 2012. Permanently.

He lied down on the couch and let out a deep sigh. He felt so exhausted, it’s as if everything came crashing down on him all at once.

“Sir, Agent Romanoff is on her way up,” Jarvis alerted him after half an hour of him taking a nap. This made Steve jolt up - it’s been a while since he heard that voice and he smiled to himself.

Steve blinked, standing up to pick up his shield from the ground, placing it in a corner just as Natasha was entering. For a moment, he didn’t know how to react.

“Hey sold- oh!” her greeting was lost in a gasp of surprise as Steve enveloped her in his arms and hugged her tightly. She frowned in confusion but also put her arms around him. She tends to humor the guy.

“Nat, I just… missed you, is all,” he said after letting her go.

“We were just together, like” she checked her watch, “five hours ago,” she glanced up at him, eyebrow raised.

Steve felt his face redden. “Oh, I mean, l - I, just forget about it,” he said sheepishly, averting his eyes away from her.

Natasha laughed - Steve’s favorite sound - and playfully punched his shoulder. “I’m just messin with ya, Cap. I could use a hung here and there sometimes,” she added with a wink. “Now let’s go, the team’s waiting upstairs! You’re the one who wanted to watch Mulan tonight!”

“Of course, Mulan, my favorite movie.” Steve said as they were waiting for the elevator.

Natasha looked up at him in surprise. “I thought we’re watching it tonight because you’ve never watched it before?” she asked, studying his face. Steve gulped and almost told a lie when she spoke again. “Don’t tell me you watched it by yourself!”

Steve shook his head. “No, I just… saw some memes on the Internet comparing you to Mulan. So I guess it would become my favorite movie soon.”

Natasha smiled at that, both of them entering the elevator. “You’re such a sap,” she looked down and tucked her hair behind her ear. When she looked up at him, a smirk was on her lips. “And I’m glad I’m finally getting through you! Look at you, looking up memes! I’m so proud.” she put a hand on her chest to emphasize on this.

Steve tucked his hands in his pockets and bumped his shoulder with her. He loves how comfortable they already are. Well, that’s the thing with them. They’ve always been this way, even in his 2012. After the Battle of New York and they hung out as a team, it’s always been easy for them to just be around each other. It’s mainly the reason why Fury put them together - they just clicked.

When the elevator stopped at the penthouse, Steve put his arm over Natasha’s shoulder casually as they walked to the living room, and he could’ve sworn she leaned into him even just a little bit.

“What, the old man needed some assistance on his way here?” Tony quipped from the couch, where he was already munching on popcorn from a bowl.

Steve took a deep breath and looked around. It’s just the six of them in the floor - like how it’s always been before.

Thor is probably here for a couple of days, which is what he usually did back then. Clint is already halfway to falling asleep, and Bruce is calmly sitting down while drinking tea. Natasha lead them to the couch where she sat next to Clint, and lying his legs over his lap. Clint barely glanced at her before shifting so she could be more comfortable.

Steve sat on the empty spot next to her, and as much as he wanted her to get curled up on his lap like how they usually end up, that didn’t start happening until 2014. This Natasha has no reason to be that close to him, nor does he with her.

But he’ll wait. Going back in time is like restarting a game you’ve already beaten before, but Steve loved the journey as much as he did the destination. He’ll do it right, like he did before. He had Natasha back - Tony, too - and for now, he couldn’t really ask for more.

Notes: Thanks for reading!

title is a Harry Styles song, although I didn't know it was his bc I've always only just listened to LANY's version lol

--

this idea came to me after not accepting Steve's ending. steve in 2023 has no reason to go back to peggy like that. then i was like "hmmm... maybe *not* 2023 steve, then"

hence, this fic was born. please let me know what you guys think of it!! this was really cloudy in my mind and i debated a couple times whether or not to actually go through with it. i'd love to hear some input!

[franticbindings]

Ability Check, Please! - Part 1

As Eric’s consciousness slowly drifted towards wakefulness, he became dimly aware of the room around him. He was snug and warm in the bed, which was piled so high with fluffy blankets that only a sliver of his face was peeking out. The pale morning light streamed in through the window and fell gently on his closed eyes. He breathed sleepily and could make out hints of pleasant, familiar smells—wood smoke and fresh-baked bread. He hovered on the cusp of waking for several long minutes, dozing contentedly.

Then he remembered.

Four days ago, he had arrived in Waterdeep—the City of Splendors—with his adventuring companions.

Three days ago, he had woken up filled with excitement to explore the city, only to find their rooms empty and all their belongings gone.

Two days ago, he realized that they weren’t coming back.

Yesterday he had climbed into bed, and he had yet to emerge. The innkeeper had been kind enough to bring meals up to him.

All the shame and despair over being abandoned so casually—without even a word or a note—came rushing back, and Eric let out a low groan and rolled onto his back, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He had always been a bit of an outsider in the group, but he had thought that all those months on the road where they faced danger together would have counted for something. 

Maybe I’m just hopelessly naïve. He supposed he should be happy that they waited until they had reached their destination before ditching him, but mostly he just felt sad. At least I’m not totally alone. The stillness of the room was disturbed by the flutter of delicate wings, and Eric felt the soft impact of tiny feet through the blankets covering him.

“Good, you’re awake. Get dressed, we’re going out today.”

Eric squinted up at his familiar, Dex, who was perched on his chest. His iridescent wings were at full attention, his hands were on his hips and his face was set with determination; it might have been an intimidating sight if Dex wasn’t only nine inches tall. He was a sprite, which meant he looked mostly like an elf writ small, but his exaggerated features would give away his fey nature even if his size and wings didn’t—his ears were a little too prominent, his hair too brilliantly orange, and his eyes were like burnished gold. His pale skin was dotted all over with dense spirals of freckles in a way that was both beautiful and strange.

Eric’s voice was still rough with sleep when he spoke, “Dex, I believe you may have some misapprehensions about which of us is in charge in this relationship.” He rolled over onto his side, petulantly dislodging the sprite, who nimbly flitted up into the air before settling cross-legged on the pillow in Eric’s line of sight.

Dex crossed his arms over his lightly armored chest, “You’re being a sad sack, so I get to be in charge until you’ve got your head on straight.”

Eric rolled his eyes, “I think I’m allowed to be upset when I’ve been abandoned by almost all of my friends.”

“First of all? Those assholes were never your friends. They treated you like dirt and you only put up with it because you lack confidence and you grew up knowing each other. Inertia is a terrible reason to base who you get into dangerous situations with.”

Eric’s tried to muster some indignation on his own behalf but only managed to yawn, when he spoke his rustic Dale’s accent was thick. “This is a swell pep talk—real inspirin’.”

Dex didn’t dignify that with a response, “Secondly, you’re better off without them. Seriously, I read their hearts, so you can trust me on this.” This statement was accompanied by significant finger wiggling, which Eric presumed was to indicate Dex’s ability to read someone’s inner nature by laying hands upon them. “They’re one bad week away from going feral. I won’t be in the least bit surprised if they manage to get kicked out of the city before winter is out.”

Eric sighed, “They did have a tendency to ruffle people’s feathers.”

Dex leaned forward and met Eric’s gaze pointedly, “Are you really going to miss having to clean up their messes?”

“I guess not.” Eric chewed on his lip thoughtfully, “I kinda still want to mope for another day though. Can I put off getting my act together for just a little longer?”

Dex shook his head, “We’ve got to be out of here by noon.”

“What? Why?”

“We’re almost out of money.”

“What?!” Eric’s eyes widened with shock. “What about the payoff for the escort job? My share was almost thirty gold.” You could live comfortably on that much for nearly a month, even in a city like Waterdeep.

“Remember? They convinced you to wait and split the money until the morning and then…”

“And then they left!” Eric sat bolt upright in his bed and felt his face flush with anger. His short blonde hair was wild from days of neglect and he was so outraged he could barely think. “Those… those…”

“Bastards? Shit weasels?” Dex fluttered up into the air and hovered at eye level in front of Eric.

“Those... ungrateful assholes! I’m the only reason we got that job!” Eric crossed his arms in a huff. His anger had an invigorating effect, pushing back the fog of negative emotions, but it was fading as quickly as it had come. Worry and fear were quick to take its place, and Eric looked plaintively at his friend.

“What are we gonna do?”

“We are going to find a new party. Hopefully this time without the assholes.”

Dex flew over to the bedside table and returned carrying a rolled-up piece of parchment, which he unfurled. It was an advertisement, the kind that people put up on signposts and bulletin boards. Written on it was:

The Yawning Portal Welcomes All Adventurers!

Rainrun Street, Castle Ward

-Gateway to The Undermountain-

-Hire Adventurers-

-Join or Form a Party-

-Trade Information and Items-

“Is this what you were out doing yesterday?” Eric took the page and settled it in his lap, reading it over a few times.

Dex nodded.

I could find another party, but what if they don’t respect me either? It had been hard to get the measure of other adventuring groups during their travels since the unrestrained egos of his own party invariably made rivals out of anyone they met. He had seen pity in some of their eyes when they had looked at him—at the time he had thought that were questioning why someone like him was getting involved in the dangerous business of adventuring, but now he wondered if they just saw how he was treated and thought he deserved better. Eric slumped over a little, resting his chin on his hand. His gaze was downcast and unfocused, “Maybe I should just give up on adventuring and get a job at a bakery.”

Dex landed in front of Eric and kicked him lightly in his blanket-covered leg with one pointy boot. “You’re doubting yourself again. Quit it.”

Eric met Dex’s eyes briefly before his gaze skittered away to the window, “I can be kind of a liability—I’m useless if I get grabbed. That’s probably why everyone left.”

Dex scowled and hopped up the pile of blankets that covered Eric’s lap until he was right in his friend’s face, “You are a handpicked champion of The Flawless Queen. Are you doubting her wisdom?”

Eric leaned back, but kept his eyes averted and his voice soft, “She was pretty clear that I only had the potential to be a hero. That’s no guarantee.”

Dex planted his hands on his hips and flicked his wings in frustration, “Well, after watching you in action and reading your heart more times than I can count I’m sure about two things—you’ve got a genuine heroic spirit, and that would be wasted working in a bakery. Think of all the people you’ve helped!”

Eric sighed, and was finally able to meet Dex’s gaze, “You’re probably right.”

“I’m always right.”

Eric managed to muster a chuckle at that and started to climb out of bed, “Sure, Dex. Do you know how to get to this Yawning Portal place?”

“Yeah, I scouted it out yesterday. It’s not far.”

Eric hummed in consideration as he stretched out his back and limbs, which popped loudly in the quiet of the room, “I figure we should drop by this tavern and see what time everybody usually shows up. We might need to sell our last healing potion if we can’t find a cheaper inn. Not sure what to do after that.”

“Well, you wanted to explore the city before everything happened. I figured we could do that. The stuff I saw was pretty impressive for mortal work, but it doesn’t really rate compared to The Queen’s palace.”

“No, I guess it wouldn’t.” Eric began to strip off his two-day-old undergarments and he moved over to the washbasin, where he did a simple spell to heat the water. He was of average height but compact with lithe muscle, and he was unselfconscious about being disrobed in front of his familiar. As he washed, he let his mind drift among memories of his time with The Flawless Queen.

He had gotten lost in the woods and stumbled across her entourage purely by accident, much to his initial consternation. He had heard plenty of stories about the fickle nature of the fey, and when he was brought before her there was no doubt in his mind that he faced one of the most powerful of their kind. Eric expected to be so overwhelmed by her raw aura of majesty and power that he would be unable to speak but found instead that the words came easily—he surprised himself with clever turns of phrase as he apologized for his intrusion and explained his predicament. The Queen must have been pleased by this, as she agreed to help him find his way back to his home in Featherdale in exchange for his conversation as they traveled. Eric soon discovered that The Flawless Queen was inspiration incarnate, and it didn’t take long in her presence before Eric was admitting to dreams that he had never given voice to—the desire to help people in a way that mattered, his dream of leaving home to find adventure and perhaps, if he was lucky, love. When the Queen offered him her blessings—magic, and an ally in Dex—in order to help make those dreams a reality, Eric had been eager to accept. 

It had all seemed so simple at the time. When did I lose that? The next hour passed quickly as Eric completed his ablutions and prepared to depart with Dex’s help. He cleaned his dirty clothes with magic and dressed warmly for the chilly autumn wind that he knew would be blowing in from the ocean. He hung his spell component pouch over his left shoulder, and his Book of Shadows hung from his waist on his right. With some difficulty he crammed all of his various belongings into his backpack, which settled on his shoulders with only a modicum of clanking—he was carrying quite a bit of cookware. He paused in the common room to grab a quick breakfast and to thank the innkeeper for indulging him the previous day (“Of course, dear! I do hope you’re feeling better!”). That done, he hurried out into the pale morning light in search of the next adventure.

~*~

Eric looked curiously up at the Yawning Portal inn—all three stories of it. It was built of stone, with a slate roof, and looked to be about as old as the other buildings in the area. It was also clearly labeled with a sign that hung from black iron chains above the door. As he watched, a group of three dwarves emerged from the inn, talking amongst themselves in dwarven. Eric swallowed down his nervousness and walked up to the door and entered.

Eric found himself in a large open space with wooden floors—it was pleasantly warm after the chilly autumn air, and the sunlight was streaming in through tall windows that faced the street, illuminating a bar along the left wall and a dozen or so tables with chairs scattered around the first floor. Eric’s attention was immediately drawn to the center of the spacious room, where there was what looked like a giant well—easily forty feet across—which was surrounded by a waist-high barrier of bricks and descended who knows how deeply into the earth. The building was constructed so that there was a column of open space above the well, extending up to the second and third floor, and Eric could just make out more seating for patrons on the upper floors. Staircases spiraled around the pillars that supported the ceiling and dangling down from the top of the third floor was a rope and pulley system that descended into the depths.

“Do people go down there?” Eric wondered aloud as he approached the barrier and looked down into the pit. He could see about thirty feet down before everything was swallowed by darkness.

Dex landed on the edge of the barrier surrounding the hole in the floor and was peering down into it when a gruff voice boomed out from behind them.

“Entrance to the Undermountain is one gold per person, though I can’t in good conscience let you go down there by yourself.”

Dex flitted up to head height and let out an offended, “He’s not alone. He’s got me!”

Eric turned around and took in the barkeep, who was making a placating gesture. He was about a head taller than Eric and looked quite fit despite his greying hair. The man’s thickly muscled arms looked made for swinging swords, and Eric immediately pegged him as a retired adventurer. He continued speaking, with a little contrition in his voice.

“I’ve got the same objections for two as for one. Unless you’ve got a few more in your party out in the city somewhere?”

Eric walked over to the bar, which was empty of patrons except for one, down at the end. As he slipped off his pack, Eric spared them enough of a glance to make out pale skin, dark hair, and gleaming silver armor. He settled himself on one of the bar stools and made introductions and exchanged a few polite niceties. The barkeep was actually the owner of the establishment, and his name was Durnan.

“‘As to your question, I’m afraid it’s just us at the moment.” Eric was wringing his hands below the bar top but still wearing his best ‘Please like me!’ smile. He pressed on, “That’s actually why we’re here. We saw your flyer and figured it coming here was a good way to meet some new people.”

“Could be, could be. How long have you been adventuring?”

“I’ve done a few quests here and there since I was sixteen, so for about two years now. But I’ve been doing this full time since I left home about six months ago.”

“You’re a spellcaster, right? What’s your best spell?”

“Well, my specialty is illusions and enchantments. My best trick is probably…” Eric hummed, considering, “Either making someone fly, or hypnotizing a bunch of people at once with an illusion.” 

“Not too bad. You really made it this far with just the two of you?”

“I’ve been traveling with a group for the past six months, but…” Eric looked down—he had hoped to avoid explaining this. Despite Dex’s words of encouragement, he still felt quite a bit of shame over being left behind, and he wasn’t keen on sharing that with someone he just met.

Dex cut in, crossing his arms as if daring anyone to contradict him. “But they were jerks and we’re better off without them.”

Durnan made a sympathetic noise, “Sometimes that’s how it goes. As for finding a new party—there are usually a handful of people looking to get their feet wet that show up every night around sundown. At your level of skill, you could get a group of them and set yourself up as the leader—might have to take some jobs that are below your usual pay grade until they get more experienced. As for more advanced groups—Jack over there has been looking for a spell slinger to round out his crew for a while now. His group is a good one—skilled, and not in the business for the wrong reasons. I’ll introduce you if you like.”

 “Oh!” Eric blinked, a little surprised that Dex’s plan was bearing fruit so soon. “If it’s not too much trouble!”

“Think nothing of it. Besides, if you go on to do great things together then I get to say I had a hand in it.” Durnan chuckled a little and strode over to the other end of the bar. As the innkeeper conversed with the man, gesturing a few times back in Eric’s direction, Eric got a good look at him.

Jack was, without a doubt, one of the most attractive people Eric had ever laid eyes on. This was saying something since Eric had spent a day and a night in the company of a faerie queen and her entourage. He had seen ethereal beauty and grace the likes of which the mortal world would never know, but they fey were beautiful in the way the most glorious aspects of nature were—you could appreciate the sunrise from a distance, but you couldn’t reach out and touch it. 

Jack was beautiful in a more human, potentially obtainable way—Eric noticed short dark hair, broad shoulders, sharp features, and intense pale blue eyes. He was armored elegantly but simply, with a breastplate, arm guards and greaves, and he had a longsword strapped to his waist. The armor was well fitted, so it didn’t obscure the fact that his body was solid with lean muscle in a way that Eric was definitely appreciating. 

Jack and Durnan concluded their conversation, and Jack started over in Eric’s direction with an easy grace, one hand resting on his sword’s pommel. Jack gave Eric an obvious once over as he approached, taking him in, and Eric did his best not to blush.

Dex fluttered up next to Eric’s ear and whispered, “Just so you know—he’s been totally stealing glances at you since you came in.” 

Eric was definitely blushing now, and Jack was standing right in front of him, extending his hand.

“Eric, right? I’m Jack Zimmermann.”

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

I would love to hear your main 3 opinions/feels abt each character. Can i ask for that? Pweeze

My feels/opinions? Well, sure, I’d be happy to! ❤️ But please keep in mind everyone that this is just how I experience the game! Nothing here is ironclad or a deterrent to anyone with differing opinions, I think everyone should enjoy the game as they like!

Also I hope I interpreted the request right, though if I misread please feel free to let me know! I understood it as my thoughts on the current three route boys out right now, but if you meant a brief take on all of the characters I’d be happy to oblige (it’s very late and I can’t read, I’m not sure of anything anymore 😂)

Interpretations beneath the cut since I’m a bit verbose LOL

First, and poster boy of the game, we have the Nightmare of Europe--the famous soldier Napoleon Bonaparte. I for one really liked the premise of his story; being a demi-vampire and struggling with his odd existential reality. He’s dead, but somehow not dead at the same time--I imagine that’s a rather unnerving place to be 😂. As for the romantic aspect, I think the descent into love is sweet and rather natural, and I like that he enjoys the normalcy in being with the MC after years of being a soldier. 

Given the amount of gore and strife this man has probably seen in his lifetime, it felt believable. Maybe it’s because I have the soul of a grandma, but the older I get the more I truly believe joy is in the little things in life (at least for me). An inspiring song, a pleasant chat, or even a simple meal you cooked yourself--all these things have a kind of subtle, enriching happiness that come with them. I love that Napoleon’s route is about showing him beauty where he’d never seen it before, and in places he never thought to go looking. I like that he doesn’t see it coming--just sees it as another obligation before it morphs into something so much greater, until he’s inspired and in love with her just as she’s enamored of him. 

Granted, he’s not quite the type I tend to leap for in otomes, but I can safely say that I enjoyed his route. He’s got a wonderful heart, he loves her deeply--and treats her with the respect and consideration she deserves, always aware of her strength. I also love how adorably moe he is; walking into walls, sleeping into the afternoon, buying her a little plush because he thought of her. Even in other routes, he has shining moments of compassion and concern for the MC.Tl;dr: Unexpectedly cute and heart-warming, definitely among the routes that I liked! I like his capacity to be blunt without being insensitive, and how desperate he is to maintain his humanity to walk beside her--second only to his desire to protect herSecond, we have the great Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart himself--though perhaps quite unlike his historical interpretations to date. From what I understand he is presented as the quintessential isolated genius--so passionate about his craft that he has silenced every possible interruption that might manifest in this new life. If I’m quite honest, I think he can be a bit high-handed at points; but I like that he doesn’t quite reach arrogance. There is a self-awareness that he possesses, an ability to step back and ask the question: what did I contribute to create the outcome of a situation? I like that--despite his social ineptitudes, he doesn’t place the brunt of that responsibility on other people. He tries. Even if his attempts are clumsy and coarse--and to me that makes all the difference. It makes him more human, more interesting; it creates a dynamism sorely needed to invest a clever audience.

Strange as it may sound, at least for me, the places where he shines most are in Jeanne’s route and in his later story events. He’s just such a marshmallow the more he mellows into his love; I liked watching him grow, watching him stumble and smooth over his indiscretions--just as MC learns to recognize his efforts for what they are. He has no shortage of love for her, even if he seems a bit prickly or reserved about expressing that affection. While he, also, might not be what I usually go for--he can still be a delight to experience. He’s often surprised me for the regard he’s been able to inspire from me, it’s very rare that I have the patience to enjoy such tsuns! That, and, I must admit--he holds a very powerful weapon at his disposal: music. This is probably more of a personal experience with his content, but music has always been an especially emotional and powerful thing to me. When he talks about it in terms that might seem grandiose to others, it makes sense to me--I share that feeling, and I can’t help the admiration that comes with his mutual appreciation--devotion, even. I find it incredibly sweet that he shares that fervor with her, and doesn’t hesitate to express himself that way!

Tl; dr: pretty grumpy baby wins this romantic sap’s heart with soulful melodies, the capacity for self-awareness, and the capacity to apologize/humble himself/learn along the way in love 😂

Third, we have the absolute UNIT himself, Leonardo da friggen Vinci. Where do I begin with him? He’s my absolute kryptonite in this game, I’m an absolute fool for him, so I’ll try to be as unbiased as I can 😂😂😂

I think my favorite part about this route is that he falls in love with her so quickly after meeting her--but in a way that just feels so raw and true and earth-shattering, rather than gimmicky. It’s rare to see an otome, or even romance novel for that matter, make something as simple as love at first sight feel real. It’s not grandiose or outlandish or unwarranted; rather, it feels like a spark flew and then set to blaze over a hearth. 

What I love about Leonardo is his deep perception when it comes to other people (not himself ofc, and in those moments he is--as the kids call it--big d u m b). He pays such close attention to why and how people do things, and he’s able to discern with almost alarming speed that the MC is being considerate of the Count’s offer, sure. But she’s doing it with a remarkable amount of courage, and very little naivety; she’s giving them all a chance to prove her trust well-founded. In her situation that takes a lot of faith, but also a lot of strength. She sparks his curiosity and attraction precisely because she remains true to her own convictions, and cares as deeply for other people as he does. She’s not under the misapprehension that nobody will ever hurt her; rather, she knows full well it’s a possibility, and chooses to face that head-on. 

And Leonardo? Not only deeply honors that choice, but does his utmost to help her bloom in her time there. He spends every moment helping her get closer to the other residents, and makes sure she doesn’t have a moment alone to worry--until he comes clean directly about wanting to help her. His route is one layer and revelation after another, and while he’s incredibly crafty--his intentions are just so surprisingly pure. He just wants to see people happy, even if it’s something he can never have. If they can smile--if he can do anything to ease their hearts--he’ll be the first to act, and it’s something that’s enormously admirable to me. It speaks of a deep maturity, and perhaps wounds that haven’t quite healed for him either; to be unable to watch others bear a moment’s hardship alone. 

Whenever I think about Leonardo, I very often think about the separate layers without realizing it’s all one man. Despite his impressive capacity to socially situate himself and other people, he’s very, very alone at the same time. He struggles to be honest because it’s hard for him to face his own reasons (that he’s so deeply in love with her he can’t see straight). And yet, it’s refreshing how hard he works to be honest with her when it counts--to see him finally accept the concept of his own happiness at her insistence. For somebody so capable, so well-loved by the people around him, so patient with others--he seems to have no ability to reflect that inward. It’s heart-breaking to watch, and it makes him tragic in a way that always levels me. 

Tl;dr: the sheer range and depth of Leonardo’s compassion is always inextricable from his belief that he is a burden/abomination--most especially to the ones he loves most. It’s this flagrant contradiction, and his endless battle to maintain hope in an increasingly self-imposed solitary existence that wins my heart most powerfully of the first three contenders. 

[hornsandthings]

aim your voice at me;

pairing: connor rk800 x reader

summary: connor ponders about the nature of language and emotions when a book makes his s/o cry.

warnings: fluff, connor makes a joke lol // word count: 1064 // connor discovering how the written word can cause feelings? yes please 

          it was a quiet night in for the both of you; tucked into bed but not giving in to sleep just yet. sitting against the headboard with a tablet in your hands, every now and then you’d swipe to flick to the next page of the novel. physical copies were rare and expensive these days; paper almost in complete disuse as the world had finally woken up to the consequences of deforestation.

           connor was next to you, his own tablet abandoned in his lap after having finished some leftover reports a while ago. he was still getting used to idleness – he had hated it, once, when the mission was all that mattered, but now during deviancy, he was slowly learning how to tolerate it. he tried to take his cues from you, when and how to just be, but sometimes the world just moved too unbearably slow for him. he could read, process, research hundreds of things within an instant; complete understanding of every concept, every theory, was only one command away.

           so, during times like this, he’d come to focus on the only mystery which remained to his android brain – emotions. laying on his side with his head propped up against his hand, he observed you as you read, cataloguing every feature for reference, for memory, for pure indulgence. starting with your fingers, he watched their graceful movements as they held the tablet, as they swiped across its surface. letting his gaze climb up your torso, he took in your shoulders, your collarbone, your throat. you looked so comfortable, and you felt familiar, too – a small smile quirked his mouth, because this was a sign of trust. he let his eyes linger over your exposed skin, wondering vaguely about how it must feel to contain organised chaos inside oneself. the raw complexity of humans, of you, never ceased to amaze him.

           he looked up at your face, and his led flashed yellow at the sight of tears.

           you felt the bed dip beneath you as connor shifted, but did not let your eyes leave the words in front of you. the scene was utterly heartbreaking; you felt the story within the tightness of your chest, within the wetness on your face. despite steadfastly trying not to cry, a few tears had escaped. but you were already moving on with the story, letting the initial hurt pass as the action continued.

           before you could swipe, though, connor had lifted his hand to your cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb. he uttered your name softly, worriedly, and his face was etched with utter concern when you looked at him. “what’s wrong?”

           a small laugh escaped you, a bit embarrassed that he’d caught you tearing up. “it’s just the book,” you said, a sheepish smile on your face as you wiped the remaining wetness away.

           “the novel?” he asked, sitting up in confusion. he took the tablet from you, and upon seeing the title, he instantly obtained all relevant information: the plot, the characters, the author, its publication. nothing seemed particularly upsetting – just a course of events, explained through written language, a series of symbols with collective meaning attached to it. he wanted to know why, how, it had elicited such a strong emotional response, for surely tears were feelings made physical, but for all the articulation he possessed, the only thing he could manage was a blunt “why?”

           connor’s confusion didn’t surprise you. an amused hum escaped your throat as you turned your head to kiss his palm, letting your hand glide down his arm and up his shoulder, coming to run through his hair. the small question was so complex that you couldn’t answer right away, eyebrows furrowing as you pondered it.

           “well, i became attached,” you started, almost wincing at the flatness of the answer.

           “but it’s fiction. it’s not real.” he stared at the tablet as if analysing it would give the answer, and you gently put it away before he would indeed do so.

           “true, it’s not real, per se, but the words – they make me empathise with the character, with the story. the events may not be real, but the feelings sure are.” the explanation felt too simple, too pale in comparison to the vague notions stirring in your heart and mind, but it was the best you could do with fatigue settling in, with the lingering weight of said feelings still occupying your thoughts.

          your shoulders had slumped when you finished, and connor understood that you weren’t entirely happy with the answer you gave. he recognised the brief, longing expression which crossed your face – he, too, had felt things that he couldn’t formulate into words, no matter how hard he pushed his processors to comprehend and evaluate the unknowable. so he merely nodded, leaning closer and lifting your chin so that you’d look at him. in a gentle kiss, your lips moved against his.

          “you humans,” he murmured against your mouth, “so emotional.” you laughed into his mouth and he smiled, eyes staying closed as he placed one hand on the small of your back and the other on the nape of your neck, fingers entangling with your hair. your own hands moved to cup his jaw.

          he wondered if he’d ever be able to experience a story like that, so vivid as you had. his emotions were still unreliable – sometimes they hit him with such force, and sometimes they seemed to be buried, but they were always mercurial. connor still wanted them, though, despite all the grief they could give – he wanted to experience how utterly tangible they could be, how they could cause things and govern things and become things.

          love was something he shared with you, and it felt like an anchor to these new experiences he treasured, a haven from what the cold creation he once was. “perhaps you could read to me, next time,” he suggested, for maybe he’d be able to feel those emotions through your voice, experience the words of a novel and all that they seemed to contain in that intimate way of yours, rather than merely noting the features of construction in a clinical way. you smiled against his neck, and connor knew that it was a promise that of course, of course you would read to him, because you loved him, and he loved you.

 fin.

[crapitskizaru]

Can you please do a part two of katakuri scientist wife please (｡･ω･｡)/💕

“You can’t go.”

“I have to,” she said without looking at him and smoothed out her tie in front of the mirror. “It’ll be even worse if she finds out we’re hiding something from her.”

Mochi just huffed and fell into deep thought. He hadn’t moved from the desk even when she asked him to help with the lock on her necklace, as well as when she used her inhaler for the second time that evening, and finally when she grabbed her bag from the hanger and reminded how late they already were.

“Hey.” She finally noticed his worried, spaced-out glare and walked closer to his seat, wrapping arms around his neck from behind. “You know we don’t have a choice in this.” 

He flinched a little under her touch but soon managed to relax, letting out the cutest wheeze while stretching in place. 

“There is a way out,” he mumbled. “You just don’t want to acknowledge it.” 

A light kiss on the cheek meant she considered the discussion over as her hand tugged at his vest in the direction of the door. Everyone knew how sensitive Ma was about the tea parties, and having the literal apple in her eye late to one of those events... Let’s say it’s not going to leave her all content and happy. 

And they didn’t need or want to gain her attention, especially in the bad way, since the results of her experiments still remained uncovered in front of the Charlotte Family, let alone the rest of the world. And it would be better for everyone to keep it this way.

“When she sees you--” he said after finally standing up, and shot her a worried glance. A slight smirk rose on her lips when his hand caressed her cheek. “--No matter how she reacts, I won’t let her hurt you.”

The unfamiliar glimmer in his eyes, the way he looked at her, the amount of future-predictions he lately experienced, it all made her think twice about it. Was he scared? 

“It’ll be fine. Just trust me.” 

She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the room, leaving no more space for negotiations. The confidence in her words, no matter how forced or fake it was, had its’ source in the plan that recently came to her mind; a plan so crazy, she didn’t even want to linger on it in order not to dismiss it immediately, out of pure fear it’s not going to work. 

Because it simply couldn’t work, she knew that. The Charlotte Family, a certainly powerful force in the New World which, up to this day, supplied her with safety and let her continue her experiments, now remained as pure inconvenience, and lethal danger to both her and Mochi.

Mochi. Her eyes stayed on him for the whole time when he lead her through the corridors of the castle, the firm grip around her waist and his furrowed eyebrows revealing how tensed he was. If he knew the whole plan, would he comply? Would he really leave his family behind to escape with her? And, most importantly, should she ever make him choose between the bonds of blood and love? 

“Please, (Name),” he muttered and stopped in front of the entrance to the hall, where the tables, bending under the excessive amounts of food, were already full of guests. Her eyes scanned the room briefly and stopped at the sight of the enormous woman on the throne. “Let’s just tell her the truth. She’ll let us go.” 

Big Mom shifted in her seat. She must have known about her son’s absence, which already put them both at the disadvantage. 

“Oh, please. With just a little bit of work, the serum will turn people into literal giants,” she repeated for the millionth time. “Do you really think she’ll ever just let me leave?” 

The quiet huff and the way his fingers dug into her hip signaled he indeed didn’t think so highly of his mother. She pulled closer and kissed him, the scent of his sweet perfume, which he adored, due to the smell coming as close as it could to donuts - the result of long hours of work in her lab - never failing to boost her confidence.

“Trust me.” With those words, she walked into the hall with her fingers entwined with his. On cue, everyone’s eyes darted towards them. 

Her lips bent into a fake smile as she tried to remain calm while maneuvering between the tables, following her boyfriend’s lead. He greeted his mother with a polite nod of his head and took the assigned seat among his siblings. 

“Breathe,” he reminded her and she took a deep inhale while sitting beside the man. It was easy to forget about such triviality, under the accusing and curious glances being sent towards her from all the directions. 

Her eyes didn’t dare to move up from the table, knowing well Mochi’s siblings were sending her just as many glares as the rest of the guests, as she glued them to the dish in front. 

Just when her heart was about to leap out from her chest, his hand traveled to rest on her thigh and started caressing it with tender affection. We’re in this together, his gaze seemed to say as it daringly landed on his brothers and sisters, as if throwing them a challenge. 

Halfway through the second dish, her whole body stiffened impossibly when the room echoed with Big Mom’s loud, clear voice.

“(Name).” 

The command was so powerful, her legs acted before she could think twice about it as she stood up. Catching her boyfriend’s eyes for the last time before walking away, she noticed, not without surprise, they were purely calm and collected now, completely different to how they seemed in the corridor. 

The conversational murmurs and whispers roamed all around her, the waiters clearing out the path to Big Mom’s throne. The woman herself looked cheerful, but again, it must have been the act. She couldn’t let her guests know how surprised the appearance of her future daughter-in-law, now thrice as big as the last time she’s seen her, left her. It wouldn’t put her in a good light, and certainly wouldn’t strengthen her respect among the authorities.

“You’ve grown,” the woman said and munched on the cake when she stopped in front of her, having to dart her head all the way upwards to see her face, even despite the recent advancement. 

“Yes, ma’am.” She thought through all the possible twists and side-turns the conversation with the Yonkou could take. She really did, she made the plans, she even calculated the likelihood of her survival in percentage. But being there, actually standing in front of the merciless monster, was a whole another story, and quickly threw all the intricately-made plans to hell, leaving her bare and stripped of all the advantages she held and the upper hand she thought she had over the Emperor. 

Her legs trembled like mad. The devouring, curious glance of the woman was immobilizing, petrifying. She already felt as if her soul was being eaten raw, even though Big Mom only said a simple sentence, as for now. 

Just then, she realized she needs to get away from that place. No matter how crazy and reckless her plan of escape was, she had to at least try. And, above all else, Mochi had to be the one running away with her, from this gathering of vicious snakes and fake allies. 

“Had your research finally resulted positive?” 

Now. Say it now. It was the perfect timing. But she couldn’t do that while her boyfriend remained seated, far behind her back and unable to hear. Or maybe he already saw the future, which was the reason for how peaceful he seemed before? 

Her train of thoughts was deliciously disturbed when the familiar pair of strong arms sneaked around her waist, and the reassuring scent of donuts took over the air. 

“Hello, mother.” His voice was low and husky, but surprisingly light, as if he was already onto the plan. “Magnitude suits her, doesn’t it?” 

Big Mom laughed out loud and reached for another snack. The sound ringed around the hall, immediately taking over any other sources. 

“So you made up your mind.” Mochi took the opportunity of remaining inaudible to everyone else besides her, as he mumbled into her ear. “Let’s escape together.” 

A huge burden has been lifted off of her chest at those words, as she pressed her back against his chest. He wanted to join her. He chose her. Her. 

“I know this can quickly become a weapon of great importance, ma’am. That’s why I have the samples already prepared and waiting to be shown off in my lab. Just let me get them.” She was more than proud of herself for not letting her voice quiver. Big Mom might have sucked all the confidence out of her, but she had no effect when Mochi was nearby. 

A faint nod of the Emperor’s head was all it took for them to be excused from the party, as they walked across the hall, once more observed by everyone in the room. She felt like a prey, circled by predators, waiting patiently for her smallest mistake, for the tiniest slip of her foot. 

“Now it’s our chance,” she said while clutching into her boyfriend’s hand. They quickened their steps as soon as the prying eyes of people were hidden by the castle’s walls behind the corner. “Just let me stop by the lab.”

[thefantasticm]

Establishing Angst in AGBM

I am by no means a master of angst or conveying tension, and a lot of the times some of what I write that affects people the most was completely incidental. But I do try, and meet varying degrees of success depending on the scene. Here are some dank tools/things/advice I use and constantly keep in mind in order to help crank up the FEELS, and can apply to pretty much anything if you want some ideas as to how to do so.

1. Showing and Telling First thing’s first: ‘Show, don’t tell’ is absolutely ATROCIOUS advice. It is vague and unhelpful and wrong. Some things must be told. If everything were shown, every story in the history of man would sink to the bottom of the ocean, weighed down by a bloated scrotum of tedium and pedantry. There must be a balance, and yes, showing should be favored, but never to an extreme. I personally aim for a 70:30 ratio when it comes to showing and telling in my writing. It is a good ballpark to aim for because landing at 60:40 is still fine and 80:20 is also perfectly readable. Falling to 50:50 and below is where things start to get... bad. Anything below will usually be noticeably boring to even unpracticed readers. When it comes to conveying angst and tension in writing, emotions are key (so Cage has the right idea, but his execution is... well). It is fine and good and proper to tell the reader what the character is feeling, in simple terms. Yet it is something that must be balanced, as we’ve established. It is not enough to say “Hank was sad.” We must say “Hank was sad ABLOOBLOOBLOO.” And by ABLOOBLOOBLOO, I mean describing the physicality of that reaction. We’ve all been sad before, know what it feels like, so describing that churning gut, that beating heart, that sinking feeling - all of it helps to establish that sadness, and can make the reader feel it in turn. Maybe Hank will lash out with that sadness in an unhealthy attempt at emotional release. Maybe he’ll think about wanting to drink, or holding his gun, etc - and describing all of that becomes a showing of where that emotion takes him, depressive, reactionary thoughts that the audience can relate to. I say all that, but it’s also sometimes okay to just say “Hank was sad” and leave it at that. Sparingly, mind you... And exactly when those moments are most appropriate is a whoooole different discussion. 2. Third Person Limited This is less advice and more... information, since something like this is really at the mercy of the writer. Everyone has different preferences for how they narrate a story. I personally despise first person narration, I adore second person (in short bursts, it’s hard to carry a longer story with it), third person objective can be interesting or the exact opposite, and third person omniscient... well. In my very humble opinion, there is no easier way to suck all the emotional tension out of a story. If you are trying to tell an emotional story, third person omniscient is just... heinous. It can be great for grand, sweeping adventure stories, but when trying to establish an angsty emotional creep? Noooo fucking thank you. Holding the audience’s hand when it comes to how every character is feeling, giving information too freely - what a great way to remove any and all emotional stakes! Pick a character. A. One (1). Beyond that character, there can be no ‘outsider’ information. Everything must come through that one character’s eyes. They can infer, they can guess, they can assume the feelings of other characters. They might even be right most of the time! But the audience must never be told this through any other means. Which is why... Keep the narrating character uninformed. Nothing can dispel tension faster than certainty. Emotional tension and angst is most readily mined in what is uncertain. And God, this is such a fucking pain in the ass with ROBOT characters - not impossible, but fuck, I digress. Hank’s emotional hang-ups and struggles become more real and relatable when he does not know what Connor is thinking - when he projects, when he guesses, when he assumes. Hank does not KNOW Connor is in love with him, he simply perceives it, and convinces himself it is true, and thus convinces the audience. They see only what he sees, what he observes, and even when Hank is oblivious to it at the start, the audience is given the room and space to fill in their own conclusions because Hank does NOT know everything, and so when Hank has his ‘realization,’ the audience is even more convinced than he is! Absolute 9000 IQ shit, I know (it’s not). And so when Hank falls away from what he convinced himself of, which is separate from what the audience knows, it’s a little... gut wrenching? No, Hank, don’t doubt it! He does love you! But Hank can’t hear your screams from where he is... And when he comes back to it, when it is far more obvious, it has a much stronger effect. Can you imagine how fucking boring that shit would be if Hank was absolutely 100% certain Connor loved him from start to finish? Jesus. However, it’s important to give the audience a bit more to work with than just everything the main character perceives. Bits and pieces that the audience will pick up on, that the main character technically observes, but is something they do not out and out notice or give much thought to. Not every insight can and should be shared between the main character and the audience. The audience should have just a bit more information that allows them to draw conclusions that characters in the story might not otherwise think of. Which leads us to... 3. Dramatic Irony Mmm... Dramatic irony is just... *chef kiss* Mwah! It is beautiful and glorious. This is what makes the collective sphincter of an audience shiver with fear. I would not say it is my bread and butter, and good angst needs it not, but when it comes to a hard hitting tragic turn of events, no tool will smack an audience in the face harder than dramatic irony. Quick rundown: Dramatic irony is when the audience knows something the characters do not. Some of the most memorable tragedies make use of dramatic irony. Romeo and Juliet? The audience knew Juliet was asleep, not dead, but Romeo... did not. Oedipus? We know that’s his mom... Oedipus... Oedipus no! Dramatic irony is so powerful because the audience is given time to sense the impending doom but they are powerless to do anything about it. They want to stop it, but cannot. Helpless to watch things go wrong. The cold sinking feeling of your heart dropping to your feet. Dramatic irony can be hard to handle, since it will have little to no effect if you cannot get the audience invested in the story and the characters. It is also difficult in the sense that it can become somewhat silly if it is made too obvious. If the feeling of ‘oh god, x is probably going to happen’ comes too soon, the tension when it happens will not be as strong. On the flip side, if it comes too late, or god forbid, it’s not picked up on at all, it will fall flat. Not saying I did it perfectly by any means, but I did try. If you are looking to pull any sort of twist, or just fuck with the audience in general, dramatic irony is a great way to do so, without being hamfisted and preachy, or sudden and purposeless (like Alice being an android).

4. Repetition This is also highly personal choice, but over the years in writing I’ve found that pieces in which I used repetition tended to have better reception than those that did not. Repetition, whether it’s purely through language (which is mostly what I do) or theme, can help really really really drive home a point or emotion to an audience. Repeating certain phrases. Or just one word. Maybe a character says something they said once in the beginning of the fic. Of course, all of this must be done in moderation, and the timing of it has to line up with whatever you are trying to convey to the audience. Sometimes the ‘thing’ you are trying to convey can even be nebulous and mysterious, but then the point becomes to make the audience think more about it, which makes them more invested, which makes the hurts a bit hurtier... I do this a lot by repeating questions. What would he change? How had they arrived at this point? Honestly when I put it out like this I feel a bit silly, and it doesn’t work for everyone, but it works for some, and that is what matters. Mostly... it works for me! 5. The Short Short Long ‘Something was holding him back, a lump lodging itself in his throat. He thought of Connor at home and the way he called him Hank, Hank, Hank. There was nothing unusual about it, but beneath Wilson’s scrutiny it felt private, it felt intimate, and Hank could not find it within himself to lay open something that all of a sudden felt so profoundly raw.’ ‘Connor was the one that was embarrassed. Intensely so, to the point it had rubbed off on Hank. This was not a situation he would normally give much thought to, but Connor’s reaction made him feel as if he had done something wrong, as if he had broken some unspoken trust between them; and as he stood there watching the android, so human in the smallest of ways, Hank felt dirty.‘ ‘Hank wasn’t sure whether he dreamt those words or not. It felt like he did, with the hazy dreams that followed. In them, it was not Hank who left, but Connor - the one that could not be held down by the words that boiled in Hank’s chest but lacked the strength to be spoken; the outline of his body as he stepped through the front door, bathed in sunlight, warping the vision of him until there was nothing left.’ ‘In what capacity? It didn’t matter, did it? Hank needed him and his chest felt light; how easy it was to admit it now, all of a sudden, as if the past ten days, those agonizing ten days, had never happened.’ ...Get it? I’m not sure if this actually does anything. But I like it, so I’m putting it in. Long Short Shorts are also valid. Really the idea is that the rhythm of the tension suddenly gets much faster in the final point, thus making it seem more desperate, and driving it home more. But. I could just be imagining things? Hmm... 6. What Remains Unsaid Sometimes a character will want to say something, but doesn’t. Or they’ll think something, but say something completely different. Or they will infer a hidden meaning, unspoken sentiment, from another character. The things that aren’t said should still be told to the audience! However you want to do it. As much as these things can work in comedy, so too can they work in angst. It’s a very simple thing, but this can serve to drive up the tension, and have the audience clench their teeth from it. Deceptively simple! The feeling of ‘just say it, dammit!’ is a near universal one and should not be ignored! 7. DURRRRRRRRRR MUH CLICHE There is no such thing as an ‘original’ story anymore. You can add your spins and your twists and your little tweaks, but the fact of the matter is that every ‘core’ of a story has already been written. There is NOTHING wrong with cliche. NOTHING. Themes and plots and twists that are common are common because they are usually effective. Anyone who insists otherwise is... as much as I’d like to call them stupid, I really would, what they need is to be educated. The reason people tend to shy away from ‘cliche’ is because when it is done poorly, it is often excruciating. It can be really awful. But one should not shy away from cliche for the fear of doing it poorly. Embrace it! Write it to the best of your ability! If a ‘cliche’ is where a story leads you, then it’s not wrong! Why did I include this? Because most of all this fear of cliche applies strongly to angst, sad tropes, tragedy, etc. After that? Fantasy adventure stories and romance. 8. The High Highs Angst is worthless without a counterweight. Personally I think I’m god awful at writing fluff, but you will never be able to write good angst if you can’t squeeze out some manner of happy scenes. And going back to point #1, you have to show at least one of these happy scenes. It doesn’t have to be over the top. It can even be bittersweet. Hope over happiness, in case you don’t want to go full joyous. Once you start really getting into the angst the happiness and the hope will likely start to diminish, but I say it is usually a good idea to leave ONE good upwards scene interspersed in there somewhere. My final hopeful scenes in AGBM were Connor returning from Washington DC, and to a lesser extent the beginning of their final argument. I used a lot of loaded language in that small span of time to make the drop-off even worse, but that is an entirely different post...

9. Never Reward Your Readers Never reward your readers. Never reward your readers! NEVER REWARD YOUR READERS!!!!

Tell your story how you think it should be told.

NEVER REWARD YOUR READERS.

10. Alliteration Doesn’t actually do anything. I just like it.

[sol1056]

Do you think putting a strong independent woman, feminist such as Carmilla as very evil not to be trusted even by Dracula was a good idea? As a woman I felt stressed and annoyed at this overused trope... Also, something about a black man hating humans didn't quite feel right to me (specially if the other human is portrayed as "pure and juvenile" and the black man is just violent...)

It was definitely an odd watching experience. I mean, on one hand, this speaks to the issue of tokens. Carmilla among the bad guys, Sypha among the good guys, and Isaac-from-the-desert. With only one in each position, there’s not much direction you can move. Any motivation we could give Carmilla would put her into a different equally narrow stereotype: the frigid strategic genius, the sexpot, the jilted lover, the jealous wannabe lover, the two-faced mouse, etc.  

So long as there’s only one female speaking part among a subset of the characters, it’s easy to draw the conclusion that the writers see this as ‘typical’ female behavior in the group. Only way to get around it is to take some lines from other guy — Godblood or Godbane or whatever his forgettable name was — and put them in the mouth of one of the other women. Or to just make G female, but you’d need to drop G’s pursuit of Carmilla or you fall sideways into a completely different (and possibly worse) stereotype. 

Getting into details that might be spoilers, so going behind a cut.

The writers were obviously cognizant of the original stories’ overload of XY chromosomes (only four other female characters other than Carmilla, though I only recall two). Their solution was to have Carmilla lampshade the non-speaking women, characterizing them as unwilling to speak because they were either too scared or just plain too pissed-off. 

Isaac may’ve gotten the better end of the deal. If he’d been the pure-and-simple one, we’d be dealing with the simpleminded uncivilized savage, rather than the Angry Black Man. 

Each of the three (well, four, if you count the bit for God-whatever guy) gets a flashback of some bit, though Carmilla’s is the only one where the object of the flashback also narrates, iirc, which is an interesting choice. Isaac’s flashback gives him every reason to be angry at getting a raw deal (though honestly, the too-few positive relationships between male characters had my eyebrows going up at the implications of Isaac’s confession, but I’ll take it at face-value as a kind of filial relationship). 

Plus, the story does put more effort into rounding out Isaac, and Dracula along with him. Those two have an interesting set of interactions, two predators calling truce between them, and ending with a kind of respectful affection. I do like the writerly (and somewhat conflicting) parallels of the one who acts out of a misplaced love (Hector) ending up as another’s prize, and the one who insists love doesn’t exist ends up being saved by Dracula. It also raises the question (whether or not intentional) of Isaac being the only one Dracula considered loyal, which is a kind of love. And the only one worth saving, which is also a kind of love, in return. So there’s that, but no idea if the story will explore that. 

There’s no getting around the intentional echoes between that last shot of Isaac leading the start of his new army vs Hector being led, though I’m not sure where the story’s going with it. If the white-coded guy ends up on the right side while S3′s two bad guys are black and female, I’ll call it a wrong turn. 

For now, though, Isaac and Carmilla have been given pretty compelling reasons to be justifiably angry and motivated, which at the very least will make them more interesting villains than Dracula’s non-active positioning in S2.

Now the story just has to keep away from the overused trope of Alucard going mad with grief or memories or guilt, or whatever. Alucard being blond-haired and golden-eyed isn’t much of a subversion of the gothic stereotype, anymore, and the overly-emo, borderline-mad gothic anti-hero would be taking the easy way out for making Alucard one of the next season’s villains. 

tbh, I’m not at all familiar with the various Castlevania storylines, so I’m coming at this as a completely standalone work. Word is that Konami okayed every part of the story, but also encouraged the writers to take the ball and keep running, so it’s possible we’ll get a more diverse crew as the show moves into introducing more original characters. Fingers crossed, at least, ‘cause that would resolve the tokenism issue for Carmilla and Isaac.