#flaws put within the first chapter

[gay-dorito-dust]

Sometimes you often forgot just how big Jason was in terms of physicality.

He was like a towering monster whose shadow could encase you but it was warm, protective and secure, leaving you feeling like the most safest person in Gotham.

You often forgot how big his hands were until his callouses were pressed against the back of your hand, hiding yours completely from sight as he closed his hand fully enveloped yours whole, keeping them warm from the cold that he knew you had a love/hate relationship with.

You forgot how effortlessly you could burrow yourself into his broad back, big enough to hide yourself behind whenever you felt fear, or just needed to be close to Jason in order to feel something in general as you nuzzled your face between his shoulder blades and hearing his strong heart beat that grounded you from just about anything.

You could hide away behind him and no one would be none the wiser until Jason stepped to the side, which he never did as he always assumed his position as your wall rather seriously, too stubborn to move for anyone who wasn’t you.

Jason has the physique that is told in Greek mythology, his hands were strong, his thighs were sturdy and powerful as his back and chest were nothing to scoff at either. He was beautiful with all his scars and callouses, for he was the most beautiful man to you who never failed to read chapters from his book to help you sleep, all the while he cradled your form against his larger one.

You often forget about Jason’s physical stature because it didn’t matter to you how big he was, or how strong he was because at the end of the day he was your Jason, he was the man you loved so dearly as you kissed his scars tenderly and caressed his callouses with softness as though you’ll hurt him somehow if you pressed too hard.

He was a giant teddy bear with you and you could only see the sweet, literature dork of a man who holds you close to his chest as though you were his personal teddy bear. His stature and physique didn’t frighten you, it reassured you and comforted you in more ways than one.

You forgot about his physique when his personality shone brighter for you to pay more attention to, his big strong arms that held you from behind, pulling you to his chest were merely a bonus as you snuggled into his neck and pressed kisses to under his jaw and making him hum in content. He was your sweet jay bird who always put you first no matter what, his unwavering loyalty left no room for insecurity or doubt within your relationship as you had found the perfect man in Jason Todd.

A man with flaws and errors of the past etched into his skin, but to you he couldn’t be more perfect as he smiled and laughed with you while keeping you close to him, as though afraid you’ll disappear but you’re more then willing to cling on to him in return…even if your hands don’t meet when returning his embrace in due to how big he was in general.

Yet still he was your precious Jason who was perfectly imperfect in your eyes, his towering and intimidating stature was merely a bonus to the awkward but endearing man that laid beneath.

[ghelgheli]

hey you might've been asked this before sorry if so, but have you read or do you have any thoughts on A short history of Trans Misogyny?

I have read it! I have a few thoughts.

I think it's a strong and important work that compiles historical archives into sharp analyses of how "trans misogyny" (using Jules Gill-Peterson's spacing) is not a recent phenomenon but a globalized structure with centuries of history. I also think it's flawed, for reasons I'll get into after a quick summary for those who haven't had the chance to read it yet.

JGP divides the book into three main chapters, the first on the notion of "trans panic". There, she traces how variants of this anxiety with the trans-feminized subject have presented—to deadly effect, for the subject—in such different settings as early colonial India, the colonization of the Americas, the racialized interactions between US soldiers stationed in the Philippines and the local trans women living there, and of course the contemporary United States itself. In every case she analyzes this "panic" as the reaction of the capitalist colonial enterprise to the conceptual threat that the trans-feminized subject poses; we are a destabilizing entity, a gender glitch that undermines the rigid guarantees of the patriarchal order maintaining capitalism. Punishment follows.

The second chapter is my favourite, and considers the relationship between transfeminine life and sex work. I posted a concluding excerpt but the thrust of the chapter is this: that the relegation of so many trans women and trans-feminized people to sex work, while accompanied by the derogation and degradation that is associated with sex work, is not itself the mere result of that degradation inflicted upon the subject. In other words, it is not out of pure helplessness and abjection that so many trans-feminized people are involved in sex work. Rather, sex work is a deliberate and calculated choice made by many trans-feminized people in increasingly service-based economies that present limited, often peripheralized, feminized, and/or reproductive, options for paid labour. Paired with a pretty bit of critical confabulation about the histories of Black trans-feminized people travelling the US in the 19th century, I think this made for great reading.

In her third chapter, JGP narrativizes the 20th century relationship between the "gay" and "trans" movements in north america—scare quoted precisely because the two went hand-in-hand for much of their history. She emphasizes this connection, not merely an embedding of one community within another but the tangled mutualism of experiences and subjectivities that co-constituted one another, though not without tension. Then came the liberal capture of the gay rights movement around the 70s, which brought about the famous clashes between the radicalisms of Silvia Rivera and Marsha P Johnson (neither of whom, JGP notes, ever described themselves as trans women) and the institutions of gay liberalism that desired subsumption into the folds of capital. This is a "remember your history" type of chapter, and well-put.

I think JGP is correct to insist, in her introduction, on the globalizing-in-a-destructive-sense effects of the colonial export of trans womanhood. It is, after all, an identity conceived only mid-century to make sense of the medicalized trans subject; and "gender identity" itself (as JGP describes in Histories of the Transgender Child) is a psychomedical concept conceived to rein in the epistemic instability of trans existence. This is critical to keep in mind! But I also think JGP makes a few mistakes, and one of them has to do with this point.

In her first chapter, under the discussion of trans misogyny in colonial India, JGP of course uses the example of the hijra. Unfortunately, she commits two fundamental errors in her use: she mythologizes, however ambiguously, the "ascetic" lives of hijra prior to the arrival of British colonialism; and she says "it's important to say that hijras were not then—and are not today—transgender". In the first place, the reference to the "ascetism" of hijra life prior to the violence of colonialism is evocative of "third-gender" idealizations of primeval gender subjectivities. To put the problem simply: it's well and good to describe the "ritual" roles of gendered subjects people might try to construe contemporarily as "trans women", the priestesses and oracles and divinities of yore. But it is best not to do so too loftily. Being assigned to a particular form of ritualistic reproductive labour because of one's failure to be a man and inability to perform the primary reproductive labour of womanhood-proper is the very marker of the trans-feminized subject. "Ascetism" here obviates the reality that it wasn't all peachy before (I recommend reading Romancing the Transgender Native on this one). Meanwhile, in the after, it is just wrong that hijra are universally not transgender. Many organize specifically under the banners of transfeminism. It's a shame that JGP insists on keeping the trans-feminized life of hijra so firmly demarcated from what she herself acknowledges is globalized transness.

My second big complaint with the book is JGP's slip into a trap I have complained about many times: the equivocation of transfemininity with femininity (do you see why I'm not fond of being described as "transfem"?). She diagnoses the root of transmisogyny as a reaction to the femininity of trans women and other trans-feminized subjects. In this respect she explicitly subscribes to a form of mujerísima, and of the trans-feminized subject as "the most feminine" and (equivalent, as far as she's concerned) "the most woman". Moreover, she locates transfeminist liberation in a singular embrace of mujerísima as descriptive of trans-feminized subjectivity. As I've discussed previously, I think this is a misdiagnosis. Feminization is, of course, something that is done to people; it is certainly the case that the trans-feminized subject is in this way feminized for perceived gender-failure. This subject may simultaneously embrace feminized ways of being for all sorts of reasons. In both cases I think the feminization follows from, rather than precedes, the trans misogyny and trans-feminization, and there is a fair bit of masculinization as de-gendering at play too, to say nothing of the deliberate embrace of masculinity by "trans-feminized" subjects. Masculinity and femininity are already technologies of gender normalization—they are applied against gender deviation and adapted to by the gender deviant. The deviation happens first, in the failure to adhere to the expectations of gender assignment, and I don't think these expectations can be summarized by either masculinity or femininity alone. I think JGP is effectively describing the experience of many trans-feminized people, but I do not think what she presents can be the universalized locus of trans liberation she seems to want it to be.

Now for a pettier complaint that I've made before, but one that I think surfaces JGP's academic context. In her introduction she says:

In truth, everyone is implicated in and shaped by trans misogyny. There is no one who is purely affected by it to the point of living in a state of total victimization, just as there is no one who lives entirely exempt from its machinations. There is no perfect language to be discovered, or invented, to solve the problem of trans misogyny by labeling its proper perpetrator and victim.

Agreed that "there is no perfect language to be discovered"! But JGP is clearly critical of TMA/TME language here. Strange, then, that less than ten pages later she says this:

this book adds the phrase trans-feminized to describe what happens to groups subjected to trans misogyny though they did not, or still do not, wish to be known as transgender women.

So JGP believes it is coherent to talk about "groups subjected to trans misogyny", which she thinks consists of the union of trans women and what she called "trans-feminized" groups. If this is to be coherent, there must be groups not subjected to trans misogny. So we've come around to transmisogyny-subjected and not transmisogyny-subjected. Look: you cannot effectively theorize about transmisogyny without recognizing that its logic paints a particular target, and you will need to come up with a concise way of making this distinction. But JGP dismissing TMA/TME with skepticism about "perfect language" and immediately coining new language (basically TMS/not TMS) to solve the problem she un-solved by rejecting TMA/TME... it smells of a sloppy attempt to make a rhetorical point rather than theoretical rigour. It's frustrating.

I have other minor gripes, like her artificial separation of "trans women" from "nonbinary people" (cf. countless posts on here lamenting the narrow forms of existence granted TMA people if we want recognition as-such!) or her suggestion that "a politics of overcoming the gender binary" is mutually exclusive from rather than necessarily involved with struggles around "prison abolition, police violence, and sex work". Little things that give me the sense of theoretical tunnel-vision. But I don't think all this compromises the book's strengths as a work of broad historical analysis. I would simply not take every one of its claims as authoritative. Definitely give it a read if you have the chance, especially for the second and third chapters.

[angellicxx]

Ricochet- Chapter 1: The Beginning

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Vigilante Reader

Summary: In the streets of New York, injustice thrives in the dark. Despite your work alongside Daredevil, you have to dig deeper into the criminal underground of NYC to discover the roots of corruption. Your vigilante life becomes entangled with your past as you work to infiltrate the underground mob run by the infamous Kingpin, freshly released on parole. Loyal federal agent Benjamin Poindexter is tasked with overseeing Fisk’s house arrest– and aiding in his empire under the alias of Bullseye. The both of you become interlaced within the Volchiy, a Russian gang led by your childhood friend; you moonlight as a vigilante, trying to take down the mob from within, while Dex is unaware the new girl he can't get his mind off of is the same one in a mask he fights in the streets. Torn between secret identities, lies, and threat of betrayal, you and Dex navigate a tension filled clash between loyalty and justice.

warnings: drug dealing implication, fight scene, blood, mention of h@nging

slowburn, enemies to lovers, secret identities, bullseye x vigilante reader, use of (y/n), reader is an orphan

an: Chapter 1 of my first full length fic. Hopefully you like it and I actually finish.

disclaimer: ivan volkov is an oc and the volchiy gang is a fictional mcu gang i made up. i dont speak russian so sorry if any of the langauge is wrong or stupid.

wc: 3,500

YOU

New York City was different at night. 

A different city during the day, and different from anywhere else in the world. 

But to the fortunate millions who are unlucky enough to burrow within the labyrinth of streets nestled between skyscrapers and offices, twinkling streetlights and billboards that replaced the stars, living in rows of century old bricked townhomes and eating at their corner store bodegas– it was home. 

With its dreams and flaws and all, it was the one place where in a crowd of millions you could feel so close– yet so alone. 

You weren’t a stranger to the deep poison that drained into the ground of the city. Bloody– like black bile– the cruelty of crime and lies that had been ever present as a New York native. 

Justice had to be paid with a high price, but only by those willing to sell. Even with the haunt of knowing there was at least one person out in the streets below you who needed help, just someone to be noticed and saved by a dashing hero in the night, was enough to send you on the streets every evening in a skin tight costume, face guarded in a mask.

Every night was different. 

Tonight could change. 

“(Y/N).” A voice called from the other side of the roof as the access door’s hinges squeaked in the wind. 

Devil horns pointed to the heavens as the fellow masked hero walked across the roof, where soot and dirt had caked into layers from decades of the building's abandonment. 

“You’re late, Matt.” You with a tinge of annoyance through a cracking smile. This wasn’t an uncommon late appearance, but you didn’t mind; it gave you more time alone to breathe.

This has been your routine for the past year. 

Late nights alongside Matt. 

You couldn’t picture what your life would be like if you hadn't crossed paths. There were few heroes in New York, some that were unknown to anyone but thugs in the shadows. But meeting Matt put you on a clear path. It was refreshing to come across a normal person who understood you, even if you met that someone by nearly bashing each other's ribs in. 

 Your tired arms pushed your body up from its spot of legs dangling over the ledge, tingling as they gained feeling to stand up. 

“Apologies. Got held up in the office.” He flashed a charismatic smile from beneath his half exposed cowl, stepping onto the ledge next to you. 

You rolled your head over your shoulders, stretching your back with a scoff. “Don’t let your job get in the way of your hobby.”

“Ouch.” Matt said. 

“And to think you actually enjoyed working with me.”

“No,  no, I’m strictly here for business.” You patted a gloved hand over his padded shoulder and sighed. “Where are we going tonight?”

“Yesterday, there was a robbery on 56th. Three men from the Italians, all armed with guns and high out of their minds. Through their drugged rambling they managed to tell me about a warehouse at the piers; they said it was a hideout for some operation, only ever occupied for drops and pickups. Figured we would check it out tonight and see where it leads.” 

You nodded, eyes wandering to the river distant in the horizon, the black waters gleaming with reflections of moonlight. “Sounds fun.” You said, pulling on your mask. 

The warehouse was near the docks– an old canning factory in the early industry days turned moonshine distributor in the twenties. Abandoned for decades the red brick had faded and been engulfed in tangles of long ivy that covered the frosted pane windows. 

Semi-trucks were parked for the night on the surrounding lot, stacks of shipping containers and a chain link fence keeping it guarded from a pedestrian road and isolated to the water. There was a small dock of rotting wood with a single boat bobbing in the black water. 

You jumped the fence after Matt, the impact absorbing into the heel of your boot as you scanned the area. “It looks like a drop point.”

Matt rolled his shoulders as he crept around a shipping container. “Does it?”

You ignored him, piecing together as many clues as possible. “Shipments must be coming down from the Hudson, either local or overseas. Did the Italians say who owned it?”

“No, he passed out before he could even say what it was. It's empty, smells like gunpowder.”

“Weapons?”

He nodded. “Or there was trouble here recently.”

You managed to find an unlocked side door, making your way inside to the spacious warehouse. There was a layer of stagnant dust covering pillars of stacked crates and workbenches, the faint glow of a lantern as you peered from behind a wall. 

Before you could advance further inside, a glove layered hand clutched onto your shoulder, pulling you back behind the corner. 

“Stop.” Matt whispered. 

You quickly scanned the area and tried to listen for what Matt was sensing. “What’s wrong?”

His head tilted. “Five men, armed. Coming from the dock.”

Through a shattered window you could see it, a second boat tethered at the water and the muffled sound of speech. 

“Shit .” You muttered. “Great timing.”

There was a rumbling of an iron door and footsteps as the men entered– foreign speech echoed across the walls. A loud crash sent them into disarray. You peered over to see a crate had been knocked over, black guns scattered over the floor as they began to yell at eachother, fingers pointed at a retreating peer. 

Matt took this opportunity to creep from the shadows, throwing a punch into the back of a straggler at the edge of the argument. You quickly followed suit, throwing your momentum into a kick that sent another on the ground as the other three were too busy engulfed in their bickering to notice they had visitors. 

You were quick in the dark, it was where you worked best. Maybe that was why you and Matt worked so well together– you both had an advantage of being invisible. 

You propelled yourself with your legs, wrapping them around the smaller of the accusing pair as you wrapped his neck and slammed him into the ground. 

Despite your stealth, it came at the cost of your strength, especially against guys twice your bodyweight. You groan as you hit the pavement, thankful his head collided and knocked him out on the first try.

The other men finally caught on to the ambush. They snapped from the dispute, reaching for their holsters only to be hit away with a baton. One of the guys was on the ground before you even managed to stand back up. The last one standing, the guy who had dropped the crate, stood frozen– scrambling to unlock his safety as he walked backwards into a pile of boxes that clattered over him. 

Your smirk dropped when an arm wrapped from behind you. Before you could dodge the impending blow to your face, Matt had pulled him off of you and pummeled his face.

Halfway between consciousness and falling to the floor from his knees, Matt held him up by his collar, fist raised. “Who do you work for?”

His head rattled frantically, pleading to the dark eyes of Daredevil’s mask. “N-n--nobody. N-o work-” Matt hit him again, grasping a tighter hold and looming over him. 

“Who do you work for?” 

The man choked, blood spurting out of his throat and dripping to the ground, eyes near swollen shut as he managed the words. 

“Ivan Volkov.”

The name echoed in your mind as Matt struck a blow to his bloodied face, a quick knockout as he fell limp to the floor. There was a moment of silence– only heavy breathing echoing through the large warehouse.

Matt was listening, slowly turning to look at his partner who hadn’t moved.

 “You know him.”

Not a question– a confrontation. You really hated having a human lie detector to work with.

Suppressed memories of your childhood seemed to flood in with no reason. Just one name and you were suddenly seven years old again; running through the streets of Brooklyn with your friends to escape classes taught by the nuns, scavenging for change in the gutter to buy candy and spend on petty bets, breaking windows with rocks to enter the abandoned buildings just like this one. 

Just parentless, uncontrolled children–  dreams still far and the ever lingering hope of finding a family one day. Through those early formidable years you had countless siblings. 

Ivan Volkov was one of them. 

A few years older than you, Ivan was orphaned at age ten when his father was imprisoned for his position in the Russian mob, only to be found hanging in his cell two days before the case went to trial. As far as you ever knew, Ivan’s mother was a nameless woman never present in his life, most likely killed for knowing too much when he was a child. 

Nonetheless, Ivan was one of the few older kids at St. Michaels Orphanage. Aggressive, erratic, and manipulative– how he was labeled in his file. But you only knew Ivan as sweet, caring and funny. 

He was just troubled, like the rest of you. 

He would leave some nights and return bloodied in the morning; it was only a secret from the nuns that Ivan was slipping into a life similar to his father’s. You and the other children had watched him steal and do deals in the park near the church. He would only smile at you and buy ice cream with the leftover money so you all kept your mouths shut and never questioned anything.

He was like a brother to you. 

When he aged out, you and three other kids cried all night; one of you even begged him to adopt you all. Ivan never visited after he left. He moved on in life. 

But everytime a group of men in dark sunglasses, trench coats, and brooding energies walked down the street near gang territory you looked extra closely to see if you could recognize his face.

Now, years later, the truth was revealed. Heavy dust in the air and echoing clatters of distant machinery confirmed you weren’t dreaming. Ivan was alive and making a name for himself. 

Reminiscence broke as you furrowed your brow and blinked your dry eyes to focus, a reluctant nod and click of the tongue.

“Yeah. Yeah I know him.”

Matt was watching you closely, reading you through subtle movements. “Have you worked for him before?” 

You shook your head, sweat dripping as you rubbed your mask-covered brow. “We- uh,  grew up together– in the orphanage. He left as soon as he turned eighteen and I never knew what happened to him. Last I knew he had run off to join a gang his dad had been a part of.”

Matt cocked his head, pieces coming together. “Dimitry Volkov, right? Christ, I remember studying that case in law school. He had the cops running circles back then– the biggest weapons bust in city history.” 

“And now I guess he’s built it back up.” You reached your hand into an opened crate, fingers brushing cold metal as you hauled a handgun from its depths. You studied it in your hands– the weight, model, balance. As you turned the hilt you could see it. Carved into the shiny black was two thin converging lines, a watermark– “ V ”. 

You swallowed, holding it out for Matt. 

“Volchiy .”

 He sighed as he took it. “Russians.” He removed a glove and brushed his thumb over the inscription. “I felt the same thing on the guns I found on the Italians. It's new– oiled. My guess, they were manufactured abroad and altered in the city. The Volchiy are dealing them underground so the weapons can’t be traced. There's probably hundreds of them distributed in the streets right now.” 

You stood silent. The warehouse was filled with boxes. “Well, what do we do now?”

“They’re going to realize their stashpoint is compromised, probably move it or reinforce security. For all we know there could be dozens of locations scattered across the city– factories, hideouts, headquarters. It runs deep. This is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“What, we just leave an anonymous tip to the NYPD? ‘Hey, here's a new crime ring, good luck.’ We have to find where this leads.”

Matt was hesitant, placing down the gun. You knew the reason he didn’t want to keep searching. 

“ Fisk .” You hissed, the name a curse. “You think he’s involved?”

He lowered his head, shaking it.  “I know he’s in charge.” 

“He’s on house arrest. He got the justice you wanted. He can’t possibly be doing damage from a penthouse.” You protested, but it was no use. Fisk haunted Matt more than you could realize. You could tell his release from prison infuriated him, despite when he claimed the FBI had the right to keep him locked away under supervision, even if it was in the comfort of a luxury apartment. 

“He’s got the whole city wired from that penthouse. He’s pulling strings with the FBI– he’s only locked in there because he wants to be. He’s brutal, (Y/N). A man like Fisk– we can’t.”

You nodded despite your disappointment. This was a serious lead Matt was willing to abandon just because of his past with Fisk. 

“Fine. I guess we’ll just stick to disarming the thugs on the streets after they’ve already striked.” You took one more look around the spacious warehouse before stepping over a knocked out gang member to the open door. 

You were exhausted climbing up the fire escape to the roof, gripping the rusted rails to haul yourself up the next step. You were relieved to pull off your mask and breathe uncovered air when you landed on the same decrepit rooftop overlooking Hell’s Kitchen. You and Matt had made your way back through the shadows in silence, tensions high about your splitting decisions. He finally broke it as he lingered behind you. 

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). Really. If things were different, then maybe. But right now– it’s just not safe.”

You understood. You hated that he was partly right, Fisk wasn’t a figure to be messed with. Especially when every criminal organization was under his command. Just going after one would domino all the others to come to aid. But deep in your bones you knew there was more. This was the whole point– protecting the city. If just one guy got to dictate how it ran, then there was no justice at all.

You turned around, nodding with sincerity. “I get it Matt. It’s alright. I’m sure there's something else we can do.”

He read you for a moment, a twitch of a smile when he realized you were telling the truth. “Thank you.” He gave a nod of approval before turning around. “Stay safe (Y/N).” 

“You too, Matt. Good night.” 

“Good night,” Matt called out as he vanished down the fire escape. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

You rolled your eyes and beckoned a wave, crouching back down onto your rooftop perch, gripping your mask in your hands-- hard. A sigh of aggravation fell through the air, caching back in your throat as you looked up. 

Your eyes lingered in the skyline. Nothing felt so far anymore. Everything that was happening was in your territory– the one you promised to protect. 

 It was right there, stretching its influence across the city and trickling into Hell’s Kitchen.

It was a dumb thought, really. But what more was there to lose? How many people could get caught in the crossfire before you decided to sacrifice your integrity? 

You tucked your mask into your belt, taking one more glance at the alive city before retreating home. 

It was time to pay an old friend a visit. 

DEX

Dex was haunted. 

By the things he’s done, the things he was bound to do all over again. 

He fell for it.

 He fell right into Fisk’s grasp. 

Every order he followed, it was because he wanted to.

Testified in the trial for Wilson Fisk’s parole and appeal. 

He lied under oath– not like the truth has ever mattered. 

He took out the fellow agents who refused loyalty. 

Wore a mask.

Pulled the trigger. 

Killed people.

The rest of the FBI would move on from this assignment and continue their work. Dex would be left to linger in the past-- more trapped within the house arrest boundary than Fisk ever was. 

The thick bulletproof glass was the only thing keeping him from falling over sixty stories to the muck filled streets of New York. His gaze fell over the skyline, light filled windows of the Midtown high rises imitating the stars in the midnight darkness. 

The sterile apartment of Fisk was like a familiar sanctuary above the city.

It was the same way he had his apartment– clean and orderly. The only thing visible in the fresh white painted walled penthouse were the dozens of modern art pieces on display at every turn, a museum worth millions for only Fisk and his wife to see. 

At first, Dex could understand how only a deranged monster like Fisk could find solace in those strange pieces. 

As time grew on, he began to grow fond of them too.

His favorite one was hanging right in the foyer.

Much of the art Fisk kept was just geometric shapes of paint on canvas, nonsensical patterns he never cared for of bland color.

This one was different.

Organic. 

Messy.

Raw. 

It wasn’t art to him– it was real.

Splatters of crimson that stained the linen canvas, no clues of the former cream color it once was. Streaks of different hues and splotches of unidentified circles. It was chaotic, but organized. 

Just a red, bloody, mess. 

For the quick glance where his eyes fell each day when he entered the front door, his dread disipated. He would forget he was in the same sterile apartment with the one task of being ordered around by Fisk; instead he was back in the field, gun in hand and steady throw at his will– complete precision and control. This was the only art in the world he could truly digest. 

Every time he saw it there was a reminder that the artist– a name of a painter unknown to him and probably long dead– understood him. 

Even with the entire city in his field of vision, Dex’s mind was far behind him in the entryway, glaring at the red and trying to understand it. 

“Special Agent Poindexter.” 

A gravelly voice echoed through the abnormally large apartment,  rippling a chill through Dex’s spine, ears perking up as he turned to face the dim lit room.

The brooding force in a white suit– Wilson Fisk stood across the living room, hands behind his back like a marble statue. 

“Sir.” Dex straightened, legs shoulder width apart and arms crossed over his thundering chest. 

A vicious smile crept across his round face, city lights from the window bouncing off his bald head as he crept closer to the agent. 

“Please, there is no need for formalities. I owe my gratitude for what you have done. For me, for Vanessa.”

Dex flexed his hands, fingers aching and knuckles bruised.

Killed people.

Fisk began his creep forward, careful steps across the white tiles that reverberated through the sparsely furnished room until he was parallel to the windows next to him. 

“I am proud of your work.” Fisk sighed out the reluctant praise. Dex could tell the corruptive man wasn’t one to hand out sincerities like this.

“From that very night you saved my life, I knew you had an exceeding talent. One that could never be fully appreciated under the constraints of a federal agency. Where rules and standards demanded you set aside these strengths and neglect your abilities for a noble pursuit. The Bureau never appreciated you the way I do, Benjamin. With your help, I can restore the city. To the way it needs to be. Tamed. Disciplined.”

Dex rocked back on his heels to adjust his footing, becoming more aware of his time standing all day. “Thank you sir. It’s an honor to work for you.” The words forced from his voice, a tinge of a smile and nod at his approval. 

“Now that I am free, the true work may begin. My time incarcerated has enacted a toll on the order of everything. They are becoming more sloppy and arrogant, my workers. I would go myself, but as you know I am still constrained.” He smiled. 

Dex’s eyes flicked to the black banded ankle monitor, light beeping in the dark over Fisk’s pant leg. “My prospects are in desperate need of management in my absence. It is much to ask of you– but it must be done.”

Dex rolled his shoulders, glancing from the city to his boss. 

“Anything you need, Fisk. I’ll do it.”

“Good. Very well.” Kingpin grinned. “How familiar are you with my empire?”

[sativariddle]

⤷ 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔫𝔢.

other chapters here.

SUMMARY ┆ ↴

the name riddle always made your blood run cold, the malicious surname of a malicious man tasting like poison on your tongue. so when dumbledore declared that mattheo riddle would be attending hogwarts, you felt a chill of dread settle over the great hall

when? why? how could dumbledore allow this? the child of his greatest enemy now strode through the towering doors of the great hall, his presence steeped in an air of menace and cold, unspoken cruelty.

how could someone as ruthless as a slytherin ever find love? it seemed impossible—mattheo was a stranger to the very idea. but everything changes when he meets you. though in his world, love isn’t the light, joyful feeling it’s supposed to be. for him, love means accepting you, flaws and all.

WARNINGS ┆mentions of; torture, mental trauma, physical trauma, violence, characters death, drug and alcohol addiction, sexual themes, parent neglect

"excuse me, i'm just going to slip between you two—oh, sorry! i didn't mean to step on your foot."

apologies spilled from your lips, repeating endlessly like a stuck record as you made your way through the crowd of wide-eyed first years. the hogwarts express was a chaotic mess of moving bodies and luggage, and you were desperate to reach the hufflepuff compartment. "coming through, sorry!"

each compartment was filled.

you just hoped your friends had managed to find one.

as you hurried down the busy train, you passed the blue and bronze of ravenclaw's section before reaching the scarlet and gold of gryffindor. your eyes scanned the compartments and immediately landed on the familiar faces of harry, ron, and hermione.

a gentle smile tugged at your glossed lips as you pulled open the gryffindor compartment door, causing harry, ron, and hermione to look up, their eyes settling on the bubbly hufflepuff.

harry gave them a look that clearly said they would continue the conversation later, as it wasn't over yet.

hermione swiveled to face you, her smile mirroring your own cheerful expression. "good summer?" she inquired, her eyebrows raising expectantly.

"amazing!" you exclaimed, your eyes shining with delight. "the books you sent were wonderful - i couldn't stop reading them! mum said she never would have guessed i'd put the books down, i carried them everywhere." you chattered happily, hermione nodding along with every word, her smile growing wider.

"glad you did," hermione replied cheekily, turning to harry and ron. "told you she would appreciate them more than you two."

ron grumbled something under his breath, his arms crossing slightly.

harry, however, wasn't paying attention to ron's muttering. instead, he turned towards you, his expression curious.

"have you got a clue on what you're going to write for the hogwarts daily Insight?" harry asked, his eyes sparkling with curiosity as soon as the words left his mouth.

‘hogwarts daily insight’ was an idea you had begged dumbledore to approve for an entire four years. you argued it was only fair to keep people informed about what went on within the castle walls.

after all, witches and wizards were naturally curious—many had children attending hogwarts, so why shouldn’t they know what was happening inside?

not everyone liked the idea, of course.

some professors warned dumbledore it could lead to another rita skeeter, stirring up gossip and trouble.

but dumbledore, in his wisdom, saw potential in your vision. he trusted you completely. if anyone could handle the responsibility of such a project, it was you—no question about it.

your goal was never to create drama or make anyone feel bad. you simply reported what happened at hogwarts and submitted your articles to dumbledore.

if he deemed them unfit for publication, they stayed unpublished. but if he believed your work provided meaningful insight, he allowed it to be shared. so far, not a single one of your articles had been denied.

harry had been skeptical when he first heard hermione praising your article. but his doubts disappeared when you received requests from witches and wizards asking for stories about him. instead of running with the idea, you asked harry directly if he was comfortable with it.

when he said he wasn’t, you immediately dropped the subject.

he respected you for that—and from then on, he trusted you to handle his announcements, knowing your work would reach the entire school via breakfast readings of the daily mail.

as your articles grew in popularity, you noticed a shift in how people treated you.

some students tried to cozy up to you, hoping to get their own feature in your work, but you weren't interested in catering to petty drama or personal agendas.

'hogwarts daily insight' was the opposite of that—an honest look at life at the school. you refused to let it become anything less.

fan mail began pouring in, filled with admiration for your intelligence and the originality of your idea.

many readers expressed how much they wished you had started it sooner. you had, of course—but convincing dumbledore had taken years of persistence.

"not at the moment, harry," you say with a gentle laugh, amused by his eagerness. "we've only just boarded the train. writing about trying to find my friends' compartment isn't exactly daily insight material, is it?"

he glanced over at ron and hermione, both shooting him warning glares that clearly said, ‘don’t even think about it.’

but if there was one thing certain about the boy who lived, it was his stubbornness.

“have you heard?”

your eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, clearly indicating you hadn't heard anything. "heard of what?" you asked softly, a slight frown pulling at your lips, curiosity evident in your voice.

harry glanced past you to the compartment door, double-checking that no one was lurking outside, before turning back to you.

“malfoy being a death eater—”

before he could finish, ron kicked his leg, and hermione shook her head sharply, a silent warning.

your eyes widened in shock. “what—?” you looked over at ron and hermione, their stern glares directed at harry only adding weight to his claim. “are… are you sure? that’s a serious accusation, harry—”

“—and i want you to write about it in your article, to warn the witches and wizards in the castle and—”

before harry could finish, hermione smacked him on the head with the folded article she’d been holding.

“you, of all people, should know what it feels like to be the subject of false accusations—” hermione started, but harry cut her off with a sharp glare through his round glasses, clearly recalling the events of fourth year and rita skeeter’s lies.

“It’s not false!” harry snapped.

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “look, i need to find my friends. harry, we’ll talk about this later.”

harry gave you a small, appreciative nod. hermione, meanwhile, shook her head in exasperation but ultimately said nothing more. ron shrugged as if to say, what can you do?

turning on your heel, you opened the compartment door and headed down the corridor, making your way toward the hufflepuff section in search of your friends.

spotting one of them, you slid open the door to the compartment.

genevieve turned toward you with a grin, her sleek black hair swaying over her back. “well, if it isn’t my favorite little journalist,” she teased, laughing when you rolled your eyes playfully. “nice to see you too.”

“where are hannah, ernie, and justin?” you questioned, settling into the seat across from her.

“they’re looking for you. thought you might’ve missed the train,” she said, leaning back in her seat.

you nodded, smiling faintly.

the great hall was silent.

usually, the hall buzzed with the typical teenage drama: excited whispers about daily prophet headlines, eager discussions about upcoming classes, and the usual gossip that filled any gathering of young witches and wizards.

but today... today was different.

the great hall, once vibrant and sparkling, now seemed covered in a dreary, grey pallor, as if the air itself was heavy with unseen dread.

the usual joyful chatter and laughter was replaced by an oppressive silence, broken only by the occasional hushed whisper.

tense.

"now, as you know, each of you was searched upon your arrival tonight. you have a right to know why."

shivers ran down your spine, making your hufflepuff robes feel impossibly drafty despite their warmth.

goosebumps prickled along your neck and arms, and you unconsciously hugged yourself tighter, pulling the thick yellow fabric closer around your shoulders.

your quill and parchment were tucked under your arm, just in case you needed to jot something down for your article.

"once, there was a young man who, like you, sat in this very hall. he walked these castle corridors and slept beneath its roof. to the world, he seemed like any other student."

only a fool would dare say the dark lord's name aloud, and dumbledore was known for his foolishly brilliant mind. he didn't shy away from speaking the name that made grown wizards tremble: “his name? tom riddle.”

dumbledore looked at you, then at the quill and parchment tucked under your arm. you immediately spread it out in front of you, quill poised, ready to take notes on dumbledore's words.

"today, of course, the world knows him by a different name."

the great hall hung heavy with a silence so profound that you could have sworn you heard the faintest rustle of your own partchment echo as you gulped down a nervous lump in your throat.

“help will always be given at hogwarts to those who need it,” dumbledore intoned solemnly, his twinkling eyes scanning the room. “and with that, let us welcome our new student, mattheo riddle.”

riddle.

as the murmurs and whispers around the house tables grew louder and more insistent, the massive oak doors of the great hall swung open dramatically, creaking on their hinges and revealing the figure that had silenced the entire castle.

entered mattheo riddle, his presence electrifying the silence.

his eyes, shockingly brown and cold as glass, were fixed unblinkingly on dumbledore, something darker flickering in their depths.

why? how could dumbledore let this happen?

your eyes involuntarily widened as mattheo began his purposeful walk down the aisle, then darted quickly to your friends - hermione's analytical gaze fixed intently on the new arrival, ron's jaw slightly agape, and harry's expression a combination of confusion and something that oddly resembled recognition.

their eyes bulged, jaws slack, as they stared in disbelief at mattheo's confident stride.

dumbledore had allowed him to enter with barely a nod, as if the most notorious dark wizard since grindelwald wasn't his own father, walking down the aisle like he owned the place, his tanned face marred by ominous scars visible even beneath the hood of his cloak.

as mattheo approached, dumbledore didn't even extend his hand towards the sorting hat; instead, it quicly bellowed "SLYTHERIN!"

"did you see his face? it was covered in scratches—"

"—i didn't think the dark lord would name his son mattheo, it makes no sense."

"people say he’s already hexed a first year—"

"he’s kind of cute though—"

"—you’ve lost your mind, hannah—"

you let out a quiet sigh. it’s not that you’re upset with your friends for spending the entire evening talking about the dark lord’s son, but their chatter left you with hardly any time to write. they had been going on and on, leaving you no room to retreat into your parchment.

it seemed like everyone in the castle was on edge about mattheo’s arrival, openly whispering or speculating about him.

as long as your paths didn’t cross, everything would be fine. you really didn’t understand what all the fuss was about.

then again, the idea of a teenage boy hurting someone felt ridiculous to you. it was such a cruel, unkind thought that you couldn’t wrap your head around it.

you stood up from the couch, feeling restless. the hufflepuff common room was busier than usual, packed with students eager to gossip about the events of the day.

all you wanted was a moment of quiet—somewhere to clear your mind away from the noise and chatter.

your friends didn’t even notice when you got up. they were too caught up in their hushed conversation, deep in thought and whispers. you didn’t want to interrupt them, so you left quietly without saying a word.

you made a point to say a quick ‘hello’ to anyone you passed in the halls.

it was a small gesture, but you believed it mattered. at a place like hogwarts, where some students seemed to drift through their days without close friends, a simple greeting might remind them they weren’t invisible—that they weren’t alone.

you could tell by their forced smiles and averted gazes that they meant well, but today just wasn't their day. their greetings were laced with uncomfortable tension, but you knew it wasn't personal - they were just having one of those days.

you reassured yourself that it was perfectly fine - after all, everyone has off days. people are human, with all their complexities and mood swings. you shrugged it off.

heading towards the library seemed like the safest option since you doubted there was anyone in there at the moment. even if there were, it’s a library—they have to be quiet.

the castle corridors were relatively empty as you walked, the few students you encountered either strolling with a friend or being escorted by a professor.

the sound of your footsteps echoed softly against the ancient stone walls, broken only by the occasional murmur of conversation or rustle of robes.

your steps quickened, eager to blend into the shadows rather than stand out as an easy target. being a hufflepuff somehow marked you as 'less than' in their eyes, and you dreaded the inevitable jabs or sneers that often came with walking alone.

the library—a place of comfort. no noise, just the comforting hum of people around you, either reading a textbook or scribbling on some notes.

it truly was a good place to get some peace and quiet.

as you settled into a chair tucked away in the corner of the library, you pulled your legs under the cold wood of the table.

your fingers absently drummed against the cover of your textbook as you tried to focus. but then your eyes flicked upward, and across the vast, quiet library, you saw him—riddle.

he stood in the middle of the library, flanked by a group of familiar slytherins: pansy parkinson, blaise zabini, theodore nott, and draco malfoy.

mattheo lounged in a chair, a cigarette dangling negligently between his fingers, smoke lazily curling around him as if he were the ruler of the room. his expression was arrogant, almost daring, as if he were inviting a challenge.

you frowned slightly, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion. even from across the room, your thoughts began to spiral.

how on earth was he getting away with smoking in a place where ‘no smoking’ signs were practically everywhere?

was everyone else oblivious to the faint trail of smoke curling upward, or were you the only one who even noticed?

as if sensing your gaze, mattheo suddenly looked up, his dark eyes scanning the room.

blaise was speaking beside him, but it didn’t seem to register—his attention had already drifted.

then, his eyes found you.

snake meets badger.

an annoyed smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he locked his gaze onto yours. he didn’t look away, his expression almost daring, like he’d caught you in a private moment you hadn’t intended to share.

mattheo shook his head quietly, clearly not in the slightest amused by the way your gaze snapped back down to your parchment paper, only for you to risk a glance back up again.

you silently cursed yourself for your staring problem—a habit you thought you’d buried long ago. ever since that first-year incident, when you’d stared at snape for too long and he made an example of you in front of the entire class.

“fragile little hufflepuff,” he’d sneered, leaving you humiliated. you’d vowed to fix it after that, but old habits had a funny way of creeping back.

across the room, mattheo leaned closer to his friends, whispering something that made them snicker. whatever he said, it clearly wasn’t meant to stay between them, because within moments, the group of slytherins began to move—slowly straying from their spot and making their way toward you.

mattheo's hands are stuck in the pockets of his robes, his head tilted to the side as he watched you forcefully write down nonsense, pretending as if you had been doing it the whole time, which you should’ve been.

mattheo and his slytherin friends approach the oak table you are sitting at, and they circle you like a pack of hyenas surrounding an antelope.

they all smile wide and mocking, except for mattheo and draco, whose expressions are dark and calculating as they size you up. the others, fueled by their slytherin pride, circle around you like vultures, their eyes roving over your form.

mattheo is the first to break the silence, his voice dripping with annoyance as he flicks his cigarette to the ground, stamping it out under the heel of his dirty shoes.

"looks like we got ourselves here a little rita skeeter," he drawls, running his teeth along his bottom teeth. "fuck are you doin’ snoopin' around." you flinch as he leans in, his breath hot and stale against your face.

you knew the slytherins would inform him about your daily article—they despised it more than anyone. they’d tear it up right in front of you or ‘accidentally’ spill something on your notes whenever you were too focused to notice them lurking nearby.

above all, they knew you were too kind-hearted to write anything terrible about them in your article.

his friends continue to laugh beside him, leaning on each other for support as they all keep their predatory gazes locked on you.

you can feel the weight of their judgment as they circle you.

“i wasn’t snooping.” you tried to sound more clear, but you were so scared that your voice slightly cracked, looking at all of them through your eyelashes. “i just came here for some peace and quiet. i hadn’t got a clue you’d lot be in here, ‘m sorry—very, very sorry—”

mattheo raises an eyebrow at your cracking voice; he found it so fucking annoying. the slytherins around him chuckle, some of them sharing amused glances.

your apology seems to only fuel their desire to mess with you.

“oh, you’re sorry, are you?” he asks, his voice dripping with mockery. “how sorry are you?”

you knew they were messing with you, taking advantage of your kindness. but you couldn’t come back with a good response because all you saw were teenagers scared of their parents—at the end of the day—everyone in the castle are just kids and their first time living.

grabbing the parchment and quill you brought, you tuck it under your arm as you get up off the wooden chair. “i’m very sorry, i’ll be going now—”

as you begin to turn away, mattheo swiftly steps in front of you, blocking your path and forcing you to stop. the other slytheirns chuckle under their breaths, amused at the sight of you trapped.

his tall frame looming over you as he drawled, "whoa, whoa, hold on a second." his hand reached out, grabbing your parchment’s that were bunched up together and sending it clattering to the floor. "i don't think you're sorry enough just yet."

you didn’t want to start a problem; you hated the thought of going to sleep with a target on your back. you had to make sure you were good with everyone. “look, i really don’t want any problems. i’m really sorry.”

you dropped to your knees, desperately trying to gather the scattered parchments, your face burning with humiliation as you willed yourself not to cry, hoping that they would just leave you alone.

mattheo rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed by your apologies.

“sorry ‘s not gonna cut it," he snaps. "you’ve interrupted our discussion. you think a simple ‘sorry’ is gonna make up for it?”

his slytherin friends didn’t utter a single word, only adding a few laughs here and there, but you could tell they were scared shitless of mattheo.

but then again, who wouldn’t be?

you didn’t think twice and started walking away.

mattheo reaches out lightning fast, his hand gripping your wrist and yanking you back roughly.

“oh, no you don’t,” he snaps, his eyes flashing with anger. “not going anywhere just yet.”

going back and forth made the inside of your stomach twist; you just wanted to be back in the safety of your own dorm walls. “can you guys just leave me alone? i’ll be on my way, swear to you.”

mattheo looks down at you, his grip on your wrist tightening.

“temper, temper,” he mocks, his voice dripping with mockery. “you owe me an apology.”

you didn’t have to be told twice. if he felt he needed an apology, you’d happily give it to him. you hated being on people’s bad side. “i’m sorry,” you say.

mattheo arches an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with your apology. “that’s it?” he quips, his grip on your wrist not letting up. “you think i’m gonna let you go with a little easly ‘i’m sorry’? you can do better than that.”

you nodded, taking this as help rather than insulting. “i’m sorry for interrupting you,” you try again.

mattheo lets out an exaggerated sigh, his eyes rolling. "yeah, i heard you say that," he sneers. "but ‘s not what you said, it's about the delivery. try again, and make it sound like you mean it."

you scrunched your eyebrows together since you had really meant it the two other times.

apologizing was something you’d always do willingly—if you ever upset or offended someone, even by accident, you felt it was only right to make amends.

“i’m very deeply sorry for intruding on you and your friends,” you said, your voice earnest. “i shouldn’t have come down to the library.”

mattheo chuckles, his eyes raking over you. "better," he hums, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "now get the fuck out of here before i change my mind. you’re also infuriating as fuck, shit pisses me off."

[estranged-archive]

“seven depraved days” — 18+ dd:dne by @estranged-girl

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64336096

multi-chapter work in progress | 12.2k words

inspired by you by caroline kepnes — in which you are a jedi knight in the midst of the current clone war’s ceasefire; deployed for a simple diplomatic mission on the planet artemisium for a week.

there’s apparently a plumbing issue at the temple forcing everyone to use communal bathrooms, and despite not being very close, you kindly offer anakin skywalker the code to your quarters so he can take a warm shower.

what you don’t know is, anakin also happens to have a week off—to attend order-mandated ‘rebalancing sessions’—and he intends to spend that free time in your personal space without your knowledge, because you are what he calls his “muse.”

𓁼 warnings: dead dove: do not eat, dubcon/noncon elements, smut, non-consensual voyeurism, trespassing, invasion of privacy, male masturbation, scent kink, panty kink, clothing theft, power imbalance, men whimpering

— additional tags: canon divergence of revenge of the sith, unnamed reader (no ‘y/n’), pov anakin skywalker + first person, pov alternating + second person

— chapters with smut marked with “𓌖” in title

— excerpt from chapter 2: “7 days left”

A few clicks, a hiss, and I’m inside a chamber I’m sure no one else besides me has seen thus far. I’d say you were too naïve in giving me your security code. But I’m going to presume you gave it to me, I alone, and had anyone else asked, you would have shut them down.

Even though you’ve been gone for a few days already, your scent still wafts from the place, hitting me like a brick; your lingering has marked the space. I swear I’m getting drunk off of your air. It’s so potent in some spots that it instinctively makes me turn on my heel to search for you. Within these walls, you carry out your life, a life I can only speculate about. The game of speculation is sending warmth to my lower half. Given your detachment as a poster girl of the Jedi, I’m curious about the extent of your belongings. You’re my pure muse, but I’m sure you’ll have some flaw, some humanity, a struggle of some kind.

I’m just going to shower today. I’m going to respect your space. I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness. But I can’t help but make so many assumptions based on your quarters.

I always wondered what it would look like. You follow nonattachment to a T; the same clean lines, but you have taste, and no amount of flowy fabric can obscure your apparent beauty. But your quarters are surprisingly sentimental for such a non-attached person. You’re meticulous, but not cold. You’re real. Countless books and scrolls in an organized chaos. Keepsakes from different planets you’ve visited, huh? You must be planning to bring one back from Artemisium. Maybe a shell or rock of some kind, by the ocean. You have a desk and it looks like you’ve left your datapad there. A stylus is not far from it.

You’re not a messy girl, really; I understood that from a single glance around this room. You like to follow rules—you tidied up before you left, or maybe you have a disposition to cleanliness. Even then, you aren’t perfect. You don’t force your space to be ready for guests 24/7. Some books are collecting dust you haven’t feathered away yet, and you left things here and there, albeit very few, out of place. You probably forgot to put them back in a rush to leave. I don’t mind it at all; I’m glad you left some things out in the open so I can learn more about you.

Your bed is made, but the sheets are a bit rustled; you slept here last. There’s one pillow the length of your bed’s width, placed neat and taut, but there’s a clear indent on the side of the bed you prefer. I brush my fingers across the fabric of where you sleep, and you’re enticing me to the other side already. There’s only a simple linen sheet draped over the whole thing. Minimal and ascetic, as I thought. Classy. But I’m sure you must indulge in a worldly thing, something, anything. I know I shouldn’t, but the way you toy with me with this stilted perfection makes me want to find it.

[taradactyls]

Something I love about how Pride and Prejudice is told through an omnipresent narrator, aside from the witty remarks and insight into other characters it allows even though it's usually focused on Elizabeth, is how it plays on the audience's own prejudices and assumptions.

The narrator tells us very early on, chapter 4, that Darcy is "haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred, were not inviting." We've already seen that when we meet him the previous chapter, and will see more of it in those following. But it's the readers, along with Elizabeth, who take that observation as not only a list of flaws (despite only the first actually being negative) but presumes even more damaging flaws must be attached to it. Darcy can be off-putting, especially so in the setting we meet him in: he dismissed Elizabeth within earshot of her, didn't engage with people attempting to converse with him, etc. It's easy to assume the worst of him in a world so driven by social niceties, and because we follow Elizabeth, who is so lively and playful amidst the rules which govern society. Elizabeth thinks he's bad tempered? It would make sense - he hasn't shown consideration for others much socially, why would he care when he's angry? He acted from resentment and jealousy and went against his father's will? That's not such a jump after the conclusion of a bad temper, his own acknowledgement of implacable resentment, and evidence of pride. The awareness of one offensive trait so naturally leads to prejudice against it, that we easily assume still worse qualities must exist. We are as mistaken as Elizabeth.

Even the idea that 'No, Darcy was never haughty or rude, he was just shy and misunderstood, the narrator is wrong' is just magnifying that prejudice. Yes, we do find out later that Darcy is not at ease among strangers, and was always intrinsically good; his morals and core values meant he was never as bad as Elizabeth believed. But that doesn't mean he was without flaws, and it's so fascinating that some analysis of his character seek to completely remove the negative traits which he eventually overcame after acknowledging them in himself. The logic seems to be that they feel if he had them in the start that he isn't actually such a good person. It's just another example of being so prejudiced against certain flaws that it's impossible for some people to reconcile that there doesn't have to be more serious failings attached, and someone can still be a good person despite being arrogant and not always nice. It's, ironically, being prejudiced in the exact same way that Elizabeth was at the start of the novel. It's amazing that Jane Austen was able to tap into that aspect of human nature so deftly, and invoke in both in her main character, and readers to this day.

Now, of course, the story is so well known it's rare for anyone to read it blind, so it's less likely anyone will be unaware of Darcy's good qualities despite first seeing his worst. Even if they do, Pride and Prejudice has become so genre defining that new readers who are the slightest bit genre savvy will be more aware than contemporary audiences were. But even if we know the story it's still so understandable why Elizabeth feels the way she does. We see what she sees and feel her conclusions make sense. Just as, even though the narrator tells us Darcy is starting to catch feelings for Elizabeth, we fully comprehend her not noticing and believing there's a mutual dislike. And though that is concrete evidence of Elizabeth not reading Darcy and his motives correctly, we are still so sympathetic of the basis of her prejudice that her continued belief in Darcy's lack of virtues makes sense from her point of view. We can see, as she later will, that she takes it too far, and should have noticed evidence to the contrary, but her prejudice against him based on his early behaviour and her pride at reading people correctly is so understandable.

Basically, in a story about the characters' pride and prejudices, I love, love, LOVE how the narrator's voice brings out those same traits in readers the exact same way we see it presenting in Elizabeth. We're all on that journey with her, and we can likewise learn the same lessons about ourselves as she does. Pride and Prejudice feels timeless, because even though society and thus the nuance changes, the book is about human nature, and that remains essentially the same.

[jarimaa]

hey, i was just wondering what are your thoughts on the final chapter of jjk…

The End

This is gonna be a little detailed. I am gonna first give a short answer and what I liked and disliked, then a little more detailed one. This is about ending as a whole.

I remember I did quite some research during my college time on post modernism and existentialism because i had to write an essay (it isn't about that) but I will be referring to what I researched here and there, when put forth my points.

Short answer- I am content with the ending. I am also surprised since this is the first time gege wrote a full manga for the first time, but he still managed to give an ending better than most. And any gripe that still remains, I will not hold it against the author cause the story and characters aren't real, Gege is.

Yuji, Sukuna, and Gojo's character have some of the best conclusions within the story (unpopular opinion probably 😮‍💨). The way they were written and the consistency with regards to their characterization was amazing.

As for what I am conflicted about, well, it's Megumi's character. I don't know how to say it, I liked it his conclusion, but I wish there was more introspection to how he reached there. But alternatively, I talked with a moot of mine, and they think the lack of introspection from Megumi is quite in-character. He decided to live for others once again (i.e., he didn't address his problems at all) and he is finding peace and comfort in the cage he is stuck at, it's such simple decision from his part, cause he is very clueless about his own psychology, and this is the beauty of it, that we as readers know what caused him to make that decision-according to my moot. I highlighted this one, cause this interpretation stood out the most. I also talked with other people, who seem to hold dislike for the lack of introspection from Megumi's end. While I am still conflicted, maybe I will address in some other posts or not at all, idk, but right now, I haven't formed my opinion on it. But I am satisfied, to say the least, conclusion itself isn't bad for me.

Detail:-

I like that it's more about evolving and coexistence rather than breaking the cycle or one conclusive solution. Regardless of Sukuna's or Yuji's existence, the curses will always continue to exist. It's humans' negative emotions that create curses in the first place. If the negative emotions of humans can't cease to exist, then curses won't either. Jujutsu Kaisen in a way rejects the idea that life can just have a start, middle, and end, or that one single truth/solution can provide closure. Maybe things can get worse in the future, maybe things can get better, that's up to you to decide, in that particular sense, it's open-ended.

You may ask what was even the point then? Well, let me offer a perspective, although it's just my interpretation, you don't have to agree to it...

When characters within a story accept a belief, perspective, or solution as the only truth, it can lead to their failure, especially if that belief oversimplifies a complex reality. But, one character who comes to understand the complexity can find a way to coexist with the chaos or ambiguity, though not necessarily "fixing" things.

In narratives such as these, the answer isn’t just a rejection of truth but a recognition of multiplicity, the presence of multiple perspectives, interpretations, or meanings within a single work or the idea that one truth or solution cannot account for the full stretch of experience. The character who realises the absence of a single "fix" often ends up navigating the challenges in a more nuanced way. They may not succeed in traditional terms, but they endure by accepting life’s complexity.

Many characters within JJK try to find some single "fix" to the system or the problem of curses and cursed energy and each of them had very flawed solution which we see failing--Yuki/Kenjaku/Geto were all extremists in that sense, one of my friend mentioned this in twt, Yuki wanted to completely break away from CE but also she didn't have any concrete plan, and Kenjaku who wanted to optimise it, but never really knew what merger could do, himself. Even Geto knew that killing all non-sorcorers is not possible.

Sukuna/Gojo-- both their ideals were extremely flawed. Many people have written amazing analysis on this, so i won't go in detail. But we see in the story how strength was the reason for both their solitude and which led them to path of their own death. But Sukuna perfected what Gojo didn't, sukuna completely threw away his humanity and was content living as a curse. A hollow human, who only ever cares about strength, he deemed love worthless, like Gojo deemed love to be the most twisted curse. However, gojo still wanted connections at the end of the day, and this kept him a little more humane than sukuna, who became a monster who clung to life wanting to stay at the pinnacle.

I liked that in the end Gojo realised that Yuji and other should follow their own path rather than just following his goals (although he would've like that) and I am glad they didn't follow his footsteps.

This conversation between sukuna and mahito just added so much to their characters.

Sukuna is the man who perfected his ego. He discarded his humanity till his last breath. Sukuna says he was an unwanted child (maybe cause he ate his twin in his mothers womb, someone on twt pointed out that this is similar to biological condition called "fetus in fetu") and he internalised this all and lived his whole life as a curse, only ever caring about his pleasures and displeasure and being the pinnacle. But even a perfected ego gets humbled in death, and the same happened with him. He acknowledges that he could have taken a different route, and if there is a next time, it would be nice to walk on a different path. Beautiful, honestly.

Now, Mahito is the literal manifestation of humans' hatred for others. He is a true curse, and he wasn't able to reconcile with his humanity after death because, unlike sukuna, he has none, he is not human. He is the manifestation of the same cycle of human hatred, he didn't change, he is the only one left sulking like a child. As I mentioned before, if the negative emotions of humans can't cease to exist, then curses like mahito won't either.

You could then say - well, then nothing changed?

I mean, is it really nothing? Tengen is no more, and this is the curse user Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara caught, and what happened to him?

Earlier, he probably would have been executed, but now Yuji offered him a chance to change.

Yuji turns out to be the person who learns to coexist. He is, for me, the best written character within the story with the best conclusion.

Now, let's just say that doesn't mean anything, nothing changed at all, there was no point...

However, the idea that "nothing changed" often misses the deeper layers of such narratives, which are less about external change and more about internal realizations, the acceptance of ambiguity and even the rejection of simplistic resolutions.

The "point" is not necessarily achieving change or a clear resolution, but rather witnessing the struggle itself. How characters navigate or accept a chaotic/indifferent universe.

There are two examples I can think of, first one being, Camus' "The Myth of Sisyphus", Sisyphus endlessly pushes a boulder up a hill, only for it to roll back down, its completely futile, yet the "point" is his perseverance. The second one is "Waiting for Godot" by Beckett, nothing really appears to happen in the story, and characters seem stuck in a cycle of waiting for this supposed person calles Gadot. However, the "point" is in the waiting itself. It's a reflection on the human condition, the search for meaning, and how we deal with uncertainty and the passage of time.

Thus, the point of such narratives is not in "what changed" but how we live with things not changing, how we adapt, or re-contextualise meaning of things when the world resists easy solutions or "fix its". It's reflectimg on the messiness of real life, where change is often slow, subtle, or non-existent, and simple answers are rarely seen.

So it's up to you to decide what you wanna make of this ending. Personally, I am very, very content.

(Again, this is my interpretation, I could be completely off charts, and I don't mind, maybe I will change my mind after thinking about it again, or maybe not, but one thing remains, that I throughly enjoyed all 4 years I was reading this manga. Peace✌️)

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

This Is The Last

Chapter 2: Companion

Warning(s): canon-typical violence

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The Goddess Statue was cold, the approaching dusk casting an almost calculating hood to the rounded stone of its eyes. You could hardly speak as you stumbled back to the temple, shaking like a leaf after your latest revelation, vision blotted with salty tears and mouth permanently open, mind grasping for words you could not speak. 

The hero was dead. The hero was dead . Who would defeat Ganon and put an end to this madness, avenging Lurelin and all the Hylians who had fallen? It was unfathomable that the belief, no… hope , Hyrule had been holding on to was but a mere fable : a skeleton in a shrine. You couldn’t believe it; you wouldn’t believe it–there had to be an answer to this insanity, it couldn’t end like this!

Time was a mere concept as you fell at the statue’s feet, hands blindly grasping at stone-cut robes, every nerve in your body screaming for a reprieve, yearning for another chance. You would search to the ends of Hyrule if you had to, ripping it at the very seams to get what you wanted, so why couldn’t you? Had all your efforts truly been in vain, the mere dreams of a girl with nothing and no one? Or perhaps fate was behind your loss, determined to tear your very morals from your poor, broken body, fighting for something that didn’t even exist in the first place. 

You felt cheated. Betrayed by a hero you had never met. Robbed of your only shot at happiness. 

Even the goddess was freezing beneath your fingers, nothing like the mother you thought her, if such a thing wasn’t already hedonistically sacreligious. Frantically, you looked into her cold eyes, pleading with everything you had within you, a mere whisper in the wind’s raging whistle

“Help me.”

Whether it was a question or a statement, you would never know, only that a profound calm seemed to blanket the space. ‘Calm’ in the sense that, for a split second, the wind died down, the flowers and grass stilled, and the trees held their very breath, creating a silence so unnerving that it was almost comforting . Your neck trembled as you forced it to tilt upward, and the rest of your body wasn’t far behind, chattering with the weight of your thoughts. 

Help me, you had said, but what you really meant was: bring him back. Maybe the goddess knew, as your vision began to blacken and exhaustion caught up with you, whirling around you like a curse, or maybe it was simply a turgid twist of fate, but, either way, you would swear up and down about the golden light that flashed in her granite pupils just before everything went dark. 

You awoke to the sound of your name, a warbling rendition that had every place to be spoken and a thousand more not to be. A soft breeze whistled in your ears, melding with the muted bubbling of what you could only assume was a brook of some kind. Rolling from your side to your back, you groaned, lazily rubbing sleep from your eyes with a hand. There was a certain urgency in the sky above, cerulean blue with clouds so perfect the gods must have brushed them directly in the backdrop. 

Urgency… what was urgent? To the left of you was a forest, not dissimilar from the Faron Woods, and the right was a perfect replica, towering trees that waved in the wind, creating a canopy more beautiful than you’d allowed yourself to admire in years. Despite it’s flaws, Hyrule was unrequitedly beautiful, all towering peaks and sloping hills, wispy groves and crystal lakes. It was the perfect land, as wonderful as it was terrible. 

Which is why, when a fragmented memory of a skeleton in a pool razed your mind, you wanted to dismiss it. Just once, you wanted to forget, if only for the sky and the stars, so you could gaze at them with eyes reborn, but the visual of a blue tunic followed shortly, and you shot up, fantasies all but forgotten. 

You… you had found the hero; the Hylian Champion, the savior of Hyrule… dead. A body in a pool. Red tinted water and salty tears were at the forefront of your mind as you considered the reality of the situation… and what it meant for the land you loved so dearly . 

There had to be a way to rescue Hyrule, it couldn’t end like this. You refused to live with the knowledge only you possessed, unable to return to bliss. 

There was another call of your name, so clear that you couldn’t help but whirl around, facing the Goddess Statue looming beneath a large oak. 

“Where am I? ” were the first words to leave your throat, still raw from hours without water. The heady beat of your heart was at the forefront of your senses, thumping in your chest like a war drum. Then, in dutiful exchange: “Please, Hylia–”

Silence , said the statue as the sky turned dark, and the forest faded away, leaving you alone, floating in an abyss only fathomed in your wildest nightmares. There was a pregnant pause as you attempted to decide whether you had truly gone mad. Is the champion all that you seek?

There was no question, only an answer. Resolve steeling, you forced your emotions to the backburner. “Yes.”

Explain it to me , demanded the statue, crystal clear in the fog your mind had become. Vent your desire.  

“I need…” you hesitated, words trailing to nothing more than hissed syllables on your tongue. How were you to explain your greatest want to a deity, assuming this wasn’t some wretched fever dream? The answer was practically inscribed on the thudding caverns of your heart, and yet you couldn’t voice them when it mattered, settling lamely with. “. ..a hero. ”

Why? The statue’s gaze prompted, more lifelike than you’d thought possible. 

“I…”

What has made your destiny incapable?

You froze. 

“My… destiny?”

The statue was silent, and the glade began to flicker in and out of existence, a terrifying meld of comfort and horror. Your first instinct was to fight, but with the discovery of your missing sword, all you could do was jump to your feet with the care of a newborn deer, wobbling as fate flashed before you. Only the statue remained the same, a relic of love and fear, of devotion and obsession. 

“Stop!” The words left your mouth before you could stifle them, ringing loudly in the whirling cacophony. “I said STOP!”

And stop it did. The darkness returned just as your legs gave out and you felt as thought this was the end. Fear made you crazy, if yelling at a goddess wasn’t already an indication, but you were too frazzled to care. With exhausted eyes and a voice quieter than a mouse, you whispered. “Forgive me.”

But there was no answer. The darkness crept further, and your last thought before it consumed you was how useful a sword that sealed darkness would be. 

There was a small shack south of the Temple of Time. 

Dawn had just begun to break when you awoke at the feet of the statue, hands still clasped pleadingly over cold stone robes, flecks of sleep caked in the corners of your eyes. Finding your feet was a feat in itself, every step you took from the blasted temple razing your shins like a wildfire. You don’t know how long you walked, or even what you were looking for, but the cabin nestled among a grove of trees was the closest answer your prayers had received in years. 

There was no door, so you stumbled in without much care, examining the sparse layout of the cabin. Whoever built it obviously hadn’t heard of insulation, judging by the myriad of cracks between the thick logs that made up the walls. A small table occupied the wall closest to the ‘door’, a worn journal resting atop it. You ignored the book and walked to the furthest spot inward, plopping down with a groan as your weary back pressed against the wood. 

It was  a labored sigh that you brought your knees, burying your face in your hands. Strands of hair cascaded over your eyes, falling prey to nervous, tugging fingers as you fought to ground yourself. Every part of you ached and you wanted nothing more for the earth to swallow you up. You never considered peace an option, but now…

No. 

There was a solution, you just knew it, because why wouldn’t there be? Hope was a fickle thing, but maybe you were determined enough to hold on to it. 

Until the pointed metal on your knee brushed the scar on your chest over your armor and all you knew was pain . A scream wrenched from your throat as you forced yourself to uncurl, legs straightening within an instant. Your fingers shot to your chest, frantically pulling at your breastplate. It fell easily, and you wasted no time yanking the chainmail shift from your body, tossing it carelessly across the room. Then came your tunic–which met the same fate as your poor shift–and the cause of your pain was finally revealed. 

It was a brand, a fucking brand . Two curved lines extended from the original wound in your chest, like the wings of some godforsaken angel, raised and angry. A spear-shaped mark connected with the bottom of the wound, the tip disappearing into the bindings over your breasts. You traced the brand with a single finger, sending powerful shockwaves down your very spine. 

The longer you looked, the more affronted you felt. It was obviously the Goddess Crest, a mark used to identify followers of Hylia for as long as anyone could remember, but the lack of choice–yours, specifically–in the matter only fueled the fire raging in your belly. In the center of the accursed mark was the wound that almost killed you, flanked by a crest that fit so perfectly it made you want to tear your hair out. 

There was no other way around it; the goddess had branded you her own, for better… or worse. 

But for now, you needed rest. And, if not more desperately, food and a bath. You’d left your pack with Rala, thousands of feet below the plateau’s edge, so retrieving it was out of the question, though that didn’t mean you weren’t capable of hunting for yourself. It was the reason you kept a spare fishing line in the pouch at your hip, and a quiver of arrows at your back–a bitter representation of why you would never let yourself be overtaken again. 

Everything was bitter. Cathartic. Resentful. 

Will rest come? You wondered, feeling yourself relax fully against the wooden wall, head lolling to lay against the leftmost corner. Or were you simply delaying the inevitable, no more prepared than a child? That part of you died with Lurelin, but, in the dead of night, you would awake in a cold sweat, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. They spilled down when you blinked, creating thin, salted tracks that shone in the magenta moonlight. There were nights where you were inconsolable–a hair’s width from screaming your frustration to the sky till Hylia herself cut you down–and others where melancholy replaced rage. Your body had never felt so broken, so disconnected from the hazy abyss of your mind. 

You allowed your eyelids to close, the heavy thud of your heart deafening in the quiet space. Peace, however temporary, was not to be taken lightly. 

In Hyrule, when it rains, it pours . 

As a fisherman yourself, rain meant food. It meant comfort, celebration, and rest–often foreshadowing a successful catch. You felt inclined to believe it, as two freshly-caught bass dangled from your grip, so fresh that they continued to twitch with the bitter remnants of life. 

You had ventured out as soon as you awoke, determined to make the most of your current situation. There was only so much time you could sulk in a day, and you refused to let it boil over in such a way. Moreso, you were still Hylian, despite all intents and purposes, which conveyed a sense of responsibility that forced you to your feet amidst the thundering sky. 

Setting fishing lines from your emergency stash was all but instinct. Within minutes, you made your first catch and everything seemed right in the world. The bath that followed was comparable to the stories your father told you of a place called ‘Heaven’, and you trudged back to the house with the ghost of a smile forming on your lips. 

The small fire crackled amidst the thundering sky, two fish skewers set securely above the curling, flickered edges. The scent of roasted fish filled the air, as did wisps of smoke the fire generated, swirling around the space in thin streaks. Fat drops of rain pattered the foyer, and you were glad you had the foresight to move the fire inwards. 

Within minutes, the fish were done. You used an arrow to flip the spit upwards, catching it cleanly in your other hand, scoring a large bite seconds later. And, by Hylia, was it worth it, as you doubted you had tasted better food in your whole life. Within no time, the first fish was but a pile of bones, picked clean, tossed beside the fire, and the second one wasn’t far behind. You wiped your chin with a satisfied groan, reclining against the wall once again. Despite the dampness of your pants and undershirt–because there was no way in Hylia you were going to willingly  deal with rusted armor–it was the best night you’d had in a while. Lonely, sure, but calm? Absolutely. 

There was much to be thought in the silence. You mused over what your life had become, and how long it would take for something spectacular to occur. Perhaps the mark would begin to glow spontaneously while you took a piss, or maybe your sword would speak to you in the common tongue in the dead of night. Either way, it was expectedly unexpected, and you found yourself falling deeper into stagnancy. 

The sky was still terribly dark, and exhaustion weighed on your every pore. Even so, your path was clear; you had already left Rala alone for a few days, which was unacceptable in the world you lived in, and she was your first priority. Then, you would resume your travels, slaying any and all monsters you encountered. Perhaps you would hop from town to town, or simply find a single area to protect until you couldn’t. Visiting Lurelin was another tick on the list, but that would come later, when the scent of smoke no longer carried in the sea-salted breeze and you could finally walk around without a smoldering beam crashing down on you. 

A burst of lightning drew your attention back to the thundering heavens, illuminated the thick clouds in brilliant white light as another torrent bombarded the roof. Only a fool would miss the tell-tale creaking of the wood, and it only solidified the fact that leaving soon was the best course of action. 

But first, sleep. It had been a hell of a day and you were keen on getting one last bit of rest before heading out for good. You could already feel your body relaxing into the wall, uncaring of the hardness of the wood–you could handle a backache any day. 

That is, until another peal of thunder rang out and the sky was awash in light once more, though you hardly felt it over the spontaneous sear of heat over your chest. Your back became ramrod straight, clutching your hands to your sternum with thick, gasping breaths. Every second felt like a blinding slew of days, months… even years , and there wasn’t much that you could do past hold yourself like a scared child, eyes screwed shut hard enough to never open again. There was another burst of light, though suspiciously without the telling herald of thunder, and you forced yourself to glance forward. 

A spark of white danced in the air, inches from the ground. The pouring rain created a sort of cathartic backdrop as you tried to decipher what exactly you were seeing. It was undoubtedly real–the blinding edges curling like a miniature flame–but you couldn't place its purpose for the life of you. 

It was with half-steady hands that you reached forward, fingers outstretched cautiously towards the flame; the meager light blazing brighter and brighter with every inch that died between you–

Ssc!

You jerked your hand back as soon as the tip of your finger came into contact with the glowing surface, sucking it into your mouth to soothe the small burn, because, fuck , it was always the little things that hurt the most. The flare in your chest had faded to an uncomfortable stab with every raspy breath you took. You wanted to scream and you wanted to dash your hand through the flame, only fearing a second, more powerful burn. 

“Get out of here,” you hissed softly, as if your words held any weight in this situation. “ Leave .”

But the flame–or was it more of a burning wisp–remained, glowing cheerily in the raging storm. You watched it with a resigned expression, injured hand creeping up to rest against your chest. “You hurt me,” you said, without any real heat. You needed to hear words again. You needed to think again. “I don’t want you here.”

Nothing. 

Until the edges of the flame flickered purple, and it fizzled into nothing. You blinked as it reappeared at the threshold of the shack, inches from the merciless rain. A particularly large drop collided with the wisp, razing a hole through the center of it. 

Your expression softened as the flame… shivered ? Was that the right word to describe an supposedly nonhuman object or were you simply out of practice? Another droplet dashed the flickering apparition, followed by a cloud of steam and thin hiss of steam, and you felt yourself sigh. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” You gestured to the glowing embers of the campfire in a manner that was supposed to be joking, but the short hiss of steam forced your hand. “If you burn me again, I’ll throw you out.”

With an almost delighted… crackle(?), the flame reappeared over the main fire. You watched with mild interest as it floated prone-ly, simply existing among the dancing flames of the larger fire, never once losing its signature color. 

“What are you?” The words left your mouth before you could stop them. 

The flame made noise similar to a log being dumped on a roaring bonfire, and, after absentmindedly nodding along, you began to wonder if you had finally gone mad–if you weren’t already after what you saw in the shrine. None of this should have been possible, yet here you were, acknowledging a flame like a person. 

Was this insanity?

Either way, you were wholeheartedly exhausted and even keener on getting a good night’s rest. With a final, insane nod to the living flame, you tilted your head against the wall and allowed sleep to consume you. 

The plot thickens!

[vonbabbitt]

Dear VonBabbit/Tetro Team,

I remember when I first found Isono’s interview. I was still a fresh little newbie to Danganronpa; a series of laughably awful writing that gained a cult following. By the time I discovered V3’s ending, all I’ve ever wanted was a Good Danganronpa Game. A story that has the same amount of effort put into it as the characters (with some exceptions *cough cough* Miu *cough*). While looking through this new thing called “Fangans”, I found you. You and the Class of Session 1.

Tetro Danganronpa wasn’t my first Fangan, that award goes to Danganronpa 69, but that doesn’t discredit how phenomenal this all turned out to be. It started with simply listening to it like your usual audio drama. I didn’t think anything special of it at first. It wasn’t until the bells of Sasaki’s demise rang did I find myself growing invested proper. The choice of not having a “Main Character” was definitely a good call. Without being stuck to someone’s head the whole time, we’re able to get a feel for everyone and see interactions Danganronpa Fans would usually have to make themselves to see. You also gain this feeling of unpredictability. With no one set in stone to survive (Protag, Antag, Support, etc) you really have no idea who’s gonna make it out.

It’s only made more insane by how excellent the cast was. Wanna know why? THEY ARE ACTUAL PEOPLE! Not caricatures or overly extreme personalities. Just real, honest to god, flawed, but still likable people with their own developments. I’ve been gassing up Sasaki and Watari for a while, but Hiroaki might actually be my favorite. He’s not the next Byakuya where he’s an asshole who doesn’t even change. We see him actually better himself and question what he’s done with his developments with Wada and ESPECIALLY Ojima. It goes to show that even if you may not favor other students in the beginning, it’s guaranteed you’ll fall in love with the cast the moment it’s their time to go. (Also the Voice Actors/Actresses were phenomenal. Here’s hoping this kickstarts their careers outside of Tetro!)

Another amazing improvement are the murders and their trials. The OG Danganronpa’s trials were usually only able to be solved by strokes of convenience and unnatural amounts of luck. That and they tend to drag while ignoring facts that can end the trial within minutes. But here? Every trial had honest to god logic by their side. The clues and evidence all coming together with understandable reasoning, all wrapping up with some kind of ingenious twist to keep the viewers on their toes. These cases feel like they can be put into Ace Attorney and they’ll feel right at home they’re that good!

I think I can full heartedly say that this is one of the Danganronpa Community’s best Fangans. I’ll even go as far as to say it’s the Gold Standard for what a Fangan should be. An innovative spin on the original Danganronpa Formula while maintaining the same feel of the actual Danganronpa. It’s been an honor to be part of this roller coaster of a first chapter and to graduate along side these poor unfortunate souls (Context: I’m in my Senior Year with like, two months left till I’m free). As someone who’s mostly been joking around in this community, it’s nice to finally have my true thoughts out there about this masterpiece. Much applause to you VonBabbit, and the rest of the Tetro Team. I look forward to seeing the next psyche boggling entry in Tetro Blue (Da ba dee da ba di). Thank you again…

Sincerely, .nfhd (the guy who’s been using Spongebob Gifs on Tetrocord)

thank you very very much! im really glad you found so much to enjoy with tetro! im incredibly flattered by how much love youve shown my series

[maxdibert]

Omg Sansa Starkk!!!! The TV show did her so dirty. Holy shit, they took a complicated layered character (every character of asoiaf is complicated and layered actually) and gave her the most dismissive interpretation possible.

Fuck, when I heard the criticism against game of thrones, it being sexist and the depiction of violence against women, teenager me dismissed it. Then I read the books, and I agree with every criticism 😭

Sansa irritated me in the first couple episodes of season 1, until everything turned and it became a helish nightmare for her and then I felt immense sympathy for her. In the books, she became my instant favorite.

Even Arya had more layers and complexity in the books. Arya was much more human in the books, loved it.

The show assassinated several characters—it didn’t just simplify some, like Sansa, but outright destroyed others. For example, they turned Arya into a complete psychopath, period. The Arya from the last three or four seasons had literally zero personality; she was just a badass who killed people, that’s it. She would put on her psycho killer face, and that was her entire character. She was only there so the male audience could jerk off.

And then there’s Daenerys’ character assassination. And listen, this is coming from someone who can’t stand Daenerys and found her chapters in the books unbearably boring. But even so, I can’t stand it when characters are disrespected in certain ways, and what they did to Daenerys at the end was a complete disgrace. She went from being one of the main characters, always framed as good, positive, and revolutionary by the narrative, to literally a crazy, sociopathic, genocidal maniac—it made zero sense. I’m not saying it couldn’t have happened. Sure, you could spend two more seasons showing how she descends into madness. But don’t do it in three episodes—that’s just pure nonsense. Plain and simple.

And well, WELL—I won’t even get into the rant that is, for me, the biggest crime of the entire trash show: THE CHARACTER ASSASSINATION OF JAIME LANNISTER. Jaime is one of my absolute favorite characters in the saga, and his redemption arc is one of the best I’ve ever seen. It’s truly a masterpiece of storytelling. I can accept that the show’s Jaime was more meh and had less charisma, but what I can’t accept is that after setting up a redemption arc so well, they ended it like that. Like, WHAT. They should have just killed him off during the Long Night—seriously, I wish they had done that. It would have been less painful. What a complete disaster.

Anyway, back to Sansa. She has always been my favorite character from the very beginning, in both the books and the show. I also think she’s a particularly interesting character when it comes to analyzing misogyny within fandoms. Both book Sansa and show Sansa get endless hate for one simple reason: she’s a normal girl. Sansa isn’t a dragon queen, she isn’t a ruler, she isn’t a rebel like her sister. Sansa is just a regular aristocratic girl with regular dreams for a girl of her age and status—someone who has always lived in a bubble. And her reactions, her doubts, and her fears are exactly what any normal person in her situation would have.

And that’s what audiences can’t stand—first, because she’s a reflection of themselves, since most people would act and react like Sansa, not like Arya. And second, because in a patriarchal view of women, a female character is only acceptable if she has traditionally masculine traits (she leads like a man, fights like a man, speaks like a man). A female character with flaws, whose personality isn’t masculine but also doesn’t cater to male fantasies, is unacceptable—so she becomes a constant target.

So yeah, as I’ve been saying for over ten years: hating Sansa Stark is misogyny, and I will not elaborate on this because I don’t do free education for misogynists.

[atlasofthestaars]

[MK X READER] New Era - Chapter .015

first part | previous part | next part

NOTE:

Yet again we’re hoping for less than three weeks update time. We’ll see how it goes now haha ^^

edit: I lost track of time. I keep on forgetting when I last updated.

Rain got in as a love interest, which does alter the story a bit! 

Reminder that I like to do canon divergence <3 

Would you guys like a collection of headcanons I’ve done for requests on AO3?? I usually don’t post them there because they’re pretty short but I can put them all into one book that I’ll update.

Also happy 100k+ words! I'm. I'm not ready to figure out how many words this will all be by the end.

FROM THE EYES OF SOMEONE WHO ENJOYS A MOMENT OF PEACE

“Things are getting rough.”

You stood upon the roof of a building, staring down at the destruction of the city around you. Outworlders mobbed the streets, terrorizing the innocent Earthrealmers. To describe it as “rough” was an understatement. It’s been two long years ever since the first invasions on Earthrealm started. It’s been nearly a year since you’ve moved out to the city along with the others to fend off where it was the worst.

Most of Earthrealm’s forces were sent here, along with Raiden, to defend the city. But there were a few that were scattered around the world to help other regions. Fujin and your father, for example, stayed behind to help the monks defend the Wu Shi along with others of the White Lotus. You missed both of them dearly, only being able to communicate with them occasionally.

You haven’t been able to visit Kung Lao’s grave in over a year. You only hoped that he understood why.

“Are you planning on going out again?” Liu Kang’s voice spoke. His voice dripped with concern. You turned your gaze away from the apocalyptic sight to your dear friend. It was a much better view than the one below. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at you. You sighed and nodded before turning your gaze down to the view below. As disturbing as it was, you felt guiltier turning a blind eye.

“I have to, I don’t think Raiden and Johnny Cage are enough to take down that extermination squad they’ve sent out.” You said, crossing your arms. A light breeze passed by, sending the smell of smoke your way. You grimaced at the acrid scent. No matter how long you’ve been here, you’re not sure if you’ll ever get used to it. Especially with how you’ve become so accustomed to the much cleaner air at the temple. “That, and Nightwolf said he would enjoy my help to help recruit the two Raiden has been getting information on.”

“New recruits?” Liu Kang inquired. You nodded gravely in response. A hint of distaste seemed to linger with his words along with some confusion. You didn’t blame him, ever since you’ve been out here, you’ve never really gone and sought out other help. Well, you’ve wanted to, but Raiden had been hesitant in dragging others into this whole affair.

As if they weren’t already. Still, you saw the logic within Raiden’s decision, even though it was flawed. 

“Yes. Raiden says they have potential.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see your friend move. Was that a flinch? Or did he simply shift his weight? When you turned your gaze to check, you couldn’t tell. “I think it would be good to get more help. Our efforts are stretched out thin as it is.” You elaborate. Your hands go out to grasp at the concrete railing, gripping it tightly. You were certain by the time you let go of it, your hands would have the texture imprinted upon them.

“I still cannot believe that even after winning two tournaments and even I had nearly killed Shao Khan, it was not enough.” Liu Kang said, moving to stand closer to you. Bitterness coated his words. The distaste within his words felt strange, no matter how much more common it was becoming. You recalled back to the moment you had confronted him at Kung Lao’s grave. He was doing much better now, but you had felt like something had fundamentally changed within Liu Kang.

You could never truly pinpoint when that change happened. Was it when the invasions had started? Or maybe, was it when Kung Lao died? Part of you doubted it was either one of those, even if it sounded like it made sense. It was probably much earlier, maybe after Raiden had said Liu Kang was not the chosen one. Either way, he had changed. There was resentment that lingered in his soul, directed at Raiden. You could feel it with every interaction.

It worried you. Team morale was low enough as it were without the subtle drama between Liu Kang and Raiden. It was taxing enough to keep on a brave face in front of everyone, to pretend like everything would be alright. You didn’t know if you had enough spirit left in you to mend things together. With every day that you had to hide your dwindling confidence, you broke a little inside.

You should really talk to him, but you feared that it would lead to more issues. Maybe you were being irrational and over thinking things. You were all tired, maybe he was just irritated at how the world has essentially fallen apart.

Surely that must be it. Liu Kang was not one to dislike Raiden. If anything, he had been the one out of all three of you who had regarded him the highest. So it was illogical to think that he would suddenly dislike or even hate the god.

You were just being too worried. Maybe your logic has become weaker after pretending everything was alright for so long. That, and Liu Kang and Raiden were adults, or in Raiden’s case, more than an adult. They can figure out whatever dispute they had, if they even had one. They didn’t need you to coddle them. You had enough on your plate already, you could trust them.

Still, even with that conclusion, a pit of guilt formed in your stomach. 

Warmth radiated from Liu Kang, a detail that you noted as you were drawn from your thoughts. It enveloped you in a sense of security. You closed your eyes, and for a moment you had nearly forgotten how terrible everything was. You felt safe. You only indulged yourself in the sensation for a moment before you opened your eyes and forced yourself to look at the destruction below. You didn’t deserve to feel safe and comforted in a world that needed your help.

“I can’t believe it either.” You replied after a long, long moment. You didn’t know what else to say, because what else could you say? It was unbelievable to you as much as it was to him how awful things were, even after all your efforts. It felt like a perpetual punishment for something you’ve never deserved. None of you deserved this, and yet you were all saddled with the heavy responsibility of it.

The two of you stood on the rooftop, looking out at the horrors of the world for a long while. It wasn’t as if you enjoyed seeing it. Not at all, but you couldn’t bear holding a smile for the others right now. Being alone with Liu Kang was better for your soul at the moment. None of you spoke, either not knowing how to or unwilling to break the fragile silence that settled over the two of you. It wasn’t until you realized how much time had passed that the silence had been broken.

“I need to get going now.” You informed Liu Kang. “Nightwolf will be waiting for me.” You turned away, moving to walk away from the man. Then, you felt him grasp your hand. His grip was firm, but not harsh. Just enough to keep you there, but you could still shake his grip off if you needed. But you didn’t. Your gaze trailed up from the grip to his arm then settled on his face. “Liu Kang?”

“I-” He began. His hand trembled. For what reason you had no idea why. Worried, you turned to face him fully. You placed a hand upon his, trying to quell whatever had caused him to shake. His hand settled between yours. His gaze lifted, and for a moment that stretched into eternity, he stared into your eyes. There was a fire that seemed to burn in his eyes, then it slowly burned away into embers. A soft flush appeared on his cheeks, and it seemed he even stopped breathing. You rubbed the back of his hand with your thumb, trying to coax the words out of him. His hand twitched before squeezing yours. “I just want you to stay safe.”

You could tell immediately that isn’t what he wanted to say.

“I will.” You said, reassuring him. You didn’t know what he wanted to say, you just knew those weren’t the words he wanted you to hear. But you held no judgement for the man. He could tell you what he wanted to say in due time. There was no need to rush him. You simply smiled at him. You lifted his hand and pressed it to your chest so he could hear your heart’s beat. “This heart of mine won’t stop beating anytime soon, okay?”

A shy smile spread across his lips as he nodded. His gaze fixated on where his hand was spread upon your chest, feeling the steady heart beat.You could feel how his hand grew a bit warmer, a side effect you knew from him getting a little emotional, whether it be from sadness, joy, anything really. You stood there, letting him feel the reminder that you were alive for a few moments more.

“Alright.” You said, gently removing his hand. Though the man was tough as nails, you delicately removed his hand. You moved it down to his side before sending him a smile. “I’ll be back soon, hopefully with new recruits.” You assured him, giving him a nod. “You better stay safe too, okay?” You watched as the monk nodded slowly.

You left him on that rooftop, feeling the warm gaze of your friend follow your form as you descended down back into the base.

Waking up today was the first time in a few days where you did not feel mired in heavy emotion. That was not to say you didn’t feel at least a little somber, but you at least did not feel desolate. You didn’t think your bed could handle another frenzied episode. Your fingertips traced the sewn up areas a little guiltily. You were still hoping that it was enough to not make others not mad at you.

The last thing you’d want is to ruin the apparent fragile relationship between Outworld and Earthrealm over something silly like this.

You felt a little better at the idea that perhaps not all of your memories would be so heavy and dark. You swung your legs over the bed, and you moved through your morning routine with some grace. It was a small boost of confidence, but one you sorely needed. Maybe it was a little silly, but you didn’t linger on that type of thought process for long. 

As you stepped out of the bedroom, the last bits of your somber mood felt like they disintegrated when the sunlight touched you. You felt light, but there was still a slight chill in the air. It was hard to deny that you missed the warmth Liu Kang would give you within your memories. For a brief moment, you wondered if it would be silly to try and stand close to the god to feel if he had that same warmth. 

Right on cue, the familiar taps of princess Kitana sounded from the far hallway. As both of you made eye contact, you shared a nod in understanding. Both of you met halfway, falling into familiar step as you walked by her side. It felt familiar. You weren’t sure if it was because you’ve walked by Liu Kang’s side for years, or because of the implications of your memories that you might have walked by her side before.

It felt nice to have a companion to walk with, either way.

“I noticed you went around with the actor.” Kitana spoke, a tinge of amusement in her voice. You couldn’t tell whether she was amused at the idea of the actor, or you being with the man. “Or, rather, he dragged you around.” She quipped. You held back an exasperated sigh at the memory. Even the princess had noticed that?

“Yes, he was rather…” You trailed off, trying to think of the proper words to express your feelings without making a bad impression of the actor for the princess. “...persistent.” You watched her eyebrows raise, and she nodded. The very hint of a laugh left her lips. You blinked, you weren’t certain if that was the first time you’ve heard her laugh.

“I can attest to that.” She replied, a tone in her voice indicating that she understood, even if just a fraction, how stubborn Johnny Cage could be. “The actor would not leave me alone the day after the banquet.” She peeked over to you, a thoughtful look on her face. “Forgive me for saying that I had the thought to smack some sense into him.”

“I take no offense, I understand just how he is like.” You said, a laugh escaping your lips. “He’s rather stubborn whenever he wishes, but he has a good heart.” You said, hand raising to cup your own cheek. Your smile slipped into something that felt sentimental before it bounced back into its more friendly state. You shrugged causally. “Even if it isn’t apparent at first.”

“Such praises are more comforting coming from you rather than his own mouth.” Kitana said, and you could detect what you could only describe as a teasing lilt to her voice. You smiled warmly at it, and you saw how her own smile seemed to grow a little less professional and a little more genuine. It was like watching a flower blossom.

“I can imagine so.” You laughed, bringing a hand to muffle it. You could imagine Johnny bragging about himself to the princess, and her probably being annoyed at it. Or amused. Either way, you had a feeling that the impression he left upon the princess was not the one he desired. “I just hope he didn’t irritate you. Like I mentioned, he means well.”

“While he is persistent as any other who attempts to court me, he is far less brutish.” Kitana reassured you, making you feel a bit better about his flirting, “And, if anything else, he is amusing enough to listen to.” You let out another chuckle at the image of Johnny thinking he was wooing princess Kitana when in reality she thought him closer to a court jester.

“Don’t let him know that.” You informed her, making her quirk up an eyebrow. “He’s an…entertainer in Earthrealm. His ego would swell with pride at the idea that he at least amuses you.” You couldn’t tell if it was the trick of the light or not, but you swore you saw her roll her eyes at the premise of Johnny Cage’s ego swelling even more.

“I’ll keep that information in mind.” Kitana replied, a light tone to her voice. With that, the both of you arrived at the entrance to the Great Hall. She turned to look at you fully, a small smile still gracing her lips. “Enjoy watching the match.” She said, and you granted her the same sentiment. She walked off, content with your response.

To your surprise, Raiden and Kung Lao were not around yet, leaving only the fire god waiting in the Great Hall. You looked around. For a moment, you considered the possibility that you had arrived earlier. You then were quick to doubt that idea due to your walk with princess Kitana. She seemed to be very diligent on routine, so you doubted that you both would have walked out early.

“Where is Raiden and Kung Lao?” You inquired, moreso thinking about the former than the latter. It wasn’t like you didn’t fret over Kung Lao, it was just that the lack of Raiden appearing was strange. While Kung Lao was typically early, it wasn’t as if he didn’t allow himself to take more time to himself. Raiden, on the other hand, was always early. Almost to a fault.

“I am not certain.” Liu Kang replied, his voice calm. You looked over to see him composed as ever. He caught your gaze, giving you a small smile in return. Subconsciously, you found yourself standing near him. You noted the warmth he radiated. It was familiar, the same aura he had back in your memories. “I would not fret over it, I am certain they will be here in due time.”

“I know.” You said, and yet you found yourself biting at a thumbnail. Your gaze was cast downwards as you contemplated over the whole ordeal. “It’s just…odd.” You admitted. “He usually would be here by now. By he, I mean Raiden. Kung Lao sometimes shows up simply on time.” 

“Indeed.” Liu Kang nodded. You could feel his gaze still on you. It did not sear you, rather it felt gentle. It was much like how it would feel if you were to hover your hand over a candle to feel its warmth. “However, he is also not the type to show up late if it is an important event. I would not worry over it, it will simply cause more stress.”

“You’re right.” You replied. You felt called out at the last statement, but you knew it was for the best. After all, you weren’t the best at keeping yourself from not being stressed. It was supposed to be a friendly reminder. You took in a breath, straightening out your back before lifting your head up. You shouldn’t be stressed. 

A silence settled over the two of you. This silence was different from the comforting one you were used to. It was tense, like a string being pulled far too taut. You supposed it was your fault, you and your busy mind. That, and you've been finding it harder and harder to try and separate the man you remembered the god in front of you.

“Have you been enjoying your stay in Outworld?” Liu Kang spoke. His voice was soft. It was like a droplet of water falling into a still pond. It was so deliberate, so delicate, how he broke the tension. You turned your gaze, and saw the smile he sent your way. It was bittersweet, the way he smiled. It was exactly the same way you remembered. 

“I have.” You said. You weren’t keen on lying to the god, but you did feel a bit bad admitting it. You watched his face shift a tiny bit, but you couldn’t quite read if that had any significance. You turned away, finding it hard to see the way he smiled. “It’s very…different.” You told him. There was a hesitance to your words. 

Certainly you were struggling to find the right words because you didn’t want to make it seem like you were suddenly forsaking Earthrealm, but there was also something else to it. You enjoyed Outworld, you truly did. But you weren’t naive to blindly praise it to a god. There were, for all you knew, probably a darker side to this place.

The memory of seeing Shao Khan for the first time still lingered in your mind.

“I’m glad you have been enjoying it.” Liu Kang replied, a pleased tone to his voice. You felt his heat grow a little more. Curious, you glanced over to him to see he has stepped over a bit. He was standing so close that he was nearly brushing your arm with his own. “I hope you continue to enjoy your stay here.”

“How has your experience been for this trip?” You asked quickly, not wanting the tension to settle back in the air. You forced yourself to look at him, meeting those glowing white eyes. You wondered, just briefly, what caused the warm mortal eyes you once knew to become godlike. Was this just a new world where Liu Kang was deemed a god? Or was there more reason to it?

“It has been lovely.” Liu Kang said, seeming satisfied with the eye contact you gave him. “Not much has changed since the last hundred years since Outworld functions differently, but something about this time around has been more…” There was a pause as the god seemed to search the air for the perfect word to say. “pleasant.”

“I see.” You replied, but the words felt like a lie on your tongue. You understood the joys of being here, but not the reason behind why it was more enjoyable. The little voice in your head told you that you should know though. And you felt just a little dumb for not knowing the reason. Still, you kept the smile upon your lips. 

It was hard not to smile when Liu Kang was looking at you that way.

It didn’t take long for someone to show up. That person was Kung Lao. A broad smile spread across his lips as he sauntered in. As he laid eyes upon you and the god, his eyebrows raised as he looked around, probably searching for his fellow farmhand. When he did not see him, he walked over to you two and looked around once more, just to make sure.

“Where’s Raiden?” He asked, the confusion clear within his voice. You saw him cross his arms as once more, he scanned the room. He seemed more certain that his eyes were in the wrong rather than believe in the fact that his friend was simply not here. You supposed no one could blame him, you were just as unbelieving when you had arrived. 

“He's just a little behind.” You excused, trying your best to not show in your voice that you had felt the same way. You didn't want to cause a fuss. “I am certain he shall show in due time.” You saw the fire god nod in agreement, which only made sense since he had been the one to share that same sentiment. At your reassurance, you saw Kung Lao shrug nonchalantly.

“I guess so.”

Some more time passed, and despite your own words, you felt yourself getting antsy with every minute that the diligent man did not arrive. Kenshi had arrived at this point, sending the group a curious glance upon noting the disappearance of the champion. You felt your intertwined hands fidget and clench and unclench. The stare that Kenshi sent your way did not help either. He could do very well with being less obvious.

Finally, to relieve your worries, Raiden finally showed up with Johnny Cage at his side. You sighed as you walked over to Raiden. Your eyes raked over the man. He looked rather unkempt. His clothes were a bit of a mess, and his hat was a bit crooked. He seemed to be nearly on edge. Your tongue clicked as you reached out, adjusting his clothes and hat for him.

“You had us worried.” You admit softly, making sure that the man was presentable. After all, at this point, many of Outworld’s citizens were keeping an eye on Earthrealm’s strong champion. You sent him a small smile, trying to reassure him since you could see how tense he was on his face. You watched as his mouth opened to say something, probably an excuse, but you laid a hand on his shoulder to quiet him. “Hey, you’re here, that’s what matters. Plus, you’re not late either. Don’t worry about it, it’ll leak into your fighting”

“You’re right.” Raiden said, nodding slowly. You could see the nervous energy in him seem to melt away. His eyes closed as he took a deep breath in before releasing it. A small flush covered his cheeks, perhaps still from how he had rushed to get ready this moment. When he opened his eyes, he sent you a sunny smile that warmed your heart. “I will do my best.”

“I know you will.” You told him. You watched as Kung Lao handed over a few items for Raiden and Johnny Cage to eat. You could always rely on him for that. Raiden seemed most grateful at the gesture. Chatter among the group seemed to calm the former farmhand, and it was not very long until the usual proceedings occurred. 

“Young Raiden.” Sindel spoke, gazing down at Raiden. You were impressed with how she kept her smile seeming this warm and cordial despite the trend of her champions being taken down by Raiden no matter how the odds seemed. “You have…bested all the champions thus far with grace skill.” The empress commended, though there was almost a slight strain to her voice as she admitted it, it was very subtle, hardly noticeable. “Let us see if this next contender can match your might.”

Surprisingly, after being absent yesterday, General Khan was back to announce the next champion. 

“The next challenger is another one of my officers, Motaro.” The general spoke, his voice booming and echoing off the walls of the hall. The sound of hooves caught your attention, and you turned to see a centuarian walk into the halls. His stride was confident, and he walked in with his arms crossed. His gaze was tilted down already, almost glaring down at Raiden who was forced to look up at his opponent.

Despite being an officer, he lacked the same armor that both Kotal and Reiko had donned, being fully bare on his upper body. Only a silver belt concealing where a horse body fused into a human body was present as any sort of protection, and even then it was more decorative than anything. That is, until you spied the back of his horse body. A metallic tail more akin to a lizard’s was attached there. Your eyes lingered on the curve of his horns, finding them interesting. It seems that centaurians were not a simply a human fused with a horse body as Earthrealmers would believe.

You believe you’ve seen this man before, but whatever feeling you had was much weaker than it was for any other person you’ve met. Maybe this man was in your life for but a brief moment…still, if he was, it was strange your brain even felt like it recognized him. 

“Motaro is one of the centaurian’s finest.” General Shao bragged, seeming more enthusiastic to talk about Motaro compared to Kotal from the other day. Motaro lifted his head up to bask in the speech, an almost pleased look on his face. “With the tenacity of a bull and the might of one of the best warriors I have fought alongside, he is one of the best warriors in the legion.”

“Little man.” Motaro addressed Raiden curtly. He snorted as he continued to look down at the farmhand. His countenance returned to the look he had previously, but it was marred with a near sneer. His gaze felt nearly as sharp as his metallic tail did. You watched as Raiden took the comment in stride, bowing to his opponent, not fearing despite the size difference between them both.

“It is an honor to fight you.” Raiden told his opponent. You smiled at how polite he was to his opponents, even despite the lack of respect he was granted in return. Still, you wondered if that would remain that way in the future. While the thought of Raiden trying to smack talk his opponents was funny to think of, you hoped that nothing would hurt Raiden enough to take him in that direction.

Motaro’s fighting style was unique, suffice to say. His unusual body type, at least compared to what Raiden had normally fought against. He would charge in a brutish manner, using brute force to try and make the champion cower. Despite his bulk, he also maintained a lot of the battlefield control when Raiden tried to create space by being able to shoot projectiles from the metallic tail that you had spied earlier. 

Still, even with the trickiness of the fight, Raiden’s wit led him to victory. When he needed to close the gap, he would teleport behind Motaro. Due to Motaro’s body, he struggled to turn around and face the man before he was met with lightning that was strong enough to stagger even him. Sometimes, Raiden would realize that he would have to match the reckless nature of Motaro and surge right at him, catching the other man off guard.

It was no surprise to you to see that Motaro eventually collapsed. Taking deep breaths, Raiden looked down on his opponent, an ironic twist on the dynamic before. Except for Raiden, there was no hint of malice or disrespect in his eyes. Only warmth glimmered within his. 

“Thank you for the match.” Raiden told him humbly, a soft smile on his lips. You watched him reach out to try and attempt to help up his opponent instinctively. He almost seemed to flinch when he retracted it when Motaro denied the help. There was a mixture between a scoff and a huff from the centaurian, but ultimately he nodded before he walked off. You eyed the tail that almost seemed to drag on the floor, making a slight scratching sound.

“Congratulations on a well fought match.” You said, walking up to the once again successful champion. His smile seemed to grow as you walked towards him with a delighted expression. It was almost like seeing a child light up when you gave them the sweetest candy in the world. “Your technique is improving everyday.”

“I can only thank you, Lord Liu Kang, and the monks for preparing me for these moments.” Raiden replied, seeming to fall back onto his habit of being far too humble. You sighed and shook your head in disapproval of how he still didn’t consider his own skills into the fray. Still, it was endearing enough that you still smiled.

“Do not forget how much hard work you have also put in, Raiden.” Liu Kang reminded him, practically taking the words out of your mouth. You saw the god’s eyes flick over to you for a moment. Whether that was in reference to how you and Raiden had often stayed up late training or if it was a reference to how the god knew what was what you were going to say, you could not tell. 

“Yeah man, you killed it out there, even with sleeping in.” Johnny hopped into the conversation. You elbowed the actor at the mention of him sleeping in, maybe a little harsher than you should have after seeing how flushed the champion’s cheeks became. You heard the American clear his throat. “You gotta give yourself some credit, Raidude.”

“I will try.” Raiden said, a bit of hesitance in his voice. While it did seem to partially stem from the insistence from all of you that he should be giving himself more credit, you could also sense the hesitance coming due to the nickname Johnny had called him. You would never admit it, but the fact that even the kindest of your mentees seemed to hold a slight disdain towards the actor’s nicknames never failed to amuse you. Yet, all the same, the enthusiasm in him wanting to succeed and work hard on whatever his criticisms were shone through. 

After discussion with Liu Kang, like usual, your little group dispersed once more. For a moment, you swore you saw Kung Lao linger for a moment before he seemed to walk off with Raiden. You weren’t sure if your eyes were seeing things correctly, though. The man who did stick around was Kenshi, who soon found his way by your side.

“Ready?” The ex yakuza member inquired. His eyebrows were raised as he looked at you. The way he gazed at you seemed to tell you more words than he said, like how he was willing to wait for you if you weren’t. You supposed it only made sense, from what Kenshi had told you before, that the Yakuza would need to be subtle and communicate with others with even the slightest nod. Still, it was almost like a fresh breath of air compared to the others who seemed like an open book compared to the man beside you.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” You told him with a confident nod. Then, the both of you set off. The difference between the walk to Sun Do with Kenshi compared to Johnny was almost night and day. While it wasn’t completely silent, you both only had some chatter here and there. It didn’t feel like small talk, and comforting silence filled the air otherwise. 

You took this time to try and sneak some glances Kenshi’s way while he seemed to remain vigilant in staring on the path ahead. Out of all your champions, you considered the man beside you to be the one you understood the least. While you did attempt to get closer to the man through food, there was still a lot you had left to learn about him. He wasn’t as eager to dispense knowledge as the others, even if he wasn’t totally private about the past. 

The reason why Kenshi was so vastly different in this timeline compared to the other three was beyond you. It was a mystery you’ve been trying to unravel since you’ve met the man. His backstory was completely different, and the lack of powers he had previously made you question a lot about this life. Different backstories weren’t anything new, per se, but it was still strange how…different it was. From your memories of the world before, you could conclude that perhaps his lack of powers was from how he did not wield Sento. 

You’ve considered confronting Johnny about giving the swordsman the sword back, after all the actor had it for a rather petty reason, but you’ve never gotten too far in your plans. You couldn’t guarantee that talking to the actor would do any good, that man was rather stubborn, even in the face of reason sometimes. But there was also another reason you’ve held yourself back.

You were afraid that the sword would doom Kenshi to some kind of tragic fate. Your memories of Kenshi's previous story were hazy. You couldn’t tell if it was because you simply didn’t remember, or if it was because you never sought out to ask too much about it in the past. Either way, you were upset with yourself over it.

What you did know for certain, despite the lack of memories, was that in your previous life, he had been blinded due an incident that had something to do with the sword. Yes, he did gain powers that enabled him to be more than he was, but thought of losing his eyesight because of it and you potentially being the catalyst for that was more than you thought you could bear. It wasn’t as if you could warn Kenshi of the dangers, you’d sound insane.

Plus, you knew with the significance of that sword, your warnings might go unheeded. You had a sense that the ex yakuza member was selfless enough to be a martyr for the sake of his clan. The thought of him giving up his eyesight willingly squeezed your heart.

You were willing to craft a hat for Kung Lao, there were no flaws behind that as far as you could tell. But Kenshi’s weapon had a lot more weight to it. You wouldn’t know if the consequences behind that influence were the same, and if they would be less than the positives. There was a lot more to consider. Even if your decision that you would err on the side of caution, you still felt guilty that you could not help and provide the weapon that the man beside you craved.

“You’re glancing at me a lot, should I be flattered or concerned?” Kenshi inquired, snapping you out of your thoughts. You found that you were now meeting the swordsman’s gaze who held you with an intrigued look. With a scene that felt all too familiar, you felt your face heat up again. How you’ve let yourself space out and stare so obviously at your companion two days in a row, you had no idea.

“Flattered, I suppose?” You said, awkwardness soaking your words after you cleared your throat. You found yourself unable to maintain eye contact. Suddenly, the blue sky speckled with clouds seemed interesting. You felt your hand creep up to the side of your neck and press against it. Compared to the heat of your face, your hand felt like an ice cube. 

You didn’t know what excuse to say, or if you even should. Obviously, you couldn’t tell him the real reason why you were taking what you thought was sneaky glances. If you weren’t telling the god who took you in about your memories, you weren’t going to tell Kenshi. The issue was that now, you had no idea what excuse to even say, and you put yourself in a rather awkward situation because of it.

Despite this, it seemed that you didn’t have to. You heard a chuckle, and took a cautious peek to see Kenshi looking at you with a gaze that seemed free of judgement. His cheeks were tinged with pink. It seemed whatever excuse he had gleaned from what little you said satisfied him. You weren’t sure what his assumptions were, but at this point, you figured you were far too deep to ask what he thought it was.

This was the consequences of your lack of sneakiness, you supposed. You didn’t find yourself too upset though. It seemed to make him pleased enough, and that was enough for you. 

The rest of the walk to Sun Do left you feeling just a little lighter.

You both wandered into the city, deliberately leading him in a different direction you had gone with both Johnny and Raiden. You didn’t need to retread those places, you knew very well that you wouldn’t find the gift for Bi-Han you wanted in those shops. It would only waste precious time. You both went from shop to shop, peering at possible gift ideas with careful eyes.

Shopping with Kenshi was much different than the other two. With Raiden, he had been far too passive. He seemed to enjoy peering at the wares and agreeing with you more than scrutinizing the items. He4 didn’t provide any meaningful feedback in terms of whether the gift was appropriate or if it felt right. You didn’t blame him, you had a feeling he was far too elated by simply being in the heart of the capital. That, and he was the one who invited you to explore rather than shop. 

With Johnny, he had a completely different taste than you did. He often criticized your choices for being too “tame” or not flashy enough. Perhaps it wasn’t the worst opinion, you had gone for subtler gifts, but the gifts he offered before the ribbon had all been rather…gaudy and definitely didn’t fit the Lin Kuei. It was almost a miracle he had spotted the ribbon and offered it up.

Kenshi, on the other hand, was almost like the perfect shopping companion. His tastes seemed to align with what you were searching for, so that was a far better companion than Johnny. Not only that, but he was very inquisitive and seemed to take every comment you said to heart. You couldn’t resist a smile as you realized this nature was the exact reason why you had chosen Kenshi in particular to critique your cooking. 

“How about this?” Kenshi inquired, lifting up an intricate blue sash. You hummed as you leaned in close to peer at the fabric. You plucked the item that was draped over his hands, your fingertips brushing against the inked surface. You lifted up, studying the details. Then, you squinted at it more as you tried to imagine Bi-Han wearing this sash. Your nose wrinkled at the fact that you could not conjure up that image.

“I think we should stray away from accessories like this.” You concluded. “I don’t think Bi-Han would find himself wearing anything in accompaniment to his uniform.” You explained. The swordsman nodded as he took your words into consideration. You handed back the sash to him so he could place it back. With careful precision, he folded the sash before delicately placing it back into its former spot. Had you not known the man, you would have never guessed his dark past with how he carried himself in his actions. 

You scanned the area, looking for other ideas while Kenshi also perused the store. Nothing in particular for the grandmaster caught your eye. This store was mostly filled with accessories, which was not the type of gift you could imagine giving Bi-Han. And yet, despite this, something did catch your eye. You walked closer to get a look.

It was a set of five rings. Though they looked initially plain, the closer you inspected them, you saw the beauty within the craftsmanship. They were intricately engraved, small patterns dancing along the metal. But the part that caught the eye the most was the gorgeous gems set into each of them. Each one had a different color, gold, pink, blue, green, and red. You marveled over the rings and were pleasantly surprised to see that the rings had some minor magic, so they could be resized on their own. 

You looked and saw they had a special deal if you bought the whole set. Your eyes lingered on the rings for a moment more. How perfect this would be as a gift for your champions. A smile appeared on your face as you thought about it. You glanced back at the bag where you held your gold. Maybe if you had left over gold you could come back for these. 

“I don’t think this place has what I’m looking for.” You told the swordsman, striding over to him. You stood slightly in the way of the rings. You didn’t think he’d notice them since it didn’t align with the idea you had for Bi-Han. But still, you wanted to keep it a surprise, just in case. Luckily, it seemed that Kenshi hadn’t noticed where you had gone.

“I agree, especially since this place is geared towards accessories.” Kenshi replied. He nodded in the direction of the door, his hand gesturing for you to lead the way. You did just that, managing to glance back at the rings one last time. You knew that if you did, Kenshi would be likely to notice with how much he’s been noticing your stares. Then again, you supposed that’s because your stares towards the swordsman were rather…obvious. Still, you wouldn’t put it past him to notice the little things.

And so, both you and the ex yakuza member were back on the streets. But not for long. This time, Kenshi pointed out a shop. At first, you hesitated, gazing at all the porcelain cups and teapots. You weren’t certain if these ceramics would be an ideal gift, but then your eyes landed on a particular teapot set in the window. You were so fascinated by it that you stepped inside to get a better look.

The teapot set in question was delftware styled. The blue painted ceramic was decorated to be depicting a snowy wonderland with snow leopards as the main focus. Your eyes studied the set carefully, marveling over it. It had some gold accents around the rim, giving it that extra pop. It even came with a little tea pet, a snow leopard. At first, you couldn’t imagine gifting Bi-Han such an item, but the more you marveled over it, the more you couldn’t imagine giving him anything else.

“With the way you’re looking at that, I think I did my job.” Kenshi remarked, walking up next to you. You smiled over to him, and you saw on his face a very pleased expression. He crossed his arms as he took his gaze from you over to the set. “It’s miraculous how cheap these items are here, back in Earthrealm, these would be worth a fortune.”

“I can’t believe it either.” You agreed with a nod. You eyed the price. It definitely was cheaper than you would expect, but the quality didn’t seem terrible despite it. Looking at it for a few more moments, you nodded once more. “I think this is the one.” You told your companion. Kenshi hummed, his eyes lingering on your decided gift before pointing to something else. 

“While we’re at it, you should probably get him some tea.” The swordsman recommended. Your eyes landed on the displays of various teas they had. You walked over, noting how they felt similar in style to the dried teas you served for Madam Bo. On a closer look, some of the teas even appeared to be the same. For a brief moment, you wondered whether a long time ago Earthrealm had some of their teas imported here. It didn’t seem too far off an idea.

You scanned the various teas they had on display. For a moment, you considered picking a tea unique to Outworld. But then you considered how awful it’d feel to gift something that he might enjoy, but then never be able to savor once again in his lifetime. For that reason, you decided it might be better to chose something that he may be able to get at home. 

One particular tea caught your eye.

You grabbed the box of the high quality tea, inspecting it. You had never considered this to be made into tea. You couldn’t help but to smile down at the box, too amazed at the fact that tea was a thing. You held it up to show to Kenshi who quirked up a brow.

“Parsley tea?” He asked, eyeing the box carefully. His voice sounded skeptical. You shrugged, but you already knew that the moment you had laid eyes on this particular type of tea, you were going to buy it. Something within you simply told you that it just fit him. That, and you couldn’t deny that you were interested in how it tasted. From the look Kenshi gave you, he seemed to know you were already set in your ways.

With a little pep in your step, you walked over to the Outworlder at the counter. After discussing which set you wanted along with the parsley tea, you soon found yourself back onto the streets with a very nicely wrapped gift in your hands. As you were walking back, satisfied with your findings today, you spied the shop with the rings you had looked at earlier. 

“Could you hold this for a moment?” You asked the man. You swiftly handed him the gift and quickly walked off into the shop, ignoring the perplexed look the swordsman had sent you. You couldn’t blame him, you had said you only needed one more gift. 

Stepping inside, you were thrilled to see that the rings you had your eye on were still there. Elated, you quickly asked the clerk for the rings. The centaruian seemed more than happy to oblige, giving you a few boxes to carry them in. You slipped the gold one on, eyeing how the light seemed to reflect off of it perfectly. The rest you slipped into your bag. You wanted to keep them a surprise for now.

Checking the money you had left, you were delighted to see you had enough to buy one more gift. That would be reserved for Liu Kang. 

“Find everything you needed?” Kenshi inquired. He peered at you, his eye catching the sight of your new found accessory. You nodded, beaming happily at the man. You reached out, hands extended to take back the boxes. Despite this, you found the man pulled away from you, boxes clutched securely to his own chest. “It’s fine, I don’t mind carrying them.” He insisted.

“I don’t want to burden you with them.” You said, furrowing your brows. You made a reach for the boxes again, but the man simply side stepped your attempt. You sighed, placing a hand on your hip. “This is rather childish of you, Kenshi.” You chided, trying to see if you could convince him to give back the gifts. And yet, despite your words, the man was adamant. You sighed once more, shaking your head. “If you insist.”

“I do.” The swordsman quipped back, a victorious tone in his voice. You resisted an eye roll and made your way back to the palace. Once there, you led the ex yakuza member back to your room since he insisted on helping them carry them back all the way back there. As you finally regained the packages, you peered at him for a moment before opening your door. “Wait a moment for me, okay?” You asked.

You stepped into the room, placing your packages along with the other gifts you’ve bought. You removed the rings from the bags, admiring them once more. For a moment, you considered bringing them all in so you could give them at dinner time, but then you paused, remembering you hadn’t gotten Liu Kang’s gift quite yet and how awkward it might seem. Plus, you fancied the idea of giving the gifts privately. It would seem more personal that way.

“Thank you for waiting.” You said as you strode out. You placed your hands behind your back, hiding the little box. You supposed you were as sneaky as a toddler attempting to hide whatever mess they’ve made, because Kenshi quickly sent you a questioning look and leaned over to try and peek. “Here.” You handed over the box, scanning his features for his reaction. “A gift.”

“You didn’t have to.” Kenshi said, his voice shocked. He tried to hand back the box to you, but you pushed into his hands. After that, he relented. He scanned the box, probably trying to guess the present before he opened the box. You felt elated as you watched his surprised reaction to the ring. He lifted it up, watching with amazement as he slipped it onto his finger and it fit perfectly. “This is…” He trailed off, trying to find the right words.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” You remarked. You held up your hand to showcase your golden ring. “I thought this would be the perfect present for all of us.” You then gestured to the red ring. “I chose that color specifically for you.”

“Why red?” Kenshi inquired, looking between the ring on his hand and you. You smiled at him, a small laugh leaving your lips as you looked directly into his eyes.

“Simple. I think it matches your eyes wonderfully.” You explain to him. A soft flush appeared on Kenshi’s face, and he appeared to have been stunned into silence. His mouth closed, then opened, then closed once more. Then, a soft smile appeared on his face as his gaze cast downwards to the ring on his hand once more.

“Thank you.” Kenshi mumbled softly. You grinned at him and placed a hand on his arm. 

“No problem, I’m glad you like the gift.” You told him. “Now let’s go, I’m hungry.” You walked off, leading the way. You missed the fond gaze Kenshi sent you way, taking one more glance between the ring and you before following you.

Dinner went smoothly, and it was just as delicious as before. You were tempted to make plans to go shopping for some Outworld type of seasonings before you left so you could cook up some food the reminded you of this place. Maybe if you had left over money after Liu Kang’s gift.

It was yet another wonderful night in the garden. You basked in the moonlight as you waited patiently for the princess to emerge from the palace. You perked up as you heard the familiar sound of heels, and smiled as your eyes landed on the princess. 

Oddly enough, there was not the more prestigious and refined look that she usually held. Her face held something that reminded you of the first time you encountered her here. She seemed…upset. You raised your eyebrows as she drew near. When she noted you in the spot, her face shifted, masking her previous attitude with a smile.

It reminded you of Empress Sindel’s smile towards Raiden.

“Are you alright?” You inquired, testing the waters. You saw her smile strain, like a string being pulled nearly too taut. Her hands, which had been folded in her lap, squeezed together as if she were squeezing out her frustration. 

“I’m fine.” Mileena replied, her words clipped. You couldn’t sense any hostility within her words, but you could tell that asking about her situation would probably be unwise. You didn’t blame her, you weren’t that close after all. You nodded slowly, taking her attitude into consideration. “How have you been?” She inquired quickly, eager to divert the topic of conversation.

“I’ve been fine, I went and shopped more today.” You told her with a smile. You could read the signs of her frayed nerves and played along with her plan, changing the conversation away from herself. You saw her eyes dart to your hands. You looked down and saw the ring. You lifted your hand to showcase it, allowing her to get a better view.

“I can see that.” The princess observed. She leaned in closer, analyzing the accessory and how it fit on your finger. You saw her expression change slightly, going from a more fake look to a more genuine smile. She looked at it for a few moments more before leaning back and looking at you. “It suits you, you have a good eye.”

“Thank you.” You replied, staring down at the golden gem which shone so prettily in the moonlight. You smiled, still feeling the high of making a satisfying purchase. You paused, considering what to talk about next due to her slightly antsy mood. “How was your day, princess? I’m excited to see how you fare against Earthrealm’s champion tomorrow.”

“My day was alright.” Mileena replied, her eyes looking away into the garden. There was almost an empty tone to her voice, as if she were not telling the entire truth. She rolled her shoulders back as she cleared her throat. “I…” She began, then paused, her face scrunching a bit as she seemed to ponder on the words she would say next. “I am interested to see how I fare against him as well.” She replied, the same smile from earlier appearing on her lips. 

You couldn’t tell entirely, but you could sense the aversion towards the topic of fighting. Was it that she was nervous? You scanned her. No, it didn’t seem so. But the reason behind her distaste towards the topic was one you weren’t certain of.

You couldn’t quite ask her about it either.

“What story would you like to hear today?” You inquired, quickly changing the subject. You saw her posture relax a bit, and what must be a breath of relief left her lips. Very subtle actions, but actions you noticed. You suspicions were definitely correct, she had some type of issue with fighting Raiden, or the topic of it. 

“Anything light hearted would do.” The princess requested, the relief of the topic change showing on her face. You pondered on this, humming as you considered the various stories and movies you’ve seen. What could possibly cheer her up? You smiled as you recalled the first movie you saw and turned to face her.

“Alright, then how about this one?”

That night, you didn’t quite know why she was upset, but you knew you uplifted her spirits.

part sixteen

tagged - @bonezisded @lollipopin @simpxinnie @zhivaxo @koisuko

[genericpuff]

Hi! I came here from your "lore olympus biggest whiff" blog about the finale... I've never read LO but I was always interested in it. However, after reading a few paragraphs of that blog (I didn't read all of it because I didn't want to get too many spoilers), it doesn't seem worth it. Would you recommend it up to a certain chapter? If yes, until which chapter should I read?

Honestly, if you want to read LO, I absolutely highly recommend reading the whole thing, or at least trying to. Not just to give context to the things we're all talking about in these communities, but also because it's about to go behind the Daily Pass wall on August 29th and it'll become even more inconvenient to do so.

I'm personally still a huge sucker for the first season myself because it just has that magic that LO used to have that a lot of us fell in love with in the first place; it still has its flaws, it's definitely the worst of the "Persephone looks like a toddler" era, but the characters feel a lot more real and a lot of the best, most iconic panels from the series come from S1. The first half of S2 also isn't awful, though the art does start to get a bit rough around the edges. It wasn't until the last half of S2 that I personally started to go , "Wait, I don't think Rachel knows what she's doing." That said, I didn't become a full-blown critic of the series until the S2 finale, which is where I firmly believe the comic should have ended (that is, if Rachel had structured the story better to allow for the S2 finale to be the overall series finale).

But you should read as much of it as you can anyways. Even if you can't get through a certain part of the story and decide to DNF, that's fine, but I personally don't want to be the one deciding for folks what they should be reading or how much. I also definitely don't want people forming their opinion of a work like LO entirely through my criticisms of it - the best way for you to form your own opinion, regardless of whether or not it aligns with my own, is to simply read it yourself. I know where I started to lose interest in the series, but you might not feel the same way when you read it yourself. It's definitely happened in the past that people have gone to read LO to "see what all the fuss is about" only to wind up loving it haha and that's great, honestly, I don't want anyone to wind up missing out on something they might like just because of my own opinions about it :' )

Honestly it seems daunting but you can easily read all of LO between today and the 29th, a lot of the earlier S1 episodes are relatively short and the actual pacing of the comic itself throughout the second and third season makes for a very quick reading experience, text bubbles usually aren't too wordy so depending on how fast of a reader you are, you can usually blitz through each episode within 2-3 minutes (that said, I'm also a bit of a faster reader so your reading time may vary). Plus the episode count on the app is also thrown off by several episodes that are purely dedicated to Q&A's, hiatus notices, etc. So it's about a 12-18 hour reading experience give or take, which sounds like a lot, but if you're able to read several chunks of episodes at a time in bursts, it can be done by the time it goes behind DP on the 29th :' )

So yeah ! I do hope you read it for yourself if you're really curious, and if you do, feel free to come back again and tell me about your experience! Did you get through all of it or did you DNF? Did it put any of my own criticisms into better context for you or did you wind up enjoying the series regardless?

Best of luck!! <3

[sophiamarieispinkbunny-chan]

The Chair Theory Part 2

Yuri, Fiona and Damian’s Chair

This is a continuation of this post, but if you want the summary of the post, I’ve shared my thoughts about how the seating capacity or size of the designer chairs in the volume cover of each manga represents the relationship with others of the person sitting there. I’ve also shared my thoughts on how the comedic inside covers is connected to the person sitting in the cover and the person who sits in the chair in those funny inside chapters are the person who understands the person in the cover the most.

So now let’s move to Volume 5-7 and maybe I’ll analyze Yuri alongside Fiona since I’ve already tackled some of Fiona in the recent post when I compared it to Yor, but her cover and inside cover has some similarities with Yuri that I found interesting.

Volume 5 & 6, Yuri’s Barcelona Chair and Fiona’s Heart Cone Chair

Because of the position of the chair in the cover, it’s actually hard to see how big exactly the chair Yuri is sitting on, but based on most Barcelona Chair pictures that I see, it is spacious but it seem to only fit one. It could fit two but I think it’ll be uncomfortable, and Yuri seems to be taking a lot of space, indicating he doesn’t want anyone to sit there with him. I think this indicates how, even though he is now in the position that allows him to have relationships with others, he limits himself from doing this, only revolving his world around his sister. It is true Yuri is open and friendly (just not to Loid because he’s her sister’s husband) but he isn’t interested in having an intimate or deep relationship with anyone other than Yor.

I’ve already discussed how the seating capacity of Fiona’s chair indicates her selfish desire to be loved by Twilight. However, even though she loves Twilight, she will never be in a position to accept him for she didn’t love him for who he really was. He was not the perfect spy she deemed him to be. He has flaws, fears and doubts and Yor was the one who sees that everyday and embraces all his imperfections. (I have more to say about her but I've decided to put them in a separate post for I think it's going to be a long one)

So this is the part where we can notice similarities between Yuri and Fiona. Compared to the first four volumes, their inside cover wasn’t something that happens in reality. Both of their inside covers are the fantasies in their minds (notice that's its inside a thought's bubble), their deepest desires; Yuri wants to torture Loid for him and his sister to divorce their marriage (we can see him holding that divorce paper in his hand and also Loid was sitting in a different chair in the cover) while Fiona wants to marry Twilight (We can see her in a wedding dress holding a marriage certificate which opposes the one on Yuri’s and yeah she’s still the one sitting on her chair). And in Fiona’s cover, we also see her desire to get rid of Yor, the same as how Yuri wants to get rid of Loid.

But those things aren’t real, they are trapped in those fantasies and both of them seem to have no grasp of reality or are refusing to admit it. Their inside covers could also display how Yuri is Twilight's antagonist while Fiona is Yor's.

Volume 7- Damian’s Willow Chair

The Seating Capacity

Damian’s chair is too big for a little kid like him as Endo pointed out. He’s also sitting in the middle like Anya, reserving the spots on both sides for their parents. Damian craves for that familial love that was devoid of him. He always felt like he needed to prove himself and work hard in school just to be praised and get attention from his parents. That is why even though he wants to be as laid-back as Anya, and play and be like a normal kid, he can’t because he doesn’t want to disappoint. That is why all of the toys are hidden behind the chair. It was the desire to be a kid that he’s keeping within his heart. 

Oh look, a number 7 pool ball was in front. It could be because this was volume 7 but we all know Anya’s experimental number is 007 too right? Could it just be a coincidence? Maybe… or maybe not.

But in the comedic inside cover, Anya is the one sitting on his chair. Yes, Becky is also there and so is Emile and Ewen but it was Anya who was sitting there, copying his pose. Connecting to my first post, this means that the one who understands him the most is Anya. Besides from being the one who knows what’s on his mind, they were both seeking familial love and acceptance. They are both motivated by receiving praise and acknowledgement by their Fathers particularly. But Damian seems to be serious like what he looks on his cover while Anya could still be a kid and be funny inside of the Forger family.

I love how in the fan book, in Anya’s character profile, it wasn’t Loid and Yor that was in her relationship tab at the bottom, it was Loid and Damian. (Please excuse my annotations 😅)

And for the covers of both these guys, she was the one sitting in their chairs, making the serious covers comedic.

I interpret this how she is the one who makes both of Loid and Damian’s life lighter and happier and how both Loid and Damian are concealing or denying the love they feel for Anya, in terms of Loid, his love for her as a father that is way beyond the mission and for Damian, his crush on Anya that he can’t admit out of pride and embarrassment.

Okay so that concludes the second part of the chair theory. I don’t actually have a lot to say about Volume 8-13, and I don’t know what Franky’s, Becky’s and Emile and Ewen’s inside covers are. I saw the raw but I can’t understand what they’re saying. So maybe I’ll conclude the chair theory through this post for now.

I'll deal with Fiona on my next post because I just realized something but let me gather the evidences first.

[shirohige-pirates]

Solicitude

Victorian AU - inspired heavily by @hannahbarberra162's Hysteria series.

Marco/Reader

Summary: You meet Marco Edward during your debutante ball when you're 17, and marry him shortly after your 18th birthday. Agreements are reached in writing, but you realize quickly how much space exists within the lines. Will you be able to bend within the lines you drew yourself? Or will you break against edges you never imagined?

CW: Dark dark content. Misogyny, age gap, power struggle, dub con, non con, coercion, yandere, kidnapping, abuse, group sex, abuse of power, bondage, rough sex, oral, kink, bdsm dungeon, impact play, degradation, praise, gags, humiliation, you kind of unknowingly sign yourself over for free use and don't realize it until it's too late, mdni, DEAD DOVE YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Chapter 3: Agreement

A couple of weeks after your meeting with Marco at the café, you tell your parents you’ve made your choice. You present Marco Edward as your final decision, listing off as many positive things about him as you can, including his demeanor and his good looks. Most of it was true, while the man’s intensity unsettled you, he was a good choice.

A good man… perhaps.

In the end you decided that if he was truly a braggart he wouldn’t have been honest with you. Especially since such honesty put you on the defensive. Someone who meant to ensnare and abuse you wouldn’t forewarn you. Instead, he seemed to want you to be aware of him, flaws and all - at least in so much as he was willing to risk at this stage.

But now, here you were, six weeks after having met him in town, and nearly two months since your débutante ball, walking casually through your family’s gardens, with Marco Edward.

He’d been invited over by your parents to discuss the happy news.

“I’m flattered to be chosen from amongst such commendable options.” Something in his voice felt disingenuous for the first time since you’d come to know him, but if your parents noticed they hadn’t reacted. Was it arrogance or confidence that fueled that particular dismissive tone?

Or had he already worked out all the ways he could’ve dealt with any of the competition?

Somehow you felt like it was the latter, not that he lacked confidence, but more than that he wasn’t dismissive of people around him. Even you, or maybe especially you. It was hard to say. As much as you were certain he wasn’t complimenting your capacity with empty words, you also felt he didn’t truly need you.

Once a date was set for the engagement party, Marco agreed to allow his father, Newgate, and your parents, to sort out the specifics on your behalf. It would allow you both to simply enjoy the occasion, and focus your efforts on the larger, eventual, matter of the wedding. Marco was willing to wait if you needed it of him, but it was his preference to have it shortly after your 18th birthday.

With the timing of everything else it meant there would be only ten months to deal with everything, which was a bit hasty for a wedding, but not indecently so.

“My affection seems to grow every time I get to speak with her,” he admitted smoothly, and you think your mother flushed at the sentiment more than you did. There was more sincerity behind those words than when he spoke of his “peers”.

It was likely that very line that had caused your father to suggest the two of you go for a walk in the gardens. It was improper for you to be alone with him within a private room, but it was nice outside, and with his work, free time for the two of you would be sparse. Best to spend time with one another when the opportunity arose.

He’d walked beside you, giving you more space when you hadn’t reached out for his arm. There was no irritation or tension coming from him, but you knew you weren’t being the most attentive of hosts. Normally you’d begin explaining the history of the estate, and the gardens, a conversation you hadn’t had with him before and one that was well-practiced for you.

A perfect way to break the ice between you and get a proper conversation rolling. If nothing else came to mind you could continue to simply provide him a “tour” of the gardens, whiling away the walk on such small talk.

But there was far more on your mind.

“You have quite a bit on your mind.” Marco says easily, taking a step back from you and regarding you patiently.

“I do.”

“Words I look forward to hearing another time.” He muses, the weight of his gaze nearly pinning you in place before he gestures to a bench. “Let us sit then, and you can tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I would like to propose a personal contract between us,” you say, staying standing as Marco sits. It’s hard to read him, especially now when he’s taking care to mind himself, but you don’t think he’s angry. With him seated and you standing the two of you are nearly eye-level,

“Contract marriages aren’t unheard of,” he admits, his tone and expression neutral. “But you don’t want your parents to know about it. I wonder why.” His tone isn’t questioning, you aren’t sure he even cares if you answer him.

“It works better for you if they don’t know about it, does it not?”

“It does. It would work better for you if they knew.” He points out. “Hence my curiosity.”

“Because I intend to leverage that within the contract.” You say plainly.

Marco can’t help the devilish grin that slips across his lips for a second before he’s able to compose himself again. You were intelligent and ruthless in a naive way, and he did so love that about you more and more.

How long would that naivety last? Long enough to be savored, and briefly enough to not become droll he hoped.

“Then let’s hear the terms of your contract, young Miss.”  He prompts, not entirely surprised to watch you pull an actual contract from the pocket of your skirts.

“My sister chooses who she marries,” you begin, giving him an overview like you would anyone else with any other contract. “If it’s one of your family, then so be it, but it will be her will. No pressures from any Edward.”

Marco nods, his eyes on the contract, but his attention on you, you were certain. He skims over the three pages, and you aren’t sure if he’s reading that fast or just looking for keywords for now.

“No committing me to your sanatorium.” You continue and he looks up at you. There’s no anger in his expression, more like amusement. “Even if I should legitimately require it, if I lose my mind I’m your problem directly.” He seems to agree and looks back down to the contract. “The rest concerns-.”

“Partnership.” He interjects. “You do not wish your education to go to waste, nor your talents to wither simply to play the part of wife. They’re not unacceptable terms. I was already planning on working with you. The marriage is for the benefit of both families, and you are nearly as keen as your father in terms of business.

“If I had doubts before now, the quality of this contract has assuaged them.” He admits, tapping the contract. “I’ll take it home and read it properly, and return word of any amendments or adjustments in the finer points, if needed. I don’t foresee any issue with any portion of it so far, however-.”

Tucking the contract into the inside pocket of his jacket he stands up, looming over you in a way that could be incidental due to his height, or intentional due to his mood.

“I will not be denied.” You can feel the heat rush through you at the implication. “I desire to work with you, much as you seem to as well, given the contract, but I am the head of house. You will submit as a wife should, and you will be punished as any other would if you do not.”

The weight of his tone makes your stomach knot. Punishments were something that varied wildly between households, though society only looked down on those that were obvious or detrimental. A man who beat his wife to lameness would be shunned, but a man who whipped scars upon her skin may never be found out.

You’d witnessed your father disciplining a maid only once. He took a switch to her calves, stopping only at the first sign of blood. Some of the employees said she got off easy, that your father was kind.

Marco did not strike you as kind.

He reaches out, running a gloved hand lightly against your hair. You can’t even feel the shift of your hair from the light caress, but it still feels far too intimate. “I do not break the bodies of those in my care, do not envision anything so severe.” He assures you quietly, a soft and gentle look in his eyes.

Taking a step back he taps his jacket, referring to the contract tucked within. “I will add such to the contract before I return it to you for review.”

“I… appreciate that.” You say, grateful for the space. “Um, I can give you a proper tour of the gardens, if you’d like.”

“An overview, perhaps, while we complete our walk. We don’t want to be gone too long, after all.” He suggests, offering his elbow for you.

“Certainly,” you agree, placing your hand loosely against the inside of his elbow. Intimate, but not overly so, a little closer than you’d like to be, but you were going to have to find comfort in proximity.

There was no harm in easing yourself into the inevitable.

The rest of his visit was uneventful. You gave him a brief overview of the gardens; their history, what some of the more interesting items represented, and a couple anecdotal stories. You weren’t sure if you were trying to humanize yourself to him, or humanize him in your eyes, but the moment of familiarity had you feeling more relaxed by the time you returned to the house.

Over the next couple of weeks the two of you corresponded back and forth, adjusting the terms and conditions of the contract between you. In the end the simple version of the contract was thus:

1. Your sister will not be pursued. If she shows interest in someone from Marco’s family, then it is what it is. 1a. In more pointed terms, one sister will not be used to control the other in any capacity.

2. Marco cannot admit you into his sanatorium. 2a. If you are in need of such medical attention it will be handled by an unaffiliated facility. 2b. This is only if he is unable to attend you from home.

3. You will not deny Marco his rights as husband. 3a. He will not interrupt rest, recovery, or meals.

4. No punishment will be so severe it requires care beyond that available within the home.

Marco found it endearing, the things you worried about, the specificity with which you were willing to phrase the contract, spending nearly a page on each point. There were no wasted words admittedly, everything was clear and objective. There were reparations and caveats, most in place to protect you if he decided to ignore certain clauses, up to and including an uncontested divorce, with enough support for you to ensure you could live quietly somewhere.

It was fairly balanced, even if it put him at a disadvantage comparatively, but there were simply so many possibilities you hadn’t considered. Maybe if you had been older, maybe if you hadn’t been raised by such kind and caring parents, you might have had more of an inkling about the more depraved appetites of people like him.

But you hadn’t, and so you didn’t, and he wasn’t going to warn you against the things he had planned for you. He wasn’t going to tell you that aside from the detail about his sanatorium, nothing within the contract changed any of his plans. He had no desire to beat you and break you. Your will and mind were large parts of why he desired you.

But you would tremble beneath him.

Tremble because of him.

Him, and no one else.

[mssr-crumpled-paper]

Peeta and Gale: being a character

Consider this post a continuation of this.

So, as I've said, I had a really hard time relating or believing in Peeta as a character when reading THG. This post aims to point out some of the points why I believe Peeta is more a concept than an actual character (and how that's incredibly unfair for Gale).

On Peeta:

The first, and most obvious point, is that the purpose of Peeta's character is to represent Katniss's conscience, but also to be the "better" choice. Idk about everyone else, but it was always glaringly obvious to me that Peeta would be the endgame for Katniss, one way or another. He was made with the explicit intention of being the perfect partner for Katniss, and a perfect person in general. Notice how he has no substantial flaws of his own, is distinctly devout to Katniss even without knowing anything about her personally; and every mistake that he does make can easily be chocked up to his care for Katniss or trauma from forces he can't control.

We know virtually next to nothing about Peeta as well. Please be kind and name me 1 instance where either of Peeta's brothers' names were mentioned anywhere. Like in the books, not on a wiki page. None, no names for his dad, for his mom, for his family. Barely know any of his friends, except for Delly.

We also do not know his relation to District 12 or the Seam. Now, many people will argue that this would be pointless, but I believe not. Peeta, for him to truly be able to exist as a character in his own right, needs to be considered within the context of his community. And since we don't get ANY, it makes all his talks of "people are starving," and "kids in 12 are struggling" seems unconvincing. Like was he poor? Absolutely. He also ate bread regularly, never had to take out tessarae, never had to hunt or kill, and he was a merchant's kid. Half of the people from the district, who are so closely or at least somewhat related to Katniss, we never see him interacting with ever.

In combination, all of these elements make it so that Peeta is basically devoid of an actual character other than "good guy with bread." Readers are free to project whatever image they see fit onto him, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect husband, the perfect brother. He didn't even mention his family twice after losing them, and I won't assume the pain wasn't horrible for him, but he quite literally said "No one needs me." Of course they need you Peeta, they're your family? He felt almost disconnected from the context surrounding him, making it hard for me to truly buy into his character.

On Gale:

The first thing we know about Gale is that he is Katniss's best friend, the person who knows the real her, the one who she can let loose with. Immediately this is a lot of information to work with. Considering the fact that Katniss up until this point didn't seem too fond of people in general, Gale is set up to be a good guy with a sense of love and respect for his friend. And since we meet him in the forest, one can assume that he's struggling as well, or at least rebellious. It's also very obvious within the first chapter that Gale is a flawed character (re: him snapping at Madge, which he acknowledges as a tactic of the Capitol).

This fact is elaborated on right after, when we are told that Gale is also a fatherless hunter running around in the woods. His family is poor, and he's the sole provider for the family. He has three younger siblings, one of which is just a baby, and a mom. Like Katniss, he's put his name in for tessarae for a long time, and provides for a 5 persons household mostly on his own. We know the name of Rory, of Posy, of Hazelle, his mother who does laundry for work, who later works as a house-keeper for Haymitch. We know that Hazelle placed a lot of trust in both Katniss and Gale. We know that Rory has to eventually put his name in more times to get tessarae.

We know Gale's relation to the District. He's generally popular with kids his age at school. He banters and interacts with the people at the Hob. He hunts for game and provides for the district. He holds a hatred for the Capitol that was larger than himself and Katniss. He understood their methods of systemic oppression. He was generally class conscious about his condition, and his thirst for righteous revenge stems largely from the suffering that people of the district and he himself go through. He saved his district to the best of his ability when it was razed to the ground, and he joined the rebellion effort because he genuinely believed that would liberate his people.

There's a lot more I can say about the wider context of Gale as a character, but on a whole he feels real. Very flawed, very angry, and very real. SC makes no pretense about Gale being someone who cares deeply for his district, for Katniss, and for his family. That's a sense of solidarity that I can cling onto. He exists within that general context that he was put in, and therefore makes more sense.

[writerawoke]

Planning Your Novel

Planning can sometimes be extremely difficult, but is unfortunately a necessity when you want to write a book. Based on research and my own personal experiences planning, these are some things that may help you on your planning journey through tips, questions or even a couple of different methods.

Personally, I recommend having a notebook dedicated to your story planning. It can be as messy as you want, as organised as you want. You could scribble a line of a song, a book, a poem, anything down into it that could be useful inspiration. Use your notebook as your best friend. You can write and tell it anything if you think something may come to use. If you do not have a notebook with you, or genuinely not want one, use the notes app on your phone or keep everything in a google doc, ready for you to come back to and write it down when needed. Genuinely though, planning is so much easier when you have something that keeps it all together.

(The writing in red is a couple of methods you can use, but keep in mind it helps if you find something that works for you)

These are some questions that may be useful when planning:

What makes your main character superior to other characters?

Who is connected to your main character?

What are the traits of your characters? (What they like, dislike, their flaws etc)

What is their appearance like?

What is their background or backstory like? (Did they come from a broken family, or an amazing one? Did society treat them well?)

Magic Systems - For Fantasy Novels:

When you plan a fantasy novel, you usually have to have a magic system... In most cases. So I would start with how their magic is sourced. Is there a specific object that their magic comes from? A mini example of this could be a crystal that has been around for decades! They could even be born with their magic, like perhaps it was a power that ran in your character's family for decades.

Think about what happens when their energy source is weakened, damaged, broken. What would happen to the main character's powers? Do they become fatigue? Do they die? Do they go into a coma? Can they live without their magic source?

Personally, the way I plan my magic systems include me breaking down the kingdoms into their own categories. I would research things of that specific species within that kingdom to get a good idea of what magic they have. Bullet point listing is my own personal favourite technique when I plan because it helps me keep it short and simple. After researching that species' magic, I would then write what makes them stronger. An example of this could be a mermaid being stronger by the sea. Water often carries a lot of energy meaning it is a potential source for a character's strength to become enhanced.

Also, consider how powerful that species is and why they may be useful in your story line.

Locations:

I believe it is helpful if you categorise your chapters first via subheadings, that way it is easier for you to find individual chapters and plan through them at your own pace. Usually, a great way to start is what locations that character is in, within that chapter. Are they in a forest? Trapped somewhere? Perhaps outside of Heaven's gates?

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Mind Maps, aka spider grams/mind dumping is super helpful. I have used this method in the past with most of my work both inside of writing and outside of it when i used to study in education (not that the mention of me using it to study is relevant, lol.) A good way of using this is to put a category in the center of your bubble and have different categorised strands coming off. Off of those strands, you may have characters. Then you'd do even more strands coming off of that category to break things down about them. (Rough example below)

Sometimes, it helps if you work out what happens at the end of your book first, then consider a few possibilities to what could lead up to that point. An example of this could be: if you want your end result have a character death, does that character get betrayed? If so, who by?

Pick a genre and research the things that make that genre good and what they consist of. For example if you look at a Shakespeare play, they often consist of a character being used for comedic relief. (I understand that these aren't books, but a play script for inspiration is a great way to get ideas)

A lot of people say to find inspiration through reading, but that isn't always something you have to do. I very rarely read, and yet I often have tons of ideas entering and leaving my mind. I think songs, poetry, quotes and getting obsessive over fictional characters are great ways for me to get inspiration. Like, when it comes to me gaining an interest in a character, I pick out things about them that would make a great character in a book. Like in Scream movies for example, Billy Loomis is a great inspiration for an insane, stalker-like character, then I would slightly inspire a character based on him. Or I would have a dark thought and want to implement that into a character.

Use pinterest!! Most writers these days will tell you to use it. It is SUPER helpful if you need inspiration for locations, characters or even general vibes in your book. It is there to be used, so take it to your advantage, don't be scared.

Sticky notes can be used to help provide extra information, say if you missed something important, quickly scribble it down and stick it on a wall, in your bag, in your phone case or notebook to look back on later.