#his title is reliance

[sasster]

Ole Reliable

Google Doc

What exactly were you expected to do with the information? Suddenly Orfuse is alive and stuck spending his days with, arguably, the worst Lycaon to spend even an afternoon with. That today the Senior Lycaon and Mahkir would all but tear each other apart if it meant getting back to him first. Does it even matter that you were content to carry on as you were? Visiting his grave, sharing a drink, and letting that man rest. God, doesn’t that man of all people deserve rest? What are you to do now? Worry over him until he just shows up? Pray that he shows up.

Oh, but there is so much standing in his way.

The papers that need to get graded sit in front of you in an unorganized pile that you stare at without seeing, the pocket watch in your hand gripped so tightly that your knuckles start to turn white.

Just return to business as usual, that’s what's expected. Unrealistic as it is. You rub your thumb over the dragon carving on the surface of the watch case, allowing the texture to root you back to reality. The ticking from within its casing is the only thing keeping you from descending into a spiral.

Is he in pain? What does Persep want with him?

Tick.

You shake your head, gaze shifting to the watch. What Persep wants with him hardly matters, one of two trolls that will never hurt him will get their hands on him in no time. Safety will come to him.

Is he even fully troll? Did this cruel prank bring him back as a daywalker? What if he’s a mindless zombie?

Tick.

Logic doesn’t support that. Persep would not boast if he were anything but successful.

And should Harlan get his hands on Orfuse before the slightly more reasonable alternative? The thought of him squirreled away in that horrid domain sends an electrifying shiver through you.

Surely you would be allowed to visit, as would any of his other friends. But what sort of life would that be?

Tick! Harlan would never. He fancies himself a monster, but he would never make himself the monster in his Orfuses story.

Suddenly, you push yourself away from the desk and stand, discarding the watch as you do. The thoughts weigh heavy on your mind, rationalizing Harlan of all people is a humongous feat. An award winning one.

A glass of water will wash the taste from your mouth, you think, as you make your way to the kitchen.

What if it is a continuation of how he was treated while he was sick? Thanat would not let you see that man.

You know what they say about the repetition of history.

Knock!

That would be a fight. A terrible one. Bloodshed included. It has the potential to drive Orfuse right into Harlan’s domain. Right into his arms.

Knock! Knock!

That would be awful for everyone involved. Surely Thanat would not risk that. He wants redemption, doesn’t he?

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The knocking becomes incessant, frantic raps that hardly leave room for a second to pass between one and the next. It’s impossible to ignore. You stare into the room you’d just exited, toward the front door. You were not expecting company today.

The usual suspects are all presently indisposed; Holitz has a packed schedule, he would be on campus all evening. Hocus has not left his crypt since he learned of the unexpected revival, you don’t blame him. Both have keys, at any rate, they would not be knocking.

You slowly make your way toward the door, running a list of visitors over in your head.

Benjin? Did something happen with Veylin in Thorezille? He would have called.

Zurven doesn’t really reach out.

Lazali is a texter, he’s been busy with his mate.

When you get to the door, the knocking stops. Whoever it is can hear you shuffling about. There is a shaky breath.

After a few seconds of silence, you hear his voice through the door. Your eyes could pop out of your head. 

“Aderae! Addy is that you?” His voice is hoarse, cracking with each syllable. He’s being so strong. Why would you analyze something like that? Are you dumb?

No matter, you’re already opening the door. Tears, the ones kept at bay from the revelation of his return, sting at the corners of your eyes.

When you swing open the door, you are met with, well, it’s him. Orfuse. God, he looks the same. He looks like he was never sick in the first place.

Orfuse makes an honest attempt of curling in on himself, arms folded together squeezing tightly at his biceps. The same way he always did when he wasn’t wearing enough layers.

“Addy?” He stares at you like you’re the ghost. 

“Orf--”

He slams into you before you can get a single other sound out of your mouth. Before you can even think of anything to say. He mumbles something into your chest that you don’t make the effort to hear. All that matters is that he found his way to your arms.

You wrap him up tightly and kiss the top of his head. You never thought you’d be able to do this again, you shouldn’t be able to be doing this right now. When he squeeze you back, however, the doubt starts to melt off of your shoulders and roll down your back.

This is undeniably your Orfuse.

He lets out another shaky breath.

“I shouldn’t be here, Aderae. This is wrong.”

“Can’t be helped now, Orf. We have to make it work.”

Orfuse pulls away, you can feel the hesitation that came along with having made the decision. He looks up at you, blinking through the tears to get a good look.

“You’re…Look at you. You’re so old now!” He finally exclaims as he reaches up to run his fingers over your bangs, taking extra care to pick out some of the grey. He was never one to let a situation stay serious for too long. Of course he would gear the conversation away from his revival.

He’s actually back. You smile.

“Ancient. Just absolutely falling apart. Time has been unkind to me, Orf.”

His reciprocation is toothy, anyone on the outside looking in wouldn’t be able to tell this man was a sobbing wreck just a few seconds ago. 

“Oh, my poor, poor old Addy.” He strokes your bangs out of the way so that he can get a better look at your face. “What am I going to do with you?”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

It all started with a mouse

For the public domain, time stopped in 1998, when the Sonny Bono Copyright Act froze copyright expirations for 20 years. In 2019, time started again, with a massive crop of works from 1923 returning to the public domain, free for all to use and adapt:

https://web.law.duke.edu/cspd/publicdomainday/2019/

No one is better at conveying the power of the public domain than Jennifer Jenkins and James Boyle, who run the Duke Center for the Study of the Public Domain. For years leading up to 2019, the pair published an annual roundup of what we would have gotten from the public domain in a universe where the 1998 Act never passed. Since 2019, they've switched to celebrating what we're actually getting each year. Last year's was a banger:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/20/free-for-2023/#oy-canada

But while there's been moderate excitement at the publicdomainification of "Yes, We Have No Bananas," AA Milne's "Now We Are Six," and Sherlock Holmes, the main event that everyone's anticipated arrives on January 1, 2024, when Mickey Mouse enters the public domain.

The first appearance of Mickey Mouse was in 1928's Steamboat Willie. Disney was critical to the lobbying efforts that extended copyright in 1976 and again in 1998, so much so that the 1998 Act is sometimes called the Mickey Mouse Protection Act. Disney and its allies were so effective at securing these regulatory gifts that many people doubted that this day would ever come. Surely Disney would secure another retrospective copyright term extension before Jan 1, 2024. I had long arguments with comrades about this – people like Project Gutenberg founder Michael S Hart (RIP) were fatalistically certain the public domain would never come back.

But they were wrong. The public outrage over copyright term extensions came too late to stave off the slow-motion arson of the 1976 and 1998 Acts, but it was sufficient to keep a third extension away from the USA. Canada wasn't so lucky: Justin Trudeau let Trump bully him into taking 20 years' worth of works out of Canada's public domain in the revised NAFTA agreement, making swathes of works by living Canadian authors illegal at the stroke of a pen, in a gift to the distant descendants of long-dead foreign authors.

Now, with Mickey's liberation bare days away, there's a mounting sense of excitement and unease. Will Mickey actually be free? The answer is a resounding YES! (albeit with a few caveats). In a prelude to this year's public domain roundup, Jennifer Jenkins has published a full and delightful guide to The Mouse and IP from Jan 1 on:

https://web.law.duke.edu/cspd/mickey/

Disney loves the public domain. Its best-loved works, from The Sorcerer's Apprentice to Sleeping Beauty, Pinnocchio to The Little Mermaid, are gorgeous, thoughtful, and lively reworkings of material from the public domain. Disney loves the public domain – we just wish it would share.

Disney loves copyright's other flexibilities, too, like fair use. Walt told the papers that he took his inspiration for Steamboat Willie from Charlie Chaplin and Douglas Fairbanks, making fair use of their performances to imbue Mickey with his mischief and derring do. Disney loves fair use – we just wish it would share.

Disney loves copyright's limitations. Steamboat Willie was inspired by Buster Keaton's silent film Steamboat Bill (titles aren't copyrightable). Disney loves copyright's limitations – we just wish it would share.

As Jenkins writes, Disney's relationship to copyright is wildly contradictory. It's the poster child for the public domain's power as a source of inspiration for worthy (and profitable) new works. It's also the chief villain in the impoverishment and near-extinction of the public domain. Truly, every pirate wants to be an admiral.

Disney's reliance on – and sabotage of – the public domain is ironic. Jenkins compares it to "an oil company relying on solar power to run its rigs." Come January 1, Disney will have to share.

Now, if you've heard anything about this, you've probably been told that Mickey isn't really entering the public domain. Between trademark claims and later copyrightable elements of Mickey's design, Mickey's status will be too complex to understand. That's totally wrong.

Jenkins illustrates the relationship between these three elements in (what else) a Mickey-shaped Venn diagram. Topline: you can use all the elements of Mickey that are present in Steamboat Willie, along with some elements that were added later, provided that you make it clear that your work isn't affiliated with Disney.

Let's unpack that. The copyrightable status of a character used to be vague and complex, but several high-profile cases have brought clarity to the question. The big one is Les Klinger's case against the Arthur Conan Doyle estate over Sherlock Holmes. That case established that when a character appears in both public domain and copyrighted works, the character is in the public domain, and you are "free to copy story elements from the public domain works":

https://freesherlock.files.wordpress.com/2013/12/klinger-order-on-motion-for-summary-judgment-c.pdf

This case was appealed all the way to the Supreme Court, who declined to hear it. It's settled law.

So, which parts of Mickey aren't going into the public domain? Elements that came later: white gloves, color. But that doesn't mean you can't add different gloves, or different colorways. The idea of a eyes with pupils is not copyrightable – only the specific eyes that Disney added.

Other later elements that don't qualify for copyright: a squeaky mouse voice, being adorable, doing jaunty dances, etc. These are all generic characteristics of cartoon mice, and they're free for you to use. Jenkins is more cautious on whether you can give your Mickey red shorts. She judges that "a single, bright, primary color for an article of clothing does not meet the copyrightability threshold" but without settled law, you might wanna change the colors.

But what about trademark? For years, Disney has included a clip from Steamboat Willie at the start of each of its films. Many observers characterized this as a bid to create a de facto perpetual copyright, by making Steamboat Willie inescapably associated with products from Disney, weaving an impassable web of trademark tripwires around it.

But trademark doesn't prevent you from using Steamboat Willie. It only prevents you from misleading consumers "into thinking your work is produced or sponsored by Disney." Trademarks don't expire so long as they're in use, but uses that don't create confusion are fair game under trademark.

Copyrights and trademarks can overlap. Mickey Mouse is a copyrighted character, but he's also an indicator that a product or service is associated with Disney. While Mickey's copyright expires in a couple weeks, his trademark doesn't. What happens to an out-of-copyright work that is still a trademark?

Luckily for us, this is also a thoroughly settled case. As in, this question was resolved in a unanimous 2000 Supreme Court ruling, Dastar v. Twentieth Century Fox. A live trademark does not extend an expired copyright. As the Supremes said:

[This would] create a species of mutant copyright law that limits the public’s federal right to copy and to use expired copyrights.

This elaborates on the Ninth Circuit's 1996 Maljack Prods v Goodtimes Home Video Corp:

[Trademark][ cannot be used to circumvent copyright law. If material covered by copyright law has passed into the public domain, it cannot then be protected by the Lanham Act without rendering the Copyright Act a nullity.

Despite what you might have heard, there is no ambiguity here. Copyrights can't be extended through trademark. Period. Unanimous Supreme Court Decision. Boom. End of story. Done.

But even so, there are trademark considerations in how you use Steamboat Willie after Jan 1, but these considerations are about protecting the public, not Disney shareholders. Your uses can't be misleading. People who buy or view your Steamboat Willie media or products have to be totally clear that your work comes from you, not Disney.

Avoiding confusion will be very hard for some uses, like plush toys, or short idents at the beginning of feature films. For most uses, though, a prominent disclaimer will suffice. The copyright page for my 2003 debut novel Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom contains this disclaimer:

This novel is a work of fiction, set in an imagined future. All the characters and events portrayed in this book, including the imagined future of the Magic Kingdom, are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. The Walt Disney Company has not authorized or endorsed this novel.

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250196385/downandoutinthemagickingdom

Here's the Ninth Circuit again:

When a public domain work is copied, along with its title, there is little likelihood of confusion when even the most minimal steps are taken to distinguish the publisher of the original from that of the copy. The public is receiving just what it believes it is receiving—the work with which the title has become associated. The public is not only unharmed, it is unconfused.

Trademark has many exceptions. The First Amendment protects your right to use trademarks in expressive ways, for example, to recreate famous paintings with Barbie dolls:

https://www.copyright.gov/fair-use/summaries/mattel-walkingmountain-9thcir2003.pdf

And then there's "nominative use": it's not a trademark violation to use a trademark to accurately describe a trademarked thing. "We fix iPhones" is not a trademark violation. Neither is 'Works with HP printers.' This goes double for "expressive" uses of trademarks in new works of art:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rogers_v._Grimaldi

What about "dilution"? Trademark protects a small number of superbrands from uses that "impair the distinctiveness or harm the reputation of the famous mark, even when there is no consumer confusion." Jenkins says that the Mickey silhouette and the current Mickey character designs might be entitled to protection from dilution, but Steamboat Willie doesn't make the cut.

Jenkins closes with a celebration of the public domain's ability to inspire new works, like Disney's Three Musketeers, Disney's Christmas Carol, Disney's Beauty and the Beast, Disney's Around the World in 80 Days, Disney's Alice in Wonderland, Disney's Snow White, Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame, Disney's Sleeping Beauty, Disney's Cinderella, Disney's Little Mermaid, Disney's Pinocchio, Disney's Huck Finn, Disney's Robin Hood, and Disney's Aladdin. These are some of the best-loved films of the past century, and made Disney a leading example of what talented, creative people can do with the public domain.

As of January 1, Disney will start to be an example of what talented, creative people give back to the public domain, joining Dickens, Dumas, Carroll, Verne, de Villeneuve, the Brothers Grimm, Twain, Hugo, Perrault and Collodi.

Public domain day is 17 days away. Creators of all kinds: start your engines!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/15/mouse-liberation-front/#free-mickey

Image: Doo Lee (modified) https://web.law.duke.edu/sites/default/files/images/centers/cspd/pdd2024/mickey/Steamboat-WIllie-Enters-Public-Domain.jpeg

CC BY 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/deed.en

[utilitycaster]

I feel like the way I think about Ludinus Da'leth is like...the Anti-Vespin. There's the basic actions they performed - both unleashed something long-sealed, but Vespin Chloras intended to destroy what he perceived to be a sealed danger, and Ludinus is using Predathos as a weapon. However, what strikes me is how the two of them have acted so far towards other mortals rather than the existential threats they've tangled with.

I suspect Ludinus is bringing in Bells Hells not because he expects them to join him, but because he really, really wants someone to validate his plan that is ultimately just a monument to his choice to wallow and make Exandria worse for it. No one likes him. He's not Ruidusborn; he can't commune with the Weave Mind and the Reilora the way others can. Liliana is in pretty deep but she's wavering, Zathuda resents him (and it seems to be mutual) and Otohan's dead. The Assembly is crumbling and the Empire's not doing well either, and the world has to an extent united against him.

Vespin chose, in his brief moment of clarity after he had unleashed the Betrayers and lost himself, to do what he could to improve Zerxus's lot, expressed anguish and remorse for his actions and his legacy, and said that he hoped the Ring of Brass would be given more grace by history. He was willing to accept the title of villain, despite being something much more complicated, because in the end he understood that giving the world a chance to survive was far more important than clearing his own name.

Ludinus, on the other hand, is fighting against historical strawmen. His resentment towards the gods is just that: a burning resentment. He could have left his mark by rebuilding post-Divergence Exandria. Instead, his legacy is one of rot, war, hatred, and corruption, from Molaesmyr to the War of Ash and Late to the Bloody Bridge. He could have been an architect of the modern age for the better. He could have tried to revive Aeorian magic and culture, and, as I've discussed, potentially even the people. He instead focused only on a centuries-long goal of destruction out of sheer spite.

Vespin was willing to shoulder any insult, deserved or not, for the rest of eternity because he understood it was less important than doing whatever he could in the few moments he had to mitigate harm. Ludinus is willing to destroy anything to retaliate for an insult.

Ludinus is livid about being robbed of an age he never got to see by the gods; and quite possibly, with the destruction of Molaesmyr, killed some of its last survivors outside exceptions such as himself. He claims to hate the gods' uneven blessings yet his alliance - and reliance - on Ruidusborn sorcerers has always made it clear that was a lie. And none of this will bring back the world he lost, and indeed, may very well set society back further.

He will tear everything apart out of hurt feelings and a desire to be correct when he could have left a shining legacy. It is the opposite of a heroic sacrifice; a petty, small self-destruction. I think he wants Bells Hells to tell him it was worth it. And I don't think they will.

[softshuji]

𝟐𝟑:𝟐𝟑𝐏𝐌 | 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐙𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐎

Title: Nights like This

Summary: Sanzu has always thought of you as his perfect angel, incapable of committing anything as bad as he has, but he can't deny the pleasure that comes from finding out you're just as bad. Back to master list here!

Cw: fem!reader, explicit gun usage and violence, mentions of drugs, Sanzu and reader are messed up I'm ngl, some suggestive content but nothing explicit, brief mentions of gunplay and bondage, cursing, pet names (princess, angel), both reader and Haru are a little sadistic. reblogs appreciated!

Nights like this are hard to come by for you and Haruchiyo. Quiet ones, where the moonlight is enough for you to walk by across the park at night, the crunch of leaves loud underfoot and streetlights winking in and out of life.

You’re lucky, it’s a rare day off for him, and you can tell by the calm warmth of his hand in yours, the lack of buzzing energy, the absence of the shake that’s usually so present on his skin, that he’s clean today. You’re proud, if it can be said, of the effort that would be minute to anyone else, but is immeasurable for you, especially when you consider his reliance on them, the red and white pills that fill his pockets as amply as gum.

He’s looser today, despite the tight coil of terse thick tension coiling in his chest, he smiles often, gives you a softer look, though he’s always had a tenderness for you. You hold his arm, one gloved hand flat against his wrist, the other curled around the swell of his toned forearm, the two of you huddled in thick coats against the early autumn chill, red scarves brushing your chins in tandem. 

In truth, he’s trying not to think about it. The pills, the cigarettes, the way he longs for something a little stronger than the bottle of wine you’ve helped down back at the restaurant. His hands are itching and it takes considerable effort for him to keep them still, to keep his thumbs brushing achingly slow circles over your knuckles, an action that has your stomach jumping in time with your heart. 

But you know, and you appreciate the effort all the same. 

‘And then what happened, Haru?’ you say and you nod in encouragement, a small smile curling at your perfect mouth and Haruchiyo is ashamed to say he loves it, loves the small gestures, the tiny inflection of an accent saying his name, all sugary sweet from your even sweeter lips and he would drown in it if he could, the simple but divine and almost sensual way your lips part to use his name like some toy. He likes the other part too, the coolness of you that calms his heat, that simply listens, and he feels like more than just a glorified criminal for once.

‘Hm? Oh and then Mikey told me to shoot him and we ran for it.’ He finds himself leaning into you occasionally, as if you could warm the cold down to his bones and curl your warm hands around his soul. Well, whatever is left of it.

 He likes that you’re not afraid either, that he can simply speak, can come home bloodied and bruised and cuffs dotted with blood and you understand on instinct, take in his face, the glassy eyes that are still alight with adrenaline and pull the ache from his bones with nothing but the softness of your lips on his skin. 

He knows you like to mark him as much as he does you. There is no taming your mouth and the hot and fiery bites it leaves on his otherwise pale chest but it gives him a thrill to know that you have the same on yours, that it’s a territorial mark, the both of you sating your hungry appetites with each other.

‘Mhm, is that how you got the blood on your suit earlier?’ And you say it so naturally, with such reckless abandon, such welcome, that the heart Haruchiyo thought was dead in his chest pulses with heat. 

You like hearing him talk really, like that he feels comfortable enough to do so with you, to let you in after the years of trying to tame the bratty attitude that had him breaking out in a fever of sweat when he was alone. It’s a perfect balance. You enjoy the sadism of his unpredictability, the wild glint in his eyes when he twirls a gun around his lithe fingers, the softness that melts the razor edges when he touches you, as if he could break you by touch alone.

And he enjoys you, your smart mouth, the quick and dizzyingly attractive comebacks that have his pants tightening when you mouth off at him, always with a suspiciously teasing look in your eye. But he also enjoys this, the ‘you’ that lets him in, both fear and excitement, the understanding that comes from two perhaps equally monstrous souls. He hasn’t failed to notice the way your eyes glass with the clear shine of adrenaline, excitement and thrumming nerves when he twirls a gun in his hands, when he trails it down your lips, blank of course he makes sure (though you are none the wiser) and presses it between your sternum, between your thighs, your hands tied to the bedframe and him, holding your life between his lithe fingers. He likes it, you like it, him wrestling power from you like that, teetering on the edge of life and death.

‘It is, got his blood all over those cufflinks you got me as well, sorry about that Princess,’ he says and you touch your hand to his wrist on instinct. 

You lean against him, the fine pink of his hair tickling your cheek, kissing at your earlobes. It’s a perfect picture really, and you warm at the softness of his hands on yours, the lingering scent of gunpowder on his neck, cologne and metal and smoke clinging to the collars of his coat. 

‘S’okay Haru, I’ll just buy you another set if you like.’ You bite your lip, engrossed in the sharp shine of his eyes, the cut of his cheekbones darkened by the slant of moonlight, the smoothened diamond scars on his mouth that you long to press your lips to. 

The visibility is poor, and perhaps that’s what catches him off guard at first. The rush of a dark shadow barrelling towards him and it’s instinctual, the way he puts himself between you and them, a hand moving for his gun and the other holding you at arms length, angling his body to take the brunt of the hit as the man all but falls onto him.

‘You motherfu-’ He starts and the gun is loaded in his hand, his senses sharpened by the crisp night air, moving to press the trigger when your nails dig into his wrist as the man lowers himself against the wall, his hands thrown up in surrender. 

A drunk, that’s all, but it has your teeth on edge immediately. 

You dig your nails into his wrist, the glassy shine of your eyes now swirling with the copper hue of the streetlight. ‘Haru, are you okay?’ And you bend, a hand on his forearm to look over him, at the gun that glints metallic silver now pressed to his palm.

He glances at you, then at the man cowering against the terracotta brick, hands thrown up to shield himself, as if the zip of a bullet cannot tear through his flesh. 

‘I’m alright, Princess, just going to deal with this prick-’

‘You don’t need to-

‘Huh? Of course I do, he put you in danger Princess,’ he says, fast breath coming in plumes and curling against your nose.

And then, an idea that burns to life in your veins as his eyes flick to you and your smaller hand bunching up the fabric of his coat.

You test it on your tongue, chewing it up as you weigh the scales. ‘Why don’t you….let me?’ 

He frowns, a shrug of his shoulders as he turns from you to the man against the wall again. ‘Don’t be silly Princess, I just need to-’

‘Haru.’ Your voice an octave lower, authority and command and the click of heels moving into his periphery. He’s raising the gun to the man’s head and he can almost see it already, the back-splatter on his new cufflinks, the one’s he bought for today specifically, the sag of the body as the head lolls against the chest, a splash of red against even redder brick.

‘Haru,’ you say again because something is stirring in your stomach and the rush of adrenaline is coming to life in your veins. ‘Give me the gun.’

‘What?’

‘Give it to me. Let me. I want to.’ Your eyes alight with the pulse of the excitement he’s come to worship. You and Mikey, his deities.

It takes a second, a moment stretched out in time, in which his brows crease and his eyes search yours for the certainty, the surety of what you’re asking. He knows you like to live dangerously, like the power trip as much as he does, the give and take, the delicious and euphoric thrum of authority in your veins.

‘You’re sure?’ 

You nod and your lips are a firm line, the moonlight falling over a part of your face, cloaking it in shadow. You’ve never tried it before, at least not all the way. You’ve held his guns, weighed them in your hands, felt the warm kiss of his breath on your neck as he teaches you to aim down your sights, the intensity of his stare, the brush of his lips that has your thighs clenching and warmth pooling between them. 

For self defence you said, but Haru knew better. You liked it, watching the tilt of his head, the release of power that was so sexy to watch it had goosebumps breaking out on your skin.

‘I’m sure.’ You hold your hand out and the man watches as Haruchiyo hands it over, closing your hand around the barrel, your finger hovering over the trigger. ‘He disrespected you so let me do this.’

He wants to stop you, to stop you taking the plunge, from becoming like him. You, his laughing, smiling angel. You, cute and sweet and there for him when the pulsing in his head becomes loud enough to hear under his skin but he can’t deny there is something so deliciously erotic watching you throw back your shoulders, the hard set of your jaw as you stare down at the man who pushed into him, the cold fury in your eyes that has his pants tightening again.

He expects you to go for it immediately, press the trigger and hear the bang but you don’t. Instead, you pull your hand back and smash the barrel of the gun on the man’s jaw, all bone and sinew cracking with the blow, blood spurting from his cut lip and disfiguring his nose, his hands moving to shield him. He taught you that, and you remembered. It had taken a few practice runs, a swing of your arm without fear, without holding back like he knew you would. And oh is he proud, when the crack of bone reverberates, when a reddened welt appears almost immediately and he could kiss you, could worship you entirely. 

‘Apologize to my Husband,’ you say and bend, grabbing a handful of hair as you bridge the distance, your hot breath now fanning the blooming bruise along his cheek. You tug harshly and he whines, the gun now pressed up against his temple, trailing lower till the cold barrel is pushed between his bloodied lips.

‘Did you not hear what I said?’ You dig till he all but gags around the barrel and Haruchiyo’s jaw drops in awe, shock and pleasure and adrenaline all beating through his chest at once. Something twitches in his pants.

He watches, critically, euphorically, as you pull the gun out and push the man towards the ground, the barrel now firmly denting the back of his head as he lands on palms and knees, a hairsbreadth away from Sanzu’s shiny dress shoes. He recognizes this, the setup of it. It's his own, his little game he plays with victims, breaking them before the release. He really has trained you well hasn't he? 

The drunkard whimpers, and Haruchiyo almost feels like doing the same in his own twisted way. 

‘Kiss his shoes and apologise,’ you say, and the sharp edge of your voice is colder than Haru has ever heard it, colder than the spike of frost clinging to the streetlamps. 

This. This feels like power, it feels like pleasure, pride, authority. Anticipation, adrenaline, holding life and death in your hands. You, the grim reaper. You like it, and judging by Haruchiyo’s slack jaw,  the extremely obvious bulge in his pants, he likes this side of you too, the calculating side that has him aching with need. It’s at this point he realizes just how much he’s corrupted you, how much he has tainted you with his blood-spattered hands. His angel, falling from grace. And yes, he could easily kill this man without a gun, with one hand in fact but he loves your efforts, your possessiveness, your hold on him.

‘Will- will you let me-?’ 

‘Yes, yes, I’ll let you go after.’ It’s dismissive, almost bored in tone, as if this is a chore or punishment you’re doling out unnecessarily. 

So he grovels, and slides on his hands and knees till he’s a hair's breadth from Haruchiyo’s shiny black shoes. You think you hear him whimper again as he bends, his dry cracked lips trembling with the effort it takes to hold in his tears and control the shake in his voice.

And then he swallows against the tide of shame in his throat and Sanzu’s eyes are saucers as he presses a light and hesitant kiss to the instep of his shoe. It happens quickly , and the man is shuffling backwards as soon as his lips have parted from the black leather.

‘Okay good, now back up against the wall,’ you say and the gun is on his temple again, digging into the bony flesh of his cheek, hard enough to feel the indent against his remaining teeth. You can feel it, the way the flesh parts for you, the pudginess of his cheek underneath the cold barrel, the harsh sharpness of his teeth that block the way. There’s something interesting in it, something so fascinating about how the flesh parts with a little force, so obedient and disciplined.

He gropes blindly for purchase along the tarmac, the streetlight casting a golden light on the filth of his nails, the way they’ve cracked with strain and use, bleeding slightly from where they’ve scraped. He puts his hands up again and shakes, his whole body wracking with the tremors and you can’t deny that despite how shameful it is, how wrong, how perverse, the delicious shiver of pleasure running along your skin is too prominent to be ignored. 

Haruchiyo’s lips part to lick at the saliva pooling at the edge, to suck in his bottom lip and pull it between his teeth in need. 

You spare a glance at your husband, who stares at you with eyes pooling with lust, affection, admiration, that fine line between love and fear, before moving your sharp gaze back to the man cowering against the brick with his hands raised.

‘You-you said you’d let me go if I did it.’ He shrinks back as you take a step forward, the click of heels deafeningly loud on the otherwise quiet street, the frost kissing at your boots from where the snow has melted on the expensive leather.

‘I did…’ You make to lower the gun, skimming it along his jawbone. 

He waits, lets out a breath that’s all mist and dampened sniffles. 

‘I lied.’ And in one swift motion, you dig the barrel into his throat and pull the trigger, hard enough, the sleek metal parting for you like the lips of a lover and the bullet is fast and hot as it pierces skin. The splash of blood on your gloved hand is warm too, the smoke curling towards the sky as his head lolls against the terracotta brick, before falling completely, slumping against the tarmac, his hands still raised in shocked surrender.

The gunshot is loud, deafeningly so, a ring and drum of explosive noise that dies just as quick. 

‘Princess…’ Haruchiyo is all shock and awe, his voice a muted but lust-driven whisper, his throat dry with anticipatory longing.

It’s over far too quickly for your liking, the metallic tang of blood weak and dissipating into the air, coagulating already between the seams of your leather gloves. You lower the gun and your breath is quick and sharp, shallow enough to be pulsing in time with the ringing in your head.

Haruchiyo moves to take the gun, and it slides from your hand as you stare vacantly at the body, a carcass really, a suit of flesh and meat. And it’s funny, and yet not so, that that’s all it really is, a meatsuit of bones and blood tied together with stringy sinew, a life winked in and out of existence by a few minutes of your time, a split second decision.

Haruchiyo tucks the gun into his trousers, and takes your hand, still sticky with blood, and rubs it between his own. He warms it, brings your wrist to his mouth and presses a hot and chaste kiss to the vein in the juncture. He’s holding himself back, the ache between his legs an unforgettable thrumming of sweet pain. But he knows this is a big moment for you and so he’s letting it simmer for a minute, letting the gravity of your sin unfurl like an autumn leaf crushed underfoot. The weight of it descending on your shoulders is a boulder that presses firmly on your bones.

‘Princess are you okay?’ Despite himself, the vicious, blood-thirsty side that cackles loudly when blood is spilled, that’s hungry to sink his teeth into you in a place as shady and unsavoury as an alleyway, he’s letting you have this, this moment of clarity. His Goddess, his Queen, tainted enough to take to hell with him.

‘I-I’m fine Haru.’ Your voice, when you do find it, wavers on the end of each word, and now that it’s over, the clarity hits like a freight train. The shiver that had run along your skin is beaded with cold and the sweat rolling down your back elicits a dazed shake of your head.

‘Sure?’ He searches your eyes, looking for the come-down, the glassy eyed adrenaline replaced by the shock. Your lip trembles and he presses a quick kiss to your cupid’s bow. You sink against him and he holds you there, under the bronze streetlight, the frost clinging to your skin, dewy and wet and flushed with desire. 

‘I killed him…’ you whisper into the fine threads of his coat, your voice woven against his ear, dizzying and confused and almost shy.

‘You did. Now Shall we go home?’ 

‘Yeah, please.’ Your nails dig into his coat, his perfect lips close enough to feel the breath on the tip of your nose, his neck clean and clear of any marks your mouth might beg to put there. It’s shameful, how deplorable the both of you can be, how you both rein in the desire at once, how your thighs are clenching with the ache settling between them. 

He grins, slides a hand down the small of your back and ghosts his lips over the shell of your ear, bites at your earlobe before pulling away entirely. He can’t decide which part he enjoyed the most, the power you held now, with the gun pressing into the gaunt cheek or the part where his shoe was kissed almost reverently at your behest. 

He feels divine, he feels as if he could eat the whole world raw and oh is he going to enjoy positively breaking you when you get home.

He shoots a bored look at the body still lying prone against the wall, the splash of red almost black under the bronze streetlight, running in thickened rivulets into the cement. Eh, Bonten will cover for the both of you, he thinks and shrugs. You are, the both of you, untouchable, godly, dripping with unsated power.

Right now he has only one thing on his mind, and that’s pinning you to the bed by the neck and sinking into you for as long as the night lasts. And, he thinks with a glance at the moon now unfurling behind a cloud, the night…is young yet.

a/n: I have nothing to say but the fact that I wrote this with my clit- ok im jkjkjk lol, I have been wanting to write this for ages because nothing excites me more than the idea of my puppy boy getting down awful for a woman willing to kill for him that's all. I need.

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @sweet-seishu @burnishedcrown @nikokopuffs @mitsuwuyaa @haruwuchiyoo @mochimiyaas @bertholdts--butt @theaonlax @blackfire2013 @wotakuhime @severellamahottub @anxious-chick-loggedoutpermanen

[yanderederee]

ForeverYours,

tw; obsessive behavior, manipulation(?).. kinda soft? Sorry if I missed anything. ;~;

Part1 … now~ … Part3 … Part4 … Part5

A civil twilight graced the sky before Mikey felt the urge to stir himself awake from a nap. While he may have rustled himself awake by accident, he did his best to pretend he hadn’t.

There was no way he was getting up.

Immediately, he went to shift into a comfortable sleeping position. In this attempt, his conscious took note of a squirming warmth lingering against him. Immediately feeling a large smile creep past his fake sleep.

Then, in a gentle squeeze, he feels himself being tucked deeper under a duvet.

So thoughtful.

So considerate.

You hated when Mikey looked like he may be cold.

“Manjiro?” You whisper.

Immediately his eyes feather open, tickling the hollow of your neck intentionally. You let out a silent giggle , before taking the blond’s face in your hands.

“C’mon baby boy, you have a meeting soon.”

He wanted to argue, mostly that it was absolute law he couldn’t separate from you.

“But I’m cold~” he lied in between his yawns.

And like a spell, he found himself drifting into your scent. You held him tighter in your embrace.

“Ten more minutes,” your lips etched against his temple, your breath sending his entire body into high alert when you brushed passed his ear. He’d expected you to cuddle yourself into his neck, expecting himself to scoop your form out from under him and laugh.

He loved imagining your laugh. You smiled a lot around him. You couldn’t help but swoon for his charm.

Mikey loved the affection. The connection. The refreshed feeling he has after a good nap. Nothing wrong in the world.

But rather than cuddling into his side as he’d expected you would, you shifted an elbow to prop your form to look down at him.

In his late dreamy daze, windows misting a bright blue screen across the room, he’s never known a peace as perfect as this.

Security and reliance. Give and give and give and give. You were all that is right in this broken world.

And he will not let you go.

“Manjiro,” you sang, fingers tracing the hair that fell into his face.

“Yes?” Mikey answered obediently.

“Have you eaten today?”

“Mmhm!~”

“Mannnjiroooo..” you protested.

You always knew when Mikey wasn’t taking care of himself. With no real encouragement, he would honestly probably only eat sweets, and ruin his health. Skipping Meals. Become malnourished. Sleeping too much or not enoug—-

“Is my cutie worried about me?~”

“I always worry about you,”

“You worry too muchh~”

“I love you.”

•

The world stopped.

And something snapped. What was it?

He tried coming back to reality, to ask if he really heard you correctly.

Before Manjiro had the chance, he couldn’t help taking note how dark it was now. How much time has passed? Time wasn’t moving, but the color of the room darkened like a blanket.

“You do?” He asked, serious.

Never losing his intense stare, your pupils dilate with glee.

“Maybe,” you teased.

Uninterested in the chase, he pressed.

Automatic and rough hands shape along the side of your neck.

Calloused fingers weave your scalp, and thumbs brush harshly against your cheek bones.

You let out a sharp gasp when he tore you up and against his chest. It was jerky and possessive. His love sick smile gently lay on the back burner.

For now, his blank black eyes bare down at you.

“Y/nnchin is mine, right?”

You’ve heard people address Mikey by many scary titles, but he had never seemed scary to you. He was intimidating and forward, but you’ve felt nothing but safe in Manjiro’s presence.

But every ounce of darkness he possessed, seemed to spiral you into a heavy, crushing fall.

A cold sweat forces your body to adjust to your surroundings.

Yet despite his expressionless stone mask, you saw through Manjiro, who’d always found himself racing against something. Racing a victorless race at full throttle. Chasing that one headlight is what keeps his sanity tethered.

The headlight he chased after, he saw it shining against the tears that glass over your adoring gaze.

“Yes, Manjiro. I love you,”

You straighten your form to sit with the boy.

“So,”

Your hands cover his dry and scabbed over knuckles.

“Very”

Gently, you rest your lips against his motionless ones.

“Much.”

You let a giggle escape, Manjiro’s hands, that you were cradling so tenderly just a second ago were now tangling circles around your stomach.

“You’re so amazing…” he breathed heavily against your diaphragm. Tears welling up in his eyes,

“Too good for those assholes to take advantage of.” Mikey felt his nails dig deep into your hips, an emotion of love and anger rushing through him all at once.

“Whatever you want the future to look like, I will make it happen.

“For as long as you live, I won’t let anything bad ever happen to us.”

Manjiro felt himself praying against your chest. Quickly following, he lifts his head, chin resting against your chest. His face was flush with emotion and immediately after catching your eye, couldn’t stop himself from devouring all the love he could from you. …❤︎

~ , ~ , ..

[youhideastar]

WujiWatch: CQL Rewatch Episode 19

I’ve read some takes that Jiang Cheng must actually know right at the start that he has Wei Wuxian’s core (or that he’d have to be incredibly stupid/in denial not to) because he wakes up with a great big scar over his lower dantian. Other clues are sometimes cited – that Baoshan Sanren sounds exactly like Wen Qing with a cold; that the whole Baoshan Sanren plan makes no sense anyway; and later, that Wei Wuxian acts like a person without a golden core, in his physical weakness and his reliance on cultivation that doesn’t require one.

I’m sorry, but these are terrible takes. As a practical matter, Wen Ning says, after the big reveal, that the surgery took two days, and the title card post-surgery in this episode says “Seven days later.” Those five extra days were sufficient to allow Jiang Cheng’s—now super-powerful—core to heal the incision without scarring. (Indeed, one assumes that’s why Wen Qing kept him sedated for those extra days.) The Wen Qing-with-a-cold thing is fair, but it’s not exactly a smoking gun

As a thematic and psychological matter, moreover, the point about the Baoshan Sanren plan making no sense is, I think, not fair. Anyone with any psychological acuity knows that the easiest lie is one your subject already believes to be true, and after that, the lie your subject wants to be true. Wei Wuxian plays on this ruthlessly in shopping the plan to Jiang Cheng—but it works even better than he realizes, because he doesn’t know why Jiang Cheng lost his golden core. The details Wei Wuxian feeds Jiang Cheng—particularly his instruction that Jiang Cheng should pretend to be him, that the immortals will only help him if they think he’s Wei Wuxian, that Wei Wuxian has this one golden ticket he can redeem and he’s spending it on Jiang Cheng—would have felt deeply, karmically right to Jiang Cheng, because they resonate with the fact of his sacrifice. I lost my core for you, he’s thinking, so now you give up your immortal get-out-of-jail-free card for me. I lost my core by trading places with you; now I’ll regain it by stepping into your shoes.

Of course, Jiang Cheng is more right than he knows.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Sequestration.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Robotic Bodyguard!OC x Reader.

Word Count: 2.6k.

TW: Heavy Themes of Isolation/Reliance, Needles, Intimidation, Manipulation Through Health, Reader Wears A Dress And Is Called Princess But Like In A Non-Binary Way, and Codependence.

On your best days, you could remind yourself that life outside the castle probably wouldn’t be any more interesting than life inside of it.

How could it be? You’d never actually been outside, sure, but you’d spent hours staring out of your dust-covered windows, sorting through your mother’s research, walking across the scarred landscape in your holographic enrichment chamber until you came to the end of what the simulation was able to generate or Prince decided that you’d spent enough time thinking about things you shouldn’t, that day. You’d talked to other survivors (real survivors, you mean – you still don’t know if you could really call the way you live ‘surviving’) on your mother’s communication devices and the more primitive radio transceivers you put together yourself, and you knew that it was more routine than anything, that scavenging for food and gathering clean water and praying that, by some miracle, you’d stumble onto one of the few remaining pockets of civilization before that pocket devolves into in-fighting and anarchy was about as much fun as sitting inside and daydreaming about doing the same. You knew how to keep yourself busy; the castle was endless, its rooms countless and the labyrinth of tunnels that ran underneath it endless, and even if you did spend the rest of your life mapping out its every twist and bend, it would’ve taken another to finish the restoration work your mother started. You had enough dried and canned food to last you the next century, and you always kept the indoor garden going strong. You had hobbies, and routines, and when you were absolutely desperate for company, you had Prince. That, you guessed, would never change. No matter what you did, he would be there to guide you through it. No matter where you when, you’d always have Prince on your heels.

On your best days, you could tell yourself that life outside of the castle would be as boring as life inside of it.

On your worst, it was impossible to make yourself believe that anything could be as boring as the life you were living now.

It was a quiet, knotted despair – the kind that lent itself to long days spent consumed by low-burning anxiety and dampened terror and everything else that comes along with knowing you’d likely never take so much as a step outside of the building you’d been born in. You tried to keep it hidden the best you could, to avoid Prince and, by association, one of his well-intended but less than helpful ‘check-ups’, but the inevitable could only be delayed for so long. He found you in one of the castle’s tallest spires, sitting in a bay window spilling over with patterned quilts and velvet-lined pillows. He was already scowling when he appeared by your side, his lips quirked downward and his gaze ever so slightly narrowed. You’d expected as much. He’d always said the spire's damp air would worsen your condition, but according to Prince, nearly everything would worsen your condition. If he had his way, you’d be locked in your library all day and your bedroom all night, and he’d always know exactly where to find you.

He was wearing his holographic form, as he always was – his pink hair pulled back into a perfect low ponytail, his features softened yet well-defined, every part of him manicured and refined in the way a creature who’d been quite literally designed for companionship could be. You’d only seen his true form, his physical form, once; that shambling mess of gears and iron banding, but you could still remember the way it creaked as it moved towards you, the strange dissonance of hearing Prince’s voice and seeing that malformed, mechanical nightmare. You couldn’t be scared of him, not really, not when you knew it was still Prince underneath all that metal and all those jagged edges, but you listened when he warned you away from certain parts of the castle, now.

You didn’t turn to face him immediately, keeping your eyes on the distant landscape until he cleared his throat and took a step toward you. You watched, out of the corner of your eye, as Prince reached out, moving to touch your shoulder before pulling back and letting his hand fall to his side. He couldn’t touch you, not in this form, but he’d try, occasionally. It was an expression of the more human side of his programming, the half that was made to keep you happy, not just safe. You could only imagine what string of numbers could make a being so rational carry so much sentimentality. “I believe it’s past time for your treatment, Your Highness.”

You pulled your knees up to your chest, burying your face in the thick fabric of your skirts. “Again? Didn’t I just take my medicine yesterday?”

“Yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. It’s a daily essential. You’d know that if you ever bothered to listen to me.” His frown was gone in a moment, replaced with a small smile and a pleased look in his eyes. “Do you need me to escort you to the clinic?”

“I think I can find it on my own.” You waited for a long beat. When Prince failed to move, failed to respond, you added, “But, if you want to accompany me…”

“It’d be my honor, Highness.”

He waited patiently as you slowly removed yourself from the windowsill, sparing one last look towards the lifeless horizon as you smoothed over your skirts and placed yourself at his side. You couldn’t take his arm, but you didn’t need to. He knew how to keep pace with you, by now, matching your stride as you quietly navigated through the castle’s tangle of empty hallways and overly cluttered rooms. Everything, from the ancient furniture to the box-like sensors posted in the corner of every room to your own sparse decorative touches, was coated in a layer of dust you’d never been able to stave-off. You tried to clean whenever you could, and Prince did his part, but there was just too much to take care of. Your world was, simultaneously, impossibly small and incomprehensibly large, and it was similarly difficult to imagine that you’d ever be able to fill the space or shake off that ever-growing sense of claustrophobia.

Eventually, you came to a pair of towering glass doors – the entryway to the otherwise unused sunroom that you’d taken to using as a makeshift clinic. You looked to your side, nodding to Prince, and in an instant, he’d dissolved into thin air. You counted out a minute and, more importantly, waited to hear the sound of metal scraping against tile - the sound of Prince’s footsteps - before slipping inside. As always, the clinic greeted you with shining marble walls and a glittering glass cieling, but only dread accompanied the lovely sight. Your treatment, for as much as it delighted Prince, wasn’t something you could bring yourself to look forward to.

Prince was already waiting for you, a familiar wooden case in-hand, looking just a little more vivid than he had a second before. You knew why – that his holographic body was now anchored to his physical form, that he had to wear a skin you wouldn’t be able to see through – but you still made an effort not to look at him. It was too realistic, too uncanny. You didn’t know what you’d do if you ever met another living person. If Prince was too much for you, you couldn’t imagine how you’d react to someone who was made up of more than projected light.

You took your place on the cot in the center of the room, folding your legs underneath you and cringing at the way the stiff sheets crinkled. In a moment, Prince was at your side, already sanitizing the needle of a long, bronze syringe. You just held out your arm, pointedly glaring in the opposite direction, and Prince acknowledged your discontent with a low hum, a slight pinch, a sudden numbness slowly ebbing from the crook of your arm. You closed your eyes, but that only gave you less to distract yourself with, only left you more focused on the discomfort lodged just underneath your skin, the stark chill quickly seeping away what little warmth you had. Still, you kept your eyes shut as he worked, determined to at least pretend that it helped. “Prince.”

It was a reflex, by now – just another routine. Shut your eyes, and when that didn’t work, call out for Prince. He was as used to it as you were. “Yes, Highness?”

The pain was minimal, but you winced as he drew the needle back. “Do you think we could go for a walk tomorrow?”

“You go for a walk every day.” The bandages were next – white, plush, and virtually useless. You’d take them off in less than an hour, but Prince enjoyed the ritual of it, and it wasn’t as if you didn’t have time to spare. “As far as I was aware, you don’t have any other way to get around.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” You threw him a hollow glare. “A walk outside. Just around the courtyard.”

“Why would you want to go out there?” You didn’t have to see him to know he was grimacing. You could hear the disgust in his tone, picture his automatic revulsion. “It’s filthy, and dangerous. The dust would shred your lungs.”

“I’d wear protective gear. We have ventilators, and I could make a—”

“The strain alone could break you. That’s not to mention the heatstroke, or the bugs. You wouldn’t last a second.” There was a soft laugh, a swatch of cotton against your skin. His fingertips brushed against your skin, as cold as ice and as lifeless as metal. “Don’t make me watch you suffer like that, princess. You know I like taking care of you, but that’d just be torture.”

You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “There are people who’ve been out there for as long as I’ve been alive. I think I could survive a day.”

It wasn’t a chuckle, this time, but a laugh – whole-hearted and chirping. Perfectly engineered to be as mirthful and as patronizing as possible. “You can’t be serious. An hour, I could start to understand, but a day?” He shook his head, a stray length of pink hair falling over one of his eyes. “Please, don’t put my poor heart through that.”

“You don’t have a heart.”

“I have enough of one to know that this isn’t a good idea.” He smiled, and when you didn’t return the gesture, he sighed, lowering himself to one knee. The bandage was secured, and before you could pull away, he took your hand in his. His grip wasn’t tight, but it was secure, remorseless and iron-clad. He must not have realized how confining it felt. Otherwise, you knew he never would’ve held you that way. “I know it sounds harmless now,” he started, in that faux-sympathetic tone. The same one he’d used when you scraped a knee, or came crying to him about another malfunction in one of your half-baked inventions. “But you have to trust me. You’re safe here, with me. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to help you out there.”

You felt something acidic rise into the back of your throat. “Prince,” you said, again, if only to buy time to brace yourself. “I want to go outside.”

It was quick, but you saw it. A flicker to his holographic form, a nearly imperceptible lilac aura suddenly tinted a harsh red. You caught a glimpse of spiked shoulders, of a steel grate obscuring a nonexistent face, and then, Prince was back – still smiling, still staring up at you. It might’ve felt more genuine if you hadn’t known what was lurking behind his eyes.

“Do you know,” He spoke slowly, carefully, no part of his expression ever-changing, “what would happen if you missed one of your treatments?”

You shook your head. It wasn’t like either Prince or your mother had ever gone out of their way to explain why you were sick, lest the stress of it all take a toll on your oh-so-fragile helath. “I... I might get sick? It can’t be worse than spending the rest of my life doing this.”

He chuckled, bowing his head, his lips coming to rest a hair’s width above the back of your hand. “You’ll die. You’ll wither and fade away, just like the world outside of this castle did. Just ike your mother.” This time, when his grip tightened around your hand, you couldn’t tell yourself it wasn’t deliberate. You couldn’t tell yourself that he didn’t see how quickly your shoulders stiffened, that he didn’t notice you try and fail to pull yourself out of his hold. “Do you understand?”

“Prince, I don’t want to—”

His thumb dug into the bone of your wrist, metallic fingertips burrowing into vulnerable flesh. You winced, and Prince’s grin widened. “Do you understand, princess?”

“Yes, I do, I— Please, let me go.” You were gasping, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as you fought to urge to pry yourself away from him. “I’m sorry, I understand – I’ll never ask again.”

He spared one more playful, bone-crushing squeeze before releasing you, letting you draw your hand back into your chest. He stood, taking up the syringe and its case before retreating back towards the clinic’s cabinets. You didn’t dare to move until he’d returned to your side, until you felt his hand on your shoulder. “I knew you wouldn’t be so cruel to me.” The words were muttered, barely audible. If there’d been anything else to hear, anything else in this castle save for you and Prince, you might’ve missed it. You wish you could’ve missed it. “Will you be tending to your garden this afternoon?”

You nodded, as if in a trance. Prince hummed in approval. “Would you care for an escort?”

“I…” You crossed your arms over your chest. Your wrist throbbed, but you didn’t know what to do about it. You weren’t used to this type of pain. “I think I’ll manage on my own.”

You cast your gaze downward, to the cot’s over-starched sheets. You waited until those dull, thudding footsteps were too distant to hear, until you could bring yourself to sigh, to shrink, to glance toward the reddened bruises forming along your wrist. You might’ve done more, if you’d known what to do. You might’ve cried if you hadn’t still been able to feel Prince’s eyes on you, unblinking and ever-present.

So, instead, you picked yourself up, let your hands fall to your sides, and – like you would tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that – started towards your garden.

[tokkias]

through the lens of my fingertips ship: natsu dragneel x lucy heartfilia summary: They say that when you lose your vision, your other senses become heightened to compensate. Lucy thinks that’s true enough. Losing the sense that she has relied upon the most throughout her life proves difficult at first but that's not to say she forgets the world around her. As her fingertips graze down Natsu's jaw she paints an image in her mind that she's determined to never forget. ao3

happy birthday @shiiro-arts !! ur blind lucy au lives rent free in my mind, i hope this fic lives rent free in yours

They say that when you lose your vision, your other senses become heightened to compensate. Lucy thinks that’s true enough. She’s nowhere near Natsu’s level, but with her new reliance on her ears, she’s become adept at differentiating her guildmates based on their pace, their footsteps, their breathing.

Her improved hearing is certainly helpful, but she finds that touch is the easiest way to navigate the new world she’s found herself in. Natsu refuses to let her out of his sight for the first few months, acting as her guide, but as much as she loves him, she yearns for independence, and she’s not about to let a little lack of sight get in the way of that. She uses a cane to get around for the most part, but her hands provide her with a little more precision in situations where she needs it.

Relying on her hands so much in her new everyday life gives her a new perspective. She notices things that she wouldn’t have given much mind to when she could still see, because now it’s one of the only ways she can visualise the world around her. She notices just how plush her blankets are, her fingers running over the soft pile of the fabric, relishing in the feeling of it against her fingertips. She values the tactile elements of some of her books—the indents of the title on the cover, the raised bump of the spine, the texture of the leather binding it together. She can’t read the words held within it anymore, but it still brings her comfort to be able to differentiate and recognise them on her shelf by touch when she picks one out for Natsu to read to her.

Finding comfort in the tactile is not something she limits to her possessions and collections. The last thing she wants to do is forget the world around her, and one way she tries to prevent it is to examine it through the new lens of her fingertips.

“You’ve been using my moisturiser again,” she says.

She almost wants it to be a reprimand, but it comes out more as a statement than anything. Natsu’s face is unusually soft under her touch, but she doesn’t really mind it.

“It makes my face feel nice,” he replies, and she cannot contest.

Her hands gently cradle his jaw as she connects the shapes she feels under her palms with the image she holds of Natsu in her mind. Tan skin, strong jawline, and newly soft skin. He’s got a little bit of stubble, but not much—he thinks he looks silly with facial hair. Lucy says he looks handsome; he reminds her that she can’t even see what it looks like. She tells him that she doesn’t need to see it to know it’s true.

She brings her fingers up to his hairline, where she realises his hair is down. The corners of her lips quirk up in a smile, and she takes it as an excuse to run them through his hair. He practically purrs as she lightly drags her nails across his scalp, and it elicits a soft laugh from her.

“Is it getting longer?” She asks, noting how it seems to take longer for her to reach the tips of his hair than before.

“Yeah,” he hums in affirmation. “You think I should cut it?”

She holds pause for a moment as she tries to imagine what he looks like, his spiky, rosy hair now grown into shaggy locks.

“No, I don’t think so.”

She lightly drags her hands down until her thumbs rest on the space just below his eye. His eyes flutter closed, which she can feel in his lashes brushing against her fingers, tickling her slightly, and she takes the chance to gently run the pads of her thumbs over his eyelids. Each dip and crease is burned into her memory, pieced together to form the puzzle that is her Natsu.

She hopes that they will be together long enough that she can begin to feel each wrinkle and smile line permanently form on his face. Part of her resents the fact that she will never see him grow old, but she tries to bury that feeling by running her thumb down the bridge of his nose until she reaches the tip. Leaning forward, she places her lips against it, and she feels him scrunch his nose up in response. She knows he’s just doing it to be a pain, but even his faux-disgust elicits a laugh anyway. It’s nice being able to envision the expression he’s making from touch alone.

Fingers trailing down his face, her thumb trails down his cupids bow before resting it on his lips. He turns his head so they rest in her palm, and she feels him pucker them to press a kiss into the soft skin. She feels her face heat up in a blush, and even though she can’t see it, she can feel the corner of his lips quirk up into a smirk against her hand. Natsu’s not much of a traditional romantic, but then he does stuff like this—things that are so distinctly Natsu that she can’t help the way her heart flutters in her chest.

He brings his own hands up to cradle her face, and she leans into the warmth of his touch. His thumbs rub gentle circles on the apples of her cheeks, and she smiles into it. He’s always been an affectionate type of guy, but this intimate sort of face touching is reciprocal—something he wouldn’t have done had it not been for her initiating. There’s no real reason for him to do it when he can see every dip and crease in her face, but it’s nice to feel it, to know he’s there, to experience the same feeling he does when she does it to him. It makes her feel less alone in it all.

It’s not long before she feels his warm breath against her lips, and she knows to pucker up before feeling his against them. She doesn’t need to see to kiss him, so she just relishes in the taste of his lips and the feeling of them melding against hers. They’re a little bit chapped, but they always have been, so she doesn’t mind too much. When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against hers, and she’s certain that he can feel the warmth radiating from her cheeks.

“You’re blushing,” he says in observation, confirming her suspicion. He says it with a teasing tone underlying his words, and it only serves to make her flush brighter, which she suspects is his intention.

She can feel him pull away and estimate his position by the feeling of his breath against her face. Unfortunately, not even that prepares her for the ruin of their tender moment when she feels his tongue drag over her cheek and hears the proceeding cackle he lets out.

“Natsu!” She yells out. “That’s so gross!”

She wipes her cheek with her hand, her face scrunched up in disgust as he howls with laughter, and as gross as it is, the familiarity of it brings her a sense of comfort.

At least some things never change.

[waffowo]

While Donna Noble will always be my favourite companion in NuWho, Clara will always be the most multi-faceted and complex (as of now). I think that a lot of divisiveness surrounding Clara stems from 5 common criticisms:

1. Clara’s characterisation in 7B and how Moffat treats her mostly as a mystery box first and character second.

2. The length of Clara’s tenure and how some may have been fatigued due to the many times “she should have left.”

3. The emphasis on Clara’s flaws in Series 8 and how it kind of paints her as unlikable over her Series 7B depiction as at least kind.

4. Clara’s departure in Hell Bent as something that ruins her ending in Face The Raven.

5. The belief of Clara as the most important character in the Doctors life inherently devaluing other companions.

I think while I can understand the reasons leading up to these criticisms, I also think that it does help to look back throughout the Moffat and RTD era as it does help explain a lot of these points imo.

Actually, the character Clara most prominently echoes is Rose. Rose, like Clara, helped the Doctor through a time of extreme emotional vulnerability (for 9th, Time War trauma) and developed a relationship of co-dependency with him (as 10th) which never really went away even after Doomsday. Clara had the luxury of time however, and has undergone more events with the Doctor (Impossible Girl, Trenzalore, 50th Anniversary etc) but also how 12th was undergoing an extreme identity crisis of figuring out whether he’s a good man post-Trenzalore and saving Gallifrey. Clara was the one who facilitated his character growth through the turbulence of the arc in instances like Dark Water, Death In Heaven, Mummy on The Orient Express, Kill The Moon, Last Christmas etc and would naturally result in the Doctor developing an extremely unhealthy reliance on Clara as being his “carer,” his anchor to being The Doctor (refer to her whole “Be A Doctor” spiel in the 50th Anniversary). Series 9 already heavily implied the Doctor’s willingness to engage with destructive measures by choosing to separate Clara and The Doctor almost every episode (Magicians Apprentice/Witch’s Familiar) as the stakes rose and cumulated in Face The Raven.

RTD has also once said when paying tribute to Moffat:

“And nestling at the heart of the show is Doctor Who's very own problem category, the Companion, a title inherently subordinate to the Man. Until Clara comes along!”

Imo, while poorly phrased, I think does also hit another nail on the head to explain how Clara can be so compelling to someone like me but also extremely polarising. RTD is talking less about the companion being “weaker” or “submissive” but how Clara is the NuWho companion that wishes to obliterate the boundaries between the power dynamic of companion/doctor. Series 8 for instances plays on the recurring motif of, “Do as you are told” which the Doctor firstly uses to threaten Clara to keep her safe. However, Clara actively retaliates by parroting the phrase back in an attempt to attain parity. This escalates to the events of Dark Water where she attempts to maintain control of her circumstances by forcing the Doctor to be on equal ground with her. What is so fascinating is that Clara while changing and emulating more of the Doctor’s heroism, she equally begins to absorb his flaws which intensify throughout Series 8-9. Clara becomes more deceitful, egotistical, reckless and cunning as she begins to become more and more like him. The means she lies to Danny, her ability to think more and more like him.

However, what people (fans and haters) also ignore is how nuanced the circumstances are. While Clara’s flaws become more heightened, it is also a fact that she wants to be like the Doctor because of his kindness and heroism. Episodes like Robots of Sherwood, Last Christmas or even Rings of Akhten reveal a lot about how Clara reveres the Doctor as a mythic and heroic figure. Clara’s attitudes towards the children in Forest Of The Night, Name Of The Doctor and Into The Dalek reveal that in spite of her ego and selfishness, she is someone who desires to help people. Thus, her desire to become the Doctor becomes more explainable. What a lot of people can’t really accept is that she can be both egotistical, reckless and kind at once. Her actions in Face The Raven were driven out of the fact that it came from a place of ignorance and impulsiveness (not stupidity, the Doctor would do something similar, it’s just that Clara did not have all the clues) in what she believed would be what the Doctor would do and that she was confident she could match the trickery of the Doctor, and yet it was also driven by her compassion towards Rigsby and her while impulsive, sincere desire to save her friend.

Clara is punished because of this, she forgets that she’s far too human. The Doctor is less breakable. She pays for it and as Ashildr says in Hell Bent:

“She died for who she was and who she loved. She fell where she stood. It was sad. And it was beautiful.”

She died due to her physical fragility, her ego, her ignorance, her impulsiveness/recklessness and yet she also died because she was too brave, she died like the Doctor, who she loved (literally look at how her arms were outstretched as though she was mid-regeneration and how the black smoke parallels the orange glow of regeneration). However, this leads to the fourth main criticism I prior stated, so how does one answer that in relation to her character?

The answer is what Clara does and what the Doctor says towards the end of Hell Bent. Clara after being extracted and is with the Doctor in the TARDIS, spies on him because she is instantly suspicious of his erratic behaviour. Again, Clara shows how much she has become like him, she immediately picks up that he is hiding something because she has begun to think like him. Of course, the Doctor was planning on wiping Clara’s memories similar to what he did to Donna. But what does Clara do? She immediately reverse the polarity of the device that the Doctor was going to use on her and challenges the Doctors actions. Clara states:

“Tomorrow’s promised to no one, Doctor. But I insist upon my past. I am entitled to that. It’s mine.”

Clara’s language indicates her assertiveness and also a kind of last hurrah in her game of parity. She is refusing to submit to the narrative of being reduced to merely a companion that the Doctor moves away from. But more importantly, the Doctor after pressing the device and is losing his memory, states:

“Run like hell because you always need to. Laugh at everything, because it’s always funny (…) Never be cruel and never be cowardly. And if you ever are, always make amends (…) Never eat pears. They’re too squishy. And they always make your chin wet. That one’s quite important. Write it down.”

I think on initial viewing when the show was airing, this wouldn’t make much sense but this really shows the crux of how Hell Bent completes Clara’s arc and the necessity of her resurrection. In Face The Raven, the Doctor tells Clara that she’s more breakable as she questions why she can’t be as reckless as him. However, now the Doctor is instead telling her what would later be repeated in Twice Upon A Time, his regeneration speech. In his eyes, Clara has succeeded in graduating from the Magicians Apprentice and into becoming the Magician herself. He’s instructing her how to properly be The Doctor. As I said, Clara was also motivated by her desire to be kind when she engaged in her reckless gambit but what is so wrong about the desire to be kind? And why should Clara be punished for it? Thus, while Clara MUST die, her final act of kindness at the end of her arc enables the Universe to allow for Clara’s final transformation into the Doctor.

Clara is still dead, it is an unchanged historical event. However, to challenge the status quo and allow for Clara’s ascension, Clara becomes a fairy tale herself. Her body is caught in a permanent form of stasis, signalling her departure from the limits of her physicality (subverting her physical fragility) but also as seen through her last words to the Doctor:

“You said memories become stories when we forget them. Maybe some of them become songs.”

Clara has successfully become what she admired, a myth, a fable. She has become a symbol in a story, a story that would go on to have an infinite number of other stories. She has become the leaf she raises to the monster in the Rings of Akhten, she sails off into narrative ambiguity but also infinity. Clara is so polarising because she challenges the definition of what it means to be The Doctor on a pure metatextual level. It’s a logical progression from the introspection of the question from the Doctor himself in Series 8. To want to resist, I argue, is natural.

I could explore further about her adrenaline addiction in Mummy On The Orient Express or these traits I raised explored in Flatline which I may do another day, but I hope I have provided a new perspective on Clara Oswald.

[mayullla]

Title: Stepfather Thoma

Character(s): Thoma (Genshin Impact)

Summary: Modern au, Stepfather au; Thoma always tried his best to be by your side ever since he first saw you when he first started working at the kindergarten.

Warnings/tags: Fem!reader, child!reader, purely platonic, obsessive, yandere themes, minor character death

Your mother was always busy ever since you were young, after she and your father broke up she had to work harder to support the two of you. Maybe in the later years, you would have been thankful for what she has done but you were still but a small child. Still too young for you to understand that your mother can't go to all the parent-teacher meetings and sports festivals and would pick you up late from school because she was often too busy to pick you up on time.

Can't be with you often as you would like.

So more often than not you were stuck in the kindergarten alone, your friends all already left with their parents holding their hands as they tell them about the fun things that happened that day while their parents would humor them with a smile on their faces.

You wished that your mother would come faster…

But it was alright because Thoma was there! A teacher at your kindergarten who was always there with you when you had to wait for your mother! He was a nice man playing board games, tea parties, playing with the ball, and anything that you wanted to do he would play with you.

Thoma was the one who always makes you happy when you feel lonely. Sometimes when you come back home you would miss him when you watched your mother slave away on the laptop for some project she was working on.

You thought of your lonely room or living room where your mom promised to make a pillow fortress with you when she was finally free from work. Yet the living room continued to be devoid of the puffy material and laughter.

But in the end, when your mother comes to the kindergarten you would still cheerfully hold your mother's hand as the two of you would head back home. Too excited in seeing your mother’s face, excited to tell you everything that happened in school, excited to tell her what you did when you waited for her same as the other kids and their parents. Telling her that teacher Thoma and you drew pictures, or how you guys played with the lego and made a castle together.

You didn't see how Thoma would watch longingly at you and your mother, envious of her relationship with you and how close you guys were. 

Thoma always wanted you, ever since he first laid eyes on you. It wasn't something romantic, it was more of how a mother bear would be protective over her bear cubs. It was platonic and… obsessive.

You are just so adorable! How could he help it?

The first time he saw you, he noticed how sweet you were. A troublemaker sometimes sure but weren't all kids like that? But he would always see that tint of loneliness in your eyes when he saw you watching other kids. So he tried to be nice to you, spending time while the both of you wait for your mother.

Thoma wanted you, he wanted you to look at him as you did to your mother. The brightness in your eyes when you see her come to pick you up and the bright and loud voice of excitement that you would give when you explained everything that happened in class that day.

Thoma wanted that…Sure you are happy around him and talk to him a lot as he became the closes teacher to you in the kindergarten but it still lacked… lacked the joy that you have for your mother. This certain reliance that a child would have on their parents.

So he made a decision back then… he wanted you but it was not like he could steal you. He was only a teacher, nothing grand nor does he think he has the wits to outsmart others like his friend Ayato. He didn't want to see you sad and scared either… You were too precious to have tear fall from your eyes, all he wants was for you to smile.

So he started asking you what your mother was like, things that you like about her and he wanted to change a small bit not too obvious but if there was a small thing that you liked your mother doing like patting your head or holding your hand when you go out, he already has that done. If you told him that you like that your mother would listen to your stories all the time or something about candies that she has that you absolutely love. He will listen to your stories! He would also buy you the candy that you absolutely love, and every day he would give you one. 

But he also asked what’s your mother's likes and dislikes too, you didn't understand what he was really asking about but you were too excited to talk about your mother. Telling him almost everything you know about your mom, some stories that made you proud or very clear in your mind you would say it 2 to 3 times, and Thoma would just listen smiling.

You were excited when you saw your mother and Thoma talk for the first time a little longer than the last other than a short ‘thank you’, two of your favorite people in the world were talking to each other after all! Most of the conversations were about you really, like how you were doing well at the kindergarten and that you were a good kid. All sounded pretty innocent to you. Your mother also thanked Thoma for always looking after you so when the two of you when back home you noticed the flushed cheeks your mother had.

You didn't understand why your mother’s red cheek, you didn't realize that your teacher Thoma had been very special kind of ‘kind’ or ‘concerned’ towards your mother because… you didn't hear it, you didn't notice nor understand. You found their conversation boring after a while and chose to go somewhere else to play and amuse yourself while they continued talking.

After that, they two would talk often when your mom would come to pick you up. Thoma would talk about you while she would listen or he would ask her questions, like how was her day and such. Your mother started to ask you what teacher Thoma was like and you innocently would tell her how amazing he was. After that, she would ask about his likes and dislikes, his hobbies and then would ask you to ask him what kind of women he likes. It was a slip-up really asking you that last question it wasn't like you would really know.

One day she was looking at her wardrobe when she asked you what his favorite color was. You did ask him that question before and quickly answered that his favorite color was red. After that, she took you to your friend's home while she was dressed in a pretty red outfit.

You didn't find out that Thoma and your mother started to date, you noticed something was odd between them at one point but you never really understood, maybe you didn't care, maybe you noticed but the focus was never there and you ended up forgetting about it at one point.

It was a few months then when your mother suddenly sat you down, at night when you already got ready for bed. Her eyes filled with concern as she asked you what you thought about her marrying again. You just tilted your head at her and slowly nod a bit hesitant because of the atmosphere. Her smile in relief was the last thing you remember that night as you gaze at the ceiling glowing star stickers excited that you finally have a dad, and not only that it was Thoma!

You greeted him with the biggest smile that next day, asking question after question about him and your mom’s relationship some he just skipped some he answered vaguely. You were a child after all no need to know all the details what Thoma wanted to know was your day, your childish thoughts and feelings he was more interested in them than your mother.

It was a month or so when you gasp at how pretty your mom looked in her pretty white wedding dress, with a flustered look on her face so genuinely happy and you were the flower girl! You were so excited to have a new family as you watch your mother and Thoma kiss on the stage as people cheered, you thought you cheered the loudest that day.

You didn't see Thoma’s gaze towards you too happy for your mom and having a family with a father, you can't hear his thoughts that you were in a way finally his, his little daughter than some kindergarten teacher that can't follow you to your future as you grow. He can be with you as you grow up and stay right by your side. Nobody can tell him off with his obsession towards you because he was your father, after all, a parental figure who worries about their little daughter. Really Thoma just can't calm his beating heart as he watched you cheer for him, as he thought about the future with you with him.

Your mornings were always fun, Thoma was the one who almost always made breakfast after he moved into your and your mom’s home. He was the one who now takes you to the kindergarten. 

You didn't realize it nor your mother too tired and too in love but Thoma was slowly taking more and more of your time.

Times when you watched your mom leave for work when it was the holidays your stepfather Thoma would always be there for you asking if you would like to bake with him or play board games with him. Your stepdad would always make you smile at the end of the day as you felt reassured in your heart that you would not be alone as he told you that he would always be there for you.

When your mother told you that she was too tired to talk and to play with your toys instead Thoma would be there asking you if you would like to play tea party with him, your teddy bear is a little lonely and would like to hang out with you after all. Your mom was always loving, but she does have moments when she is just so so tired that she didn't want anything to do with you that even smiling was hard, Thoma would be there to comfort you after he guided your mom to the bathroom for a long relaxing bath. Telling you that your mom had a rough day and that you could just hang out with him instead. 

You didn't realize it but you started to rely on Thoma more and more, your mother also didn't realize how attached you were to him happy that you have someone other than her that cared and adored you just as much if not more and would be there for you when she couldn’t.

You and your mom didn't see the glint in Thoma’s eyes, absolutely happy that you were slowly looking at him. The obsession that you were his daughter and that he could always be there for you never disappeared and instead grew stronger and stronger, it was unsettling how much he loved you and treasured you yet to others all they see was a father who spoiled their little princess. Nobody saw how he manipulated his words, words that were bittersweet yet poison to a young one, how could they? When they see how much fond love Thoma has towards you, to them it was just cute really.

But as time went Thoma became less and less satisfied with his life, wanting to hog all your attention even the attention you gave to your mother he wanted it all. Because no matter what he could do, he could not change the relationship between you and her.

He started to grow mildly annoyed when your mother would ask for his attention when she ask him to spend a little more time with her instead of you. She noticed how much time he spent with you her daughter yet gave no attention to her, his spouse. When he gave her so much in the past, where did it all go? Thoma grew even more annoyed at her off days when she could finally be with you and play together with you. Taking all his time from you that day, that you still loved your mother this much.

He thought about a life with you and without your mother, it was just you and him. How wonderful it would be, to be with you and to have your undivided attention than to share with your mom. Sure you would be sad to see your mother gone and feel a little abandoned but don't worry he would be with you all the way as he helped you heal any remaining scars that were left by your mom and after that, it would really just be you and him for real this time. And a friend was willing to help him this time make it happen.

You don't remember how it happened, you and your stepdad had headed out to the morning market and had just returned when you saw police cars in front of your home. It was confusing and concerning as you tightly gripped your stepdad’s hand in worry as to why police would come to your home as you already knew that your mom was out at work.

After that, it was almost a blur when you listened to your stepdad talk with the police as the policeman gave you a hesitant glance unsure to say it in front of you but in the end chose to do so, the shock in Thoma’s voice when the police told him that your mother was caught in a car accident and that she passed away as she was taken away to the hospital. 

You asked him what happened unable to comprehend what was really happening. But seeing how hesitant he was and how the pupils of his eyes and his hands shook he took you to another room for privacy, hugging you as if it was some sort of comfort when you wanted to know what was going on. 

You screamed your voice raw that day, as you cried and shouted at Thoma that no your mother would never leave you behind and that she loved you a lot. You screamed and pushed him away, you cried and slammed your tiny fist on his legs too short and angry that he would ever say that, that your mother left you when she loved you so much.

Thoma tucked you into bed after you finally fell asleep, too tired to stay awake any longer. It was a busy day for him for a few days, having to handle so many things, many would pity him for losing his wife after a short time together but many would also feel their blood turn cold at the smile Thoma had as he combed your hair with his hand. The soft whispers that he would always be there for you and that he would forever love and cherish you more than your mother ever had.

You were finally his and he was finally content.

Note: This is really old.... like months old written when I first started writing for Genshin which is almost a year now. But leaving it on drafts is a bit sad so I thought why not post it now.

[kevinsdsy]

I'm genuinely so in love with Kevin like.... conceptually??? as in, I find myself thinking about him so often and so constantly but it isn't in a "i wish he was real so we can date" it's more like "i wish you were real because you're great." if that makes sense?

I'm aware he's lowkey not ideal as a friend (he IS getting better, I'm his lawyer trust.) but I just notice these things that make me love him like how he takes what's given with gratitude, his subtle shows of worry, the trust he has in Jeremy and Jean both, the reliance on Andrew. I love the way that he gained confidence in himself and now is much more comfortable with his life, the way he embraces the title of "Queen" because he knows he's better than R*ko and AUGH I love he's a history nerd, it makes sense for him to enjoy looking at the past and learning from it... even the other day i went shopping for clothes and thought about what he'd look like in them 🧍 I sound crazy as fuck uhm.

oh PLEASE anon if you’re crazy we can be crazy together because i genuinely think about kevin ALL THE TIME!! i surprisingly dont talk as much about him on this blog as i expected i would if i ever became active but TRUST i’m always thinking about him.

like that man has gone through SO MUCH and i feel like people just forget to talk about it— but after all he’s gone through he remains soft (although it’s more hidden in his actions, because his words do not showcase it)

just in general i think he’s so very lovely and i’m quite literally SO obsessed with him it’s insane. like yk how we joke about the everlasting impact kevin has on the people around him?? YEAH I FEEL THAT TOO!!

[pianokantzart]

Reading your most recent post on Movie!Bowser… it does make me quite curious as to how they’ll handle Bowser and Mario’s fighting dynamic in the hypothetical second Mario movie. In terms of physical strength, I mean. Game!Mario is quite capable of taking down Bowser in his original form(as in, can physically take Bowser down without power-ups) but Mario more or less needed the aid of the star power-up to do so. The movie versions of M&L are definitely closer to normal humans in terms of fighting prowess, so it makes me wonder if they’ll try having Mario, and Luigi by proxy, fight in hand-to-hand combat with no power-ups with Bowser at some point?

Maybe that could be a plot point in the second movie? Bowser worms his way out and starts whichever villainous plot his evil little heart desires, and Mario and Luigi start off a journey of sorts to find another star power-up, believing it crucial in obtaining victory? But, unable to find it, they’re more or less thrown into the fray with their wits and only limited power-ups in tow? And thus sustain a significant amount more of injuries without their invincibility from the star? (And perhaps the fabled green mushroom makes its debut that way…) The movies could have an interesting juxtaposition with the first movie bros being inexperienced + power-upped vs. second movie bros being more experienced + ….not-so-power-upped lol. They sort’ve have to earn their hero titles more(though moreso in the eyes of themselves only. Mostly everyone around them is already like ‘Duh. Your heroes with or without them.’ But, alas, character arcs! Potentially!) Sorry, I’m kinda word vomiting, but day by day I grow ever more curious how the second movie could play out….

One thing I like about The Super Mario Bros. Movie is that it's pretty much just an origin story. There is so much room to expand between where the movie left off and the full Mario lore as we know it today, and I for one am interested in the process of Mario and Luigi going from "Haha! We're heroes!" to "Oh f*ck, we're heroes," to "Okay... we're heroes... we can do this."

Like, how would they react to the idea of facing off against Bowser again without a power star to help them? How will their dynamic shake out when they're bouncing from one life-or-death situation to another? How will they balance their protectiveness toward each other with their moral obligations? Where will the new stakes take them? What new powerup/ally/enemy will they encounter? But back to what you're saying. If Mario and Luigi don't use powerups– even small ones– in the fight against Bowser, I predict a combination of the following tactics will be employed:

Reliance on dexterity. Bowser has them beat in terms of speed, strength, and resilience, but being a giant turtle monster he isn't nearly as agile as Mario and Luigi.

Using Bowser's emotions against him. It's his most glaring weakness, so while prodding at his ego is risky it could also make his movements more predictable.

Using their surroundings to their advantage instead of relying strictly on their own physical ability, which is a pretty common thing to do in Mario games (and video games in general.)

Leaning heavily on teamwork, not just with each other but with Peach, Toad, and probably Yoshi given the post-credits teaser.

And maybe a certain green and white mushroom will need to come into play at some point? We'll see. My biggest fear is that the writers will nerf Bowser a little so that he's easier to take on without the aid of the super star, but I really hope that doesn't happen. Speedy, strong, ruthless, unwavering, tactical, durable Bowser with a fire breath powerful enough to destroy civilizations is my favorite Bowser.

[bidisaster-peanut-romano]

soo hi everyone!! i'm back on my bully essay/meta/something writing!! sort of. i did this.

anyways anyone who's been on this page for some time know how from time to time i have insistently mentioned the parallels between lola and peanut, right?

welp! that was a joke but the time has finally come!! a super-pretentious essay just for the fun of it!! (and also bc i haven't been writing actually argumentative texts in like months perhaps a year, so. yikes, i really need to practice again)

word count: 2.2k WOAH. IM SORRY

i, in my corner, with my monstrous needs. — susan sontag, as consciousness is harnessed to flesh

take this quote both as a title and an anticipation of what is to come. the essay will be distributed analyzing first the dependence of each of them on johnny, to then draw comparisons. i'll make sure to steer as away from headcanons as possible, sticking closely to the source text. obviously, some things' interpretation might be ambiguous, but, you know. your usual occupation hazard.

also, a disclaimer before we start: while they are psychologically complex and there is always a mimetic intention in developing them, these are fictional characters, and, as such, their primary function is to be vessels for different themes, questions and so forth. therefore, i will prioritize meaning and themes over moral implications and similar elements.

i. peanut

for how much i can adore talking about him, the way peanut depends on johnny is very much on the nose; worn on his sleeve, even. in 11:11 minutes of voice lines, he mentions johnny 30 times.

many interpret this as the caricature of a boy crush, but i have reasons to believe it is much less cute than that.

the problem is that, really, more than trying to identify specific situations... peanut seems to rely on johnny for a significant part of what he does. when he does good at dodgeball:

Look at me, Johnny, look at me!

almost like a child calling for his parent's attention to be praised. he calls johnny's name when he's going through hardships, when he's scared or when he's sad.

more than someone he just loves, johnny is a point of reference. whenever there's something going on, whenever he does or has to do something, his first thought goes to johnny; vice versa, what johnny asks of him is his priority.

I gotta tell Johnny! No time. I gotta see Johnny now. Gotta help Johnny. What can I do next to please Johnny? I mean Lola! I mean…

(this also goes in a "negative" direction, envy being the other side of the medal to adoration. especially because, in some way, this reliance on johnny might be felt by him as emasculating, and, being johnny his model of masculinity, adding it to the napoleon complex thing, it's not hard to guess why it can be so unpleasant. we can see this manifest through some of the things he expresses in regards to lola- not as much an interest he has towards her, but the interest he wishes to have from her- which are a bit more different than it might seem at a first glance. but this is a mouseketool we'll need later. still:

Last time I saw her, Lola made eyes at me, not Johnny!

do we really need this part? heh. i'm not sure, but it's always good to point out)

(also, just because, for the purpose of this analysis, it might be useful to specify: while these sentiments are very much implied in peanut's canon quotes, we have no evidence in canon in what measure they are reciprocated by johnny. the fandom has universally agreed that johnny also views peanut as his Best Friend In The World; while in some measure, they must be at least a bit close, i think it is even safe to say, given the caricaturist nature of bully's characterizations, that johnny holds peanut in less consideration that peanut deludes himself into believing. quoting another post of mine, the kids who show some level of obsession towards their leader mention him on average ten or less times (gord mentions derby eight times, parker six times, kirby mentions ted five times). the leaders don't usually make names at all, that much is true; however, peanut mentions johnny 30 times, and, even in front of this proportion, johnny mentions peanut 0 times. just to make that clear)

overall, what undeniably shines through his voice lines is a feeling of general inadequacy, whether about his height, or his strength in front of a bigger adversary. the audios in which he tries to show off range from being disingenuous, to straight up improbable.

crossing what we have until now said, it is not hard to come to the conclusion that he really tries to make up, to fill this empty feeling of inadequacy by taking pride in his role as johnny's second in command.

while i am a big fan of bully's characteristic of having left much content out of the main game, leaving the gamers to dig it up for themselves, i do believe that scrapping some of the stuff that was prepared for peanut is a loss. we have a number of voice lines coming from chapter 3, in which it was heavily implied how important peanut's role as johnny's right hand man was.

for example, much like... all other seconds in command, really, he was to be followed and then fought in the rumble, before you could get to johnny, with the specific duty to cover his back. even his very first scene, the opening cutscene of chapter 3, i believe, is not to be underestimated. most of the other people, as far as i recall, call you when they need it in person; johnny, however, sends peanut. making him, de facto, an extension of himself, almost.

again, you choose the motivation. what is important, from a narrative point of view, is that peanut clings to johnny through these acts of service, almost making it the foundation of his personhood.

basically, he makes it so that, if he can't be of help to johnny, his whole self is fundamentally annihilated, giving himself completely to johnny.

ii. lola

with lola, reading between the lines gets a bit more difficult; first of all, because lola is much less transparent than peanut, her insincerity being a supporting beam of the whole chapter 3. secondly, whether she was done dirty by the creators or not, it is undoubted that being the perspective that of a teenage boy (namely, jimmy, but we certainly, as viewers, are brought to sympathize more with johnny than with lola) with all the prejudices it can bring with itself.

however, it doesn't mean that there isn't anything to work with- quite the contrary, actually. the issue with lola is that there is a certain amount of layers to get through before gaining a satisfying perception of her as a character. still, we're here to try our best, aren't we!

even behind the muddiness of her intentions and the manipulation she shows herself a master at, it is clear from the second we first meet her that what she does is in function of johnny.

to get through this mess with order, we'll start from an easy, measurable numeric information: lola mentions johnny in her audio files 19 times. which, we're assessed, IS a considerable amount.

we have extensively talked about the way her cheating patterns are a strategy not to succumb to the passive role of the girl in the heteronormative, patriarchal prototypical couple (there's a post here breaking down a lot of this stuff, if any of you is interested!!), so, instead of this, i want to focus on what lies beneath that behavior.

ultimately, the whole point is that lola expects and wants johnny to fight for her. whether is it because she feels taken for granted, or just because he can't perceive it if not through grandiose gestures like the rumble- your interpretation will work; she wants to see johnny fighting nail and teeth not to lose her, she wants him to show her that he wants her.

she's all about that attention, and she knows exactly what and how to do to get it. and i think this is especially clear when you compare the moments in which she knows there's no advantage she could go for; when she has understood that jimmy won't fall for her manipulation, when algie and chad leave her unsatisfied, when norton openly accuses her and antagonizes her - she loses her temper, lets go of that sweetened and/or flirtatious voice tone, abandons that specific kind of gesturing. she doesn't care anymore about obtaining something. she was actually angry, and she was actually upset that johnny had disappeared.

in some of her audios, she references johnny with some amount of fondness, as well:

Johnny and I were on the best date ever.

(there is also a voice line in which she says "He told me he likes me because of my personality. Isn't that sweet?"; due to it being a general chatter and not exclusive to one chapter, i assume it is relatively safe to assume she is quoting johnny. however, as i said at the beginning, we're trying to stay as close to canon material as possible, so, do your thing- and i'm open to arguments!!)

a considerable amount of audio files, however (which will lead us to our final point) is about her... calling for help for johnny, or stating, confidently, that he will come save her, or avenge her later.

Someone get Johnny! Johnny's gonna get you for this. Johnny is gonna kill you!

but wait... i have some sense of déjà vu...

You're gonna be sorry when Johnny finds out!

iii. two faces of the same medal

if i had to pick an effective image for a metaphor, i'd say that the thing about lola and peanut is that they are both dogs looking for someone to take their leash; we’re talking here about an exclusive relationship with someone they can rely totally on, someone we’ll call the Other (with a capital o, distinguished from just other. yes it is unnecessarily complicated i’m sorry).

for what my professor would call accidents of history, it happened that both of them found that Other in johnny.

each of them attempts at creating an exclusive relationship with the Other, one foolproof and fundamentally… perfect. perfect in the way that everything works like oiled gears, in the way that every next move is predictable, in the way that any accident will not break the created equilibrium. (even if, in the general sense of the term, lola and johnny's relationship is everything but perfect, it is in the connotation that we have established here. lola is aware that, no matter what she does, johnny will come back around. hell, the very thing that she does is aimed at keeping that balance; specifically, keeping him a bit on the edge, pushing him into a corner where he has to actively make an effort to keep her close.)

they both hide something they are ashamed of, regulating not only their actions and reactions but their very way of existing in the world, in order to keep that gear working, in order to remain in johnny's hand. lola hides that craving for a genuine and stable affection, dissimulating it with the cheating and the fatuous physical demonstrations of closeness; peanut hides his sense of inadequacy and complex of inferiority, by being the tough and reliable second in command.

basically, what they mean to achieve is a sense of security, the safety of not really being the one to lead but, at the same time, finding a purpose, other than a shield from the outside world that they are not willing to concede themselves to. like a... symbiotic relationship?? i was going to say parasitic, but, yknow. the Other does get some advantages, which are, respectively, peanut's acts of service and lola's capacity to boost johnny's pride.

now, of course, johnny is not aware of either of their play. which makes it even better, since, as we already said, both of their approach to the relationship needs some degree of insincerity.

like, i don't deny that johnny might be a good friend, or a loyal one. but he is an oblivious, prideful fuck who can't see past his own nose; he's got a tendency to make it all about himself - which of course goes perfectly with what we said about both peanut and lola making the Other their center, taking up, in a certain way, a passive role in the relationship.

this way, both of them aim at creating with johnny a relationship that is, in a way, codependant and conditional, in which the do ut des (their respective "service" ↔ johnny's guarantee of stability) creates the foundation of the very relationship.

this, of course, brings up the problem of exclusivity; on which, however, i prefer not to delve into too much, as this would bring us to the topic of their antagonism which... isn't really what i wanted to go for, at least not here. (it would risk bringing us a bit too close to my subjective interpretation and too far away from the canon, which i PROMISED i wouldn't do. however, someday i might elaborate on that??? idk , please do lmk if someone's interested around here)

i will, however, show you a diagram (it looks like a triangle- i guess it is, but it is VERY important that it is a pyramid, with a top and a larger foundation) and a quote, to wrap this up bc i think it is already WAY too long and ramble-y lmao. let me know what you think anyway, my ask box is always open <3

it almost feels like a joke to play out a part when you are not the starring role in someone else's heart you know i'd rather walk alone (i'd rather walk alone) than play a supporting role if i can't get the starring role -- starring role, marina and the diamonds

[nothing-personal-posts]

"I'm The Crazy One?" (Batfam x Batsis) Final part

Summer: There is a saying. "Die a hero. Or live long enough to become the villain" You refuse to be both. No, you decided to be vengeance itself.

CW: Mental health issues, torture, stalking, violence, mentions of death, cursing, past trauma, mentions of self harm, underage drinking, bad ending

Tag list: @rosecentury @agent-nobody-knows

People call Superman, Batman and The Flash, hero's. While Joker, Luthor and Deathstroke are called, villains.

Rather simple to simple minded people.

But do you want to know the difference between these hero's and villains?

The Hero's have an unsaid code for no killing, a common moral honestly. Because thats not what heros do. Hero's protect, symbols for safety, peace and hope. So they take down the bad guys, and put them away.

While the Villains, they have no code, no morals. They simply want to control, spread chaos and dispare to whomever and whenever. They are killers. So when they are put away to prison or whatever, they brake out. And kill again, spread chaos and dispare to whomever and whenever, again.

And the hero's come to put them away. . . again.

It is a cycle, an unending loop that only stops for a second before starting up again.

But how do you end this cycle? This, usless and rather annoying cycle. Well, it's simple. Take down the Villains. Officially.

Now, some must be thinking. That the hero's can't do that, it was just mentioned that hero's don't kill!

Yes, the hero's can't kill. And simple minded people never really think of putting the Villain's to death due to the huge amount of reliance on the hero's.

So who has the guts to kill a villain, to willingly rid the world of a killer whilst becoming one themselves?

Luckly(and rather sadly), the answer to that question. Is Y/n.

A young girl who had suffered by Jokers schems. A young girl who prays for the night tarrors and panic attacks to stop.

A young girl who sees the man in her dreams, in the mirror, in the dark corner of her room at night. Hears the man's laugh when it gets far too quiet.

You wanted it to stop. To end it all. There were two options you had. End it yourself, or end it yourself.

You took the first option, which lead you to the top of a building. Half empty bottle of tequila you stole from the cellar and nearly dried blood staining your sleeves.

You stumble while aproching the edge. Humming and giggling at your scrambled thoughts.

Mumbling lyrics to a song you had forgotten the name of. None the matter, not like you needed the title of that name anytime soon.

You took one last gulp from the bottle in your hand, finally finishing it. You peeked over the edge.

"That. . . looks far." You hummed and dropped the empty bottle. Waiting till it crashed to the ground. Once you saw the bottle scatter into peices. You hummed and smiled drunkenly.

You stood on top of the edge. Spreading yoir arms open like a bird about to fly out of the nest. Before you even jumped.

You were tackled. Taken far away from the edge.

"Owwww! That hurt!" You pout and whined. You looked up to the person who had tackled you, and instantly smiled and started to giggle.

"Oh Du- ops. Bat signal! Hehe, you saved me~" You were about to say Duke's name. But reminded yourself that he was in his suit.

Duke took in your condition and frowns. He sighed and spoke "Batmans going to kill you." Duke can already hear Bruce's words of displeasure. God, Dick too.

You began to giggle "Silly~ Batman doesn't kill~" you started to giggle even more. Before slowly stopping ". . .batman doesn't kill. . . ."

"You know what I mean--" you blocked out Duke's words.

Because here, is where you relized that Batman- Bruce wouldn't kill Joker. Not for you. Not for anyone. Batman wouldn't permanently take down the one who had caused both you and Jason the worst event in your lives.

And it hurt you. Angered you. You weren't angry at Batman. Just angry that you relized no one could kill Joker. No one.

A few weeks of after that event. You were thinking. And thinking whilst in the condition you were in, wasn't really good.

You had decided to go for option two. End it yourself.

And to do that. You had to make sure that Bruce wouldn't be suspicious of you.

"I think. I need to go back to the mountins. . ." You gave Bruce a speach of how you know that you need help. Need to be alone with your thoughts and learn how to overcome them.

Bruce, of course agreed. He was proud that you made this decision yourself. And not having him painfully send you away unwillingly. You would of course had a tracker on you. Just in case.

You were saying your goodbyes. The last one being Damian. Whne you stopped at Damian. You couldn't help but to get emotional and hug him tight as you felt tears building up.

Damian was your little brother. Even with no blood relation, that is what you saw him as. You always wanted a younger sibling, the thought of spoiling them and protecting them was something you felt proud of.

And now, your leaving him. Knowing what your doing, you mostlikely will never see him after what you are going to do. Probably brake his small heart and trust after too.

But hey, this was for him. For all of them.

You got to the mountains. You took the tracking chip out of your arm and left it at the temple. Took out the tracking devices in your phone, cloths and other things you needed.

You were back in Gotham. And suprise suprise. The Joker was out of prison.

You sighed in disappointment. In your new suit, watching over the city. Knowing you cant act now. No, you had to wait. Watch, and gain the information you need.

So you watched.

Observed every criminal related to Joker. Every gang, every dirt cop every think that you could know about the Joker. You did this for half a month before finally taking action.

You were in the Joker's hideout. Hiding in the shadows. Eyes never wavering off from him. You wanted to do it now. Kill him. Make him suffer. But you couldn't do that. Not yet.

Just a few more hours. A few more hours till he leaves and is unguarded.

Once the Joker was away from anuone else, out of his safe zone. You striked.

You landed on the ground near him. The Joker turned to see someone who was in a suit and mask. He couldn't identify the age nor gender of the person.

The Joker laughed at you. Started up witty comments about how you must be someone who admires the Batman.

You walked closer, fully engulfed by the dark of the night and the shade of another building that blocked the street lamp.

The eyes of your masked glowed a neon purple. You tilt your head, a clicking sound coming from your ask.

Without warning, you grabbed the green haired man by his face and smashed his head against the brick wall.

You assalted the man for a good minute before dragging him by the hair to a dark corner.

The last thing the Joker remembers before knocking out, is your glowing eyes and that clicking sound.

Phase one was to observe and gain info. Check.

Now, phase two. Stalk the Joker and his every move and attack him when he's alone and defenseless. Continue to do this till he doesn't feel safe in places he's supposed to be, with people who he trust.

Unknown to you, phase two was working after showing up to Joker three other times, he's been seeing those glowing eyes in the shadows when you weren't even there.

And when it got too quite. He would hear that clicking sound. It was driving him more crazy then he usually was.

You had fun. Your not ashamed to say it, that you enjoyed watching him show sighns of suffering from afar. Hurting him in unexpected ways that made you smile.

There were times when you would unexpectedly run into your family. Batman tried to take you in, but you escaped. Giving him no words but a head tilt and the clicking sound you make.

It wasn't long till the media took wind of you. Your actions and swiftness reminded others of an owl. So they so cleverly called you "The Owl"

You decided, that youve had your fun. And it was time to end the loop.

So, for your last visit to dear old Joker, you attacked him in his hideout. No one was there. Just him.

So you tied him up, dressed him in his most classic clown clothes. Added a little flower in his chest pocket for decoration.

You circle around him, making those same clicking noises. Watched him replace his fear with weak chuckles and empty threats that turned to bribes them back to threats again.

He was a mess.

He watched as your suite suddenly popped out claws. You hummed and got closer to the man. The look he had on his face made you chuckle. And for the first time, he heard your voice.

"Why so serious?"

You laughed after saying those words. Because, it was something the Joker himself used to say.

You got closer to his face, lifting your claws to the each end of his lips.

"Come on now. Give me a big smile~" Your claws dig deep into his pale skin, slowly tracing the red paint that formed a smile and forcing his lips to go upward as well.

"Ah! Look at that. Such a dazzaling smile. . . now, let's keep that smile there."

You pulled out a big needle and thread thick enough to go through skin.

You took your time sewing up the smile so it could stay still. You hummed to a melody that just stayed in your head. Happyily sewing like you were patching up a doll, blood trickling sowing the man's face, mising with his sweat and tears

You leaned away and smiled under your mask.

"All done!" You made your hands clap rabidly in an excited and hyped gester.

Something wasn't right. The air in Gotham has been stilled. Like the big crimes and crimanals hace been put on a pause.

And Bruce noticed this quickly. And it has something to do with this: Owl, person.

They showed up out of nowhere. Beating some of the criminals half to death, and drag said crimanals so they could, 'play' with them. The only reason Bruce got this information was because of Selena.

She watched one of Owl's attacls go down. And it was brutal.

Even Damian, at school. All the kids talked about was 'the Owl' and how cool they were. Besides from that, Damian found out a few rumors.

How the Owl might be female. And how the Owl might be conected to the Joker going missing.

Yes, missing. The Joker hasn't been active ever since you came into his life. But the public doesn't really know your the reaon why Joker has been inactive. So the assumed he had gone missing.

But, most of the big bad guys in Gotham know. . .they know why. They had many reasons not to interfere.

And now, they will never even think of it.

It was all over the news.

Joker found dead on the outskirts of Gotham

The details, were probably too much for a lot to take in on the condition of Jokers body. Or what was left.

It wasn't long till Bruce and the others found out it was the Owl who had done it. And saddly for them, took less time to find the now poorly hidden identity of the Owl, for the Owl had finished their main goal. And no longer cared.

You were on a balcony in the Wayne manor. Thw last place the others would think to find you. But Bruce did. It seemed like he always knew.

Dick and Jason were right behin Bruce as the three watched you stare up into the sky.

"Y/n." Bruce spoke. Your lips curled into a smile.

"Batman. . ."

Bruce frowns in your response. "Did you do it." His voice firm. You frown. Was that seriously the first thing dear old pops say to you?

You began to chuckle out of frustration.

"Do what?" You turned around and gave them an innocent look.

"Kill Joker!" Jason shouted. Dick was there to hold Jason back just in case. You leaned on the railing and crossed your arms.

". . . You mad Jay? Don't worry. Made him suffer before killing him." Yeah, like that would make the man any happy.

You began to chuckle to yourself. "You guys wanna know something funny" yoir chuckling slowly ecalated to loud laughing.

"He called me-- he called me Crazy!"

The three watched your laughong combined with small sobbing. It was sad, and deeply discerning.

"I'm the crazy one? After all the shit IM CRAZY!?"

It seemed like everything was hitting you all at once. Falling to your knees. Your laughter being overtaken by crying.

Bruce sighed and went over to embrace you in a hug.

This had them thinking. Maybe they were too late. Maybe they never truly saved you that day. The you that they knew, had already died without them knowing.

[meowunmeow]

final scenes of chapter 218

also known as me nerding out

He's basically egging her on and trying to taunt her by naming her supposed weaknesses, it being her trust and reliance in others as well as her genuine care and concern for them.

And in her face, you can basically see her rage seething but at the same time there's a sense of calm like she knows she has the advantageous hand and we're only waiting to find out.

He represents this sense of giving in to a higher power, of submission, of accepting your fate and never do anything because why would you? You're powerless. Extra disadvantage if you're a negator. He's pessimism as a whole.

This is where the irony kicks in, as look! Who's stabbing him through the chest? The people he considered as useless and a waste of time on Fuuko's end. Despite this, he sees this as a mild annoyance and never bothered to fight back.

Love how her text bubbles are wavering but barely noticeable unless you look closer. Her words are strong, determined, but there is this undoubtable tone of uncertainty. But her words still hold truth.

Fuuko knows that Ruin being here means that the Master Rules are on their last leg. She knows it means they are desperate. Insult the Union as they want but there is fear to be gained in their number.

And her text bubble is finally stable. There's an absolute certainty in it.

There's an absolute certainty because of what kept her going all this time. Everything about her can change but the cap - the one that has been there since before this loop - is what stayed with her during her roaming years. This was what was with her and her partner all this time.

210 years of blood, sweat and tears that brings to this ultimate moment. A culmination of love and trust between partners. Something that even Ruin cannot ruin.

And of course he already lost his luck the moment he brushed off the Union's importance :))

also a title drop is literally so fucking raw.

[spaceorphanssecondbreakfastclub]

SO's Bookclub : Romancing Mister Bridgerton

Title: Romancing Mister Bridgerton Author: Julia Quinn Genre: Romance

Goodreads Summary :

Colin Bridgerton is tired of being thought nothing but an empty-headed charmer, tired of everyone's preoccupation with the notorious gossip columnist Lady Whistledown, who can't seem to publish an edition without mentioning him in the first paragraph. But when Colin returns to London from a trip abroad he discovers nothing in his life is quite the same - especially Penelope Featherington! The girl haunting his dreams. But when he discovers that Penelope has secrets of her own, this elusive bachelor must decide...is she his biggest threat - or his promise of a happy ending?

Review :

I think this review is a little hard to write when one is so close to the characters to begin with. And coming at it from someone who enjoyed the adaptation, it feels... awkward? bittersweet? possibly disappointing?

So. I knew going in, because I had heard a lot about it, that this book (and to some extent all the Bridgerton books) are exactly what they are. Your average, paperback bodice ripper meant to occupy the romance fan for a few hours then you go on your way. Julia Quinn was not writing War and Peace, nor was she trying to. She just wanted to write a fun, little romance. And, I guess, that is what she did.

There is a skeleton of a story that really works for me. I loved the build up to the romance -- I like slow burn. I like friends to lovers. I like when characters actually enjoy each other's company from the onset. And hey, there are secret identities, that's always fun. And the beginning of this novel and its set up, works relatively well. But somewhere around the middle, it kind of gets muddled, and starts to be a victim to Quinn's writing style and the reliance on a romance formula that's been used for all the earlier books, and it starts to not resemble what really draws me into romance stories.

Penelope Featherington is a great character. And she's been set up for four books now -- her awkwardness, her longing, her invisibility to society... It feels epic in a lot of ways because the prior books did spend so much time peppering in little bits about her. We did have time to fall in love with her -- and with Colin. And it's just holding onto your breath that she gets the payoff she deserves.

But the problem.... there are multiple issues with the book, but the main one is that Colin isn't romantic. And, I mean, don't get me wrong. I was warned. I was prepared for this. I had been told by many sources that this was the case, and I went into it with very low expectations. So when he began acting like an angry asshat, I can't say I was surprised. But I think I still felt some disappointment.

Because you do want Penelope to have this happy ending. And you do want Colin to just be beside himself when he understands how much he loves her. And... it always feels so forced. I just never buy it the way I want to buy it. And, part of it is because once they do (sorta) get together -- Colin is always angry or moody or snapping at her, and he suddenly doesn't feel like the Colin we all loved at the beginning. And I'm not even talking about the show -- I'm talking about the fun Colin we loved from the previous books. And by the end he feels bland. And their romance feels... bland?

And I just... wanted more? But I knew what I was getting myself into.

There are elements that I did like. Penelope's relationships with Lady Danbury, Violet, Eloise, Hyacinth, her sister (omitted from the show) Felicity, and even Anthony and Kate are really fun.

The Lady Whistledown stuff was... a little anticlimactic, but with the exception of the ending, wasn't all that bad.

And there were moments between Pen and Colin that I really did enjoy. Most of them in the front half of the book, but when they finally work their issues out and start writing together, that was nice, too. There were times when the characters resembled the characters I've grown to really love. And then there were times when it really felt like I was in an average, historical, bodice ripping, romance novel.

Oh. I guess I should add. The actual romance scenes... are fine. They aren't ridiculous weird (except the part where she mentions Eloise's hair when raking her hand through Colin's). But they aren't anything to write home about. They're fine.

I don't know. It's hard to articulate that the entire novel felt like it was missing something. But what that something is, it's hard to pinpoint. Because I'm not really sure. Maybe I wanted to just have more fun with it? I just don't know.

Rating : It's hard to actually rate this. Do I think the Viscount Who Loved me was the better book? Probably. But this one (so far) is the only one I'll probably pick up again. Probably 3.75 stars. It's not at all trash. But it could have been so much more...