#in despair how will i ever function from now on

[baeshijima]

it's you

despite everything,

it's still you

[vaguely-concerned]

To the ‘themes I am picking up on in Veilguard’ list, let's go ahead and add what I have a sneaking suspicion will actually turn out to be The theme:

— the world has changed and can never be as it was again.

— I have been changed and can never be who I was again.

— in this simple unavoidable truth there is endless grief and endless hope.

And I… may be getting a bit emotional about it haha. Let me show my work a bit: 

if da:o is a game about people who are already dead or half ghosts in some form (through societal forces, psychologically, functionally, literally, in body, through the joining etc.) coming together anyway to save the world from being swallowed by total nihilism and despair (symbolized by the blight) through the power of love and friendship and also this sword/potential heroic sacrifice that I found, da2 is a game about people who have lost their homes and been set adrift finding and building new homes in each other (while completely failing to save the world. also through the power of love and friendship. as well as years of petty bickering <3 we must imagine kirkwall if not happy then worth having been because the love was there the love was there and that's the only sanctifying force we can ever have in this doomed world and city of ours), and da:i is a game about old stabilizing-but-unjust comfortable lies vs. disruptive but potentially liberating uncomfortable truths, and the power of friendship to help us distinguish the one from the other and navigate through them...

folks… I'm starting to think that veilguard might be a game specifically about moving towards recovery and acceptance after trauma — about how even in this flawed, severed, scarred state, what is here right now is worth loving and worth caring for. even in an imperfect and impermanent world and self, there is worth and joy. and of course the first real tragedy — and threat — of Solas is that he just cannot find it in himself to accept this and move on, to let go of what was, the regret won’t let him go or he won’t let go of it. which means that even though on the surface it’s Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain (and the will to subjugate and violate they represent) who are the main villains, the real antagonistic force in this story beneath that is the Dread Wolf’s despair. A despair Rook must make an answer to by the end of the game, one way or another, compassionately or with righteous fury, triumphant or pyrrhic.

The world will change again and again and so will you — BUT the crucial element is that so will everyone else who exists along with you, you are fundamentally not alone in this existential truth. all we’ll ever have is each other and my god that is plenty, my god that is enough!!! Which is the second thing Solas just can’t accept, he keeps himself separate and completely alone out of an awful mix of fear and pride and feeling himself unworthy of anything else. Rook and the player want to save the world of Thedas because it’s where everyone we love lives, Solas wants to go back to the past because that’s the only neighbourhood where he can still visit those he loved — and the person he himself was, before. A very sympathetic and human instinct/trap to fall into when touched by trauma, I think, if only it wasn’t backed by godlike power, a fundamentally oppositional personality, and a catastrophic lack of therapy to make it literally everyone else’s problem too lol. It’s varric and solas’ banter about the man on the island and where meaning in a life comes from all over again, writ large and with detail work — and the added idea of ‘what if there are also other islands out there, though. With other people on them that you could find if you reach for each other’. Rook with the best of intentions has to make choices to which there are no perfect outcomes and live with what happens — and not cut themselves off from everyone else around them even when there is regret or shame. You get back up every day and you make a life with other people doing the same and you do your best, and that’s the only victory this world will give you. In the end, that is more than enough, that is essential. And I um. I love that. So much. It’s why some of the writing clumsiness on top can’t hurt me because this thematic spine is so solid and so beautiful to me. It’s DA2 all over again that way for me personally — I forgive this story for what it isn’t and couldn’t be, and I love it with my whole stupid open heart for what it actually is. Thank you for coming to my TED-talk and goodbye etc.      

(For my fellow TLT heads out there — you know what this story is reminding me of most of all, actually? It has some big Nona the Ninth vibes down there in the deep. It’s about… the horror and unspeakable beauty that can only be found in liminality, and the role of love in making that basic fact of existence bearable. And also even more unbearable at the same time. I'm so sorry.)

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (part two)

(part one)

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there in silence, waiting. It’s making him insane. The seconds pass too slow; the seconds pass too fast. His mind is a storm; his mind is empty. He’s feeling too much; he’s not feeling at all. He paces the room; he sits catatonically against a wall. He needs to get out of here; he needs to stay. 

He’s been here before, just barely over a week ago, tense and anxious and despairing and waiting for news. But waiting to hear if Eddie will ever remember him again really should not feel this much worse than waiting to hear if Eddie will ever fucking breathe again. Steve thinks there must be something wrong with him. He’s being selfish and stupid. His pathological fucking need to be loved is not what’s important right now. Eddie is alive and awake and okay and that’s the only thing that really matters. That’s the only thing he should really care about.

Steve’s pacing again now, yanking his hands through his hair as he does laps around the room until Eddie finally appears in the doorway. 

Eddie must’ve just cracked a joke or something because the nurse is laughing as she pushes his bed into the room and he’s got this adorable grin on his face. Steve’s heart twists in his chest and he nearly bursts into tears all over again because god does he want nothing more than to press a kiss to those dimpled cheeks. 

“Good news, boys,” Eddie announces. “My brain is fully intact.”

“There’s no physical permanent damage to his brain,” the nurse elaborates. “His amnesia is likely a result of psychological trauma and the temporary disruption of brain function from blood loss and lack of oxygen that occurred at the time of his injury. But there is no obvious reason why he shouldn’t regain his full memory, given time.” 

So there’s hope. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. 

“That is good news,” Wayne agrees. 

Steve asks, “How much time?” 

The nurse gives an unhelpful shrug. “Impossible to say. It could be anywhere from days to months, or even years. I’m sorry, there’s no way for us to know.” 

Years. “Okay.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He can keep it together. He can. “Thanks,” he tells the nurse. “I, uh-” He makes the mistake of looking at Eddie who looks right through him, and Steve can’t keep it together anymore actually. “I gotta update the kids,” he mutters, backing his way towards the door. Wayne nods in acknowledgment; no protests this time at Steve’s excuse to leave.

“See ya, Harrington,” Eddie calls after him, casual, impersonal, like they're nothing more than acquaintances passing by each other in a high school hallway.  

Steve can’t get out of that hospital fast enough. 

He makes it to his car in record time, slamming the door shut and sinking heavily into the driver’s seat. A ragged sob tries to claw its way up his throat now that he’s finally alone, but he forces it back, staving off his breakdown for just a little bit longer. As much as it was an excuse, he really does have to update the kids. 

Steve fishes his walkie out of the glove box. “Code - whatever, I don’t know. Code Eddie,” he says. He doesn’t remember the kids’ system of codes, nor would he be sure which one this news falls under even if he did. 

“Is he okay? Is he awake?” comes an immediate, eager response from Dustin. “Over.” 

“Yeah, he’s awake, and he’s fine, except he’s got pretty bad amnesia. The doctors say it should be temporary, but right now he doesn’t remember anything since May of ‘85,” Steve explains, trying his best to keep his voice even.

“Steve, come pick me up and take me to see him,” Dustin demands, “right now. Over.” 

“Me too. Over,” Mike chimes in before Steve can respond. 

“And us,” Erica adds as well. 

Steve pauses for a second, both to steady his own breath and to make sure no one else wants to jump in on this too, before he reminds them, “He won’t know you, any of you.” 

“I don’t care,” Dustin says, bossy as ever. “Just come get me. Over.” 

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Steve mutters to himself. He sucks in another breath; it wobbles dangerously. He’s just about reached his limit on how long he can keep himself from falling apart. “I- I need a minute, alright?” he manages through the walkie. “Can you just give me, like, an hour? And then I’ll take you guys to visit Eddie.” 

Steve doesn’t wait for a response before he slams the antenna closed, tosses the walkie aside, and finally, finally lets himself shatter. That sob rips free from his throat, followed by another and another and another. Tears flood from his eyes; his nose runs. It’s an ugly, gross, visceral cry that leaves him exhausted and raw and aching to be held by the time the last sob shudders out of him. Drained and hollow, he craves the embrace of someone who knows him, someone who loves him. 

He sweeps up his broken pieces, wipes the mess of tears and snot off his face, and drives to Robin’s house.

“Steve, oh my god.” Robin pulls him into a hug the second she opens the door and sees the look on his face. Steve clings to her. “What happened?” 

“Eddie’s awake,” he mutters dismally. 

“Oh! Not the tone I’d expect you to deliver that news in, but okay.” Robin pulls back, looking at him with narrow-eyed concern and confusion as she analyzes his puffy eyes and red nose and swollen lips. “And you look like you’ve just been crying because…?”

“Because he doesn’t remember me, Rob,” Steve sighs. “He doesn’t remember anything from the past 11 months.” 

Robin’s eyes go wide now. “Shit,” she says, so plainly it startles a short laugh out of Steve. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Shit.” 

She asks him more questions as she walks down the hallway so they can talk in her room. Steve once again reiterates what was said at the hospital. 

“So you didn’t tell him you two were a thing?” Robin asks, closing her door behind them. 

“Of course I didn’t.” Steve flops back onto her bed. “I didn’t want to spook him.” 

She sits beside him. “You didn’t want to spook him,” she repeats, looking down at him with raised eyebrows, “but you told him about Vecna.” 

“Well, yeah. I just-” He lifts his arms to gesture vaguely into the air as he tries to explain himself. “I mean, imagine how you would feel if you woke up in a hospital and some random guy you’ve spoken to maybe twice was by your bedside telling you you’ve been in a relationship with him for the past 9 months.” 

“Uh, I don’t know, dingus, probably about the same as I’d feel if said guy told me I’d nearly died fighting some evil twisted creature from a hell dimension,” Robin retorts.

Steve drops his hands onto his chest with a huff, shaking his head. “No, trust me. He seemed far less surprised by that than he did to hear that we were even just friends,” he says, a bit bitterly. Tears are pricking at his eyes again as he looks up at his best friend. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me, Robin. All he saw was King Steve.”

Robin softens, snark replaced with sympathy. “That sucks, Steve. I’m so sorry.” 

Steve sighs in agreement that yes this really fucking sucks. He sits up and scoots back so that he’s slumped against the wall, hitting the back of his head against it. “I think I’m a horrible person,” he admits, just venting now, “because of course I’m glad Eddie’s alive and all I really want is for him to be okay, and I know the nurse said he should remember eventually, but there’s still some sick part of me that thinks maybe it would’ve hurt less if he had just died.”

“I don’t think that makes you a horrible person,” Robin assures him as she settles next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “I think you’re just grieving, and grief is weird sometimes.”

“It was one of the worst things I’ve ever felt,” he mutters, “when he looked at me without recognition. To see it on his face, just the- the absence of everything that we’d built. I’ve never felt so- so- I don’t know, it was like I couldn’t breathe. He just- he doesn’t know that I love him. He…he doesn’t know that he loved me...” 

Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? It’s not that he’s lost someone that he loves, it’s that he’s lost someone who loves him. Because Eddie’s not gone, just his love for Steve is, and that’s what’s tearing him apart. It’s the fact that there’s one less person in the world who loves him. It’s the fact that Steve’s got this big gaping hole inside of him that’s always made him so desperate to be loved, liked, wanted, needed; and his biggest fucking fear is becoming obsolete. He could probably trace it back to his parents, the first to forget him, the first to stop loving him, but the fact remains that now Eddie has fulfilled that fear too. Now Eddie has carved that pit a little deeper, a little darker, validating the voice that whispers within it and tells Steve that he is forgettable, unlovable, so easy to abandon and erase. 

“Well, I love you,” Robin tells him, like she can read his mind (which, at this point, she probably can). She slides an arm around his shoulders, hugs him close. “And I’m not going anywhere.” 

Fragile as he is right now, Steve falls apart again in her arms, and she holds him together. Because she knows him, because she loves him.

It’s a quieter cry this time, soft and sniffly. Whereas the last one wracked through his body and left him fatigued, this one flows from him almost gently, and when his tears finally subside and he lifts his head from where it had been buried in his friend’s shoulder, Steve actually feels a little bit better, a little bit stronger. Which is good, because he’s gonna have to face Eddie again soon. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly as he pulls away from Robin, wiping at his eyes and glancing at the clock on her nightstand. It’s definitely been an hour by now, probably more. He stands. “I have to go, I promised the kids I’d take them to see Eddie.” 

“Then I’m coming too.” Robin stands with him. “For moral support.” 

Steve gives her a grateful smile. “I love you so fucking much, you know that?” 

“Yeah.” She grins at him. “I know.” 

~ 

The nurses have changed his bandages and upped his morphine, so Eddie’s considerably hazy now but at least he can raise his headrest and prop himself up a bit without nearly blacking out from pain. He’s boredly flicking through channels on the shitty TV in front of him, alone since Wayne had to leave for work, when Harrington returns followed by a very unexpected group consisting of Robin Buckley and four strange children. 

“Sorry,” Harrington announces their presence with an apologetic shrug, “I know you don’t know them anymore, but they insisted.” 

“Eddie!” a pudgy, curly-haired kid shouts before Eddie can even react, coming barrelling towards him and trying to hug him. 

“Ow!” Eddie yelps, pain flaring even through the extra morphine. “Fucking Christ, kid! Be careful!” 

The kid jumps back immediately, eyes wide. “Shit. Sorry.” 

“S’fine,” Eddie grumbles.

The kid looks at him expectantly for a moment before seeming to realize, “Oh, right, you don’t remember me. I’m Dustin.” 

“Ah, so you’re the guy I sacrificed myself for,” Eddie mutters, and Dustin looks a little sheepish. That means these must be ‘the kids’ Harrington had been talking about earlier. He surveys the group for a second. “Actually, I think we have met before,” he tells Dustin. “And you too.” He glances at a pale, dark-haired kid. The other two - a Black boy with a flat-top and a younger Black girl - look less familiar, though. “There was this, uh, open day thing at the high school for next year’s incoming freshmen; I talked to you about Hellfire.”

“Yeah!” Dustin’s whole face lights up, so bright and infectious it makes Eddie grin too. “Yeah, you did!” 

“So you guys joined the club, then?” 

This sparks a very animated conversation about D&D, the rest of the kids (Mike, Lucas, and Erica, as they soon reintroduce themselves) gathering around his bed now too to join in. It makes him feel a bit more like himself again, familiar, normal. Except, of course, for the fact that they’re not only talking about how they defeated Vecna in Eddie’s “totally epic” and “sadistic” campaign (adjectives courtesy of Dustin and Mike respectively), but also filling in more pieces of the story of how they defeated him in real life too. Still, it’s nice, fun. He totally understands how he could’ve gotten attached to these kids.

At some point, Eddie glances over to find Harrington hanging back and just watching them talk, fondly, wistfully. Robin whispers something to him and he sort of smiles, just a trace, and whispers something back. They seem close, intimate. Eddie wonders if they’re dating, and then he wonders why that thought makes him feel a bit sick. He waves them over. Harrington looks like he’s about to protest, but Robin gives him a Look and he allows her to grab his hand and drag him to join the crowd around Eddie’s bed. 

“So, what’s your deal, Buckley?” Eddie asks her. He doesn’t know her very well, they’ve only crossed paths a few times in the bandroom, but right now that makes her the most familiar person in the room to him. “Are you and Harrington a thing now? Is that how you’re involved in all this?” 

Robin wrinkles her nose and drops Harrington’s hand. “Ew, no. Definitely not.” 

“She’s my best friend,” Harrington says. 

Eddie snorts, doesn’t know why he finds that so comical. (He’s starting to get tired and it’s making him loopy. Or maybe it’s just the morphine.) “You've got a funny choice of friends nowadays, don’t you? Me and band geek Buckley and a bunch of nerdy freshmen.” He looks at Harrington with incredulous amusement. “Who would've thought, huh? Steve Harrington, collector of geeks and freaks.” 

Harrington doesn’t seem to find it as funny. He shrugs. “Yeah, well, it’s better than King Steve, collector of asshole bullies and shallow one-night stands.” 

“Yeah, ‘course it is,” Eddie agrees through another huff of laughter that breaks off into a yawn. “Didn’t mean it as a bad thing, Stevie. Was a compliment.” 

“Alright.” The barest hint of a smile flickers across Harrington’s face now, but then he’s looking away and corralling the kids and saying, “We should head out, let you get some rest.” 

And Eddie kind of wishes he’d stay.

(part three!)

taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy (only tagged people who explicitly asked to be tagged; if you would like to be added or removed from this list please lmk!)

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - The grace to accept the BL we are given

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Feb 2025 Week 3

Ongoing Series - Thai

ThamePo (Fri YT) ep 11 of 13 - oh noes. classic ep 11 break up. Doom! Despair!  Only in this show it’s all very genteel and soft. I suspect a separation is in order.

The Boy Next World (Sun IQIYI) ep 7 of 10 - It wouldn’t be a Mame show if somebody wasn’t a chronic liar and another someone refused to take no for an answer. Let the red flagging commence. I gotta say, without the actual parallel world (?) the mind reading kid doesn’t make sense anymore. OMG Tong is playing original Thorn again. Gosh its been ages. Do we really want a TT flashback tho?

Also now I am distracted by wanting Thorn to get a romance, only not written by Mame.

Perfect 10 Liners (Sun YT) ep 17 of 24 - Yes. I love them. This couple. These are them for me! Fai is my favorite broken sunshine. I cannot wait to see how this romance progresses.

Flirt Milk (Sat YT) ep 5 or 10 - I actually really love the side couple. I could not give a wet rat's arse about the mains. Lovely to see Tenon turn up, no matter how briefly (and sadly covered in clothes). 

Ossan‘s Love Thailand (Mon YouTube) ep 7 of 12 - EarthMix give cute BF. But then EarthMix always have given good boyfriend. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

When it Rains it Pours (Japan Thurs Gaga) fin - This had a solid little ending, and I wasn’t sure they were gonna stick the landing. But they did. Certain other pre-existing relationships did not end in a satisfying way, but for our lead couple, we got closure.

I really enjoyed this show, not despite it's darkness but because of it. Certainly cheating and escaping dysfunctional LTRs is dark subject matter and not for everyone (frankly it usually isn’t for me) but this was Japan at its BL best, and they handled it with consummate (if stiff) elegance. In the end this was actually a lovely little narrative about finding your person despite being held in stasis by the wrong one already. And while I’m not sure this will get many re-watches from me, but I still appreciate this BL for the unique voice and storyline that it added to the general BL zeitgeist. 9/10

FC Soldout (Korea Thurs iQIYI) eps 5-6 of 8 - The most amazing thing about this show is how little actual football is being played... ever. At all. I love a sports romance, and we get them so rarely in BL. I wish there were more sports. And more romance, for that matter. Although this installment was a bit of an improvement in the love arena. I am living for the side couple. Captain Oblivious should’ve known what he was doing when he called his pretty boy "pretty." Left himself wide open. (Sports pun intended.) And I do love our new 11th hour pretty boy as well. He v fine.

Eternal Butler (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 10 of 12 - oh good, a bit of a fight scene. Confession time! I guess the Ever models are all fully functional? Also yay verse!!! I kinda miss Ever 4's sexy glasses. 

Heart Stain (Korea Weds IQIYI) eps 5-6 of 8 - I’m still liking this quite a bit. The teen angst of a love triangle notwithstanding. The drama over previous relationships too. Admittedly, I could get pretty much all of this but 1000x better with Light On Me but that aired a while ago, and I'm disposed to be pleased that we get any new KBL at all right now. All that said, I do generally prefer KBLs set in the adult sphere.

Checkered Shirt (Korea YT) ep 3 of 8 - now I'm back to liking this. The leads have good chemistry and it’s fun when they’re just kind of in conversation with each other, even if it’s awkward. Plus there was some linguistic negotiation, always makes me happy. Also cute kisses! 

Fight for Love (Vietnam YT) ep 3 - honestly not the best idea to make a pass at a boy right after he’s discovered his boyfriend cheating.

Impression of Youth (Taiwan Weds Viki) eps 7 of 9 - I just wish this were better. But unfortunately we have to accept the BL we are given. especially from Taiwan

Exclusive Love (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 3 of 12 - I’d be confused too if a dude was clearly in love with me and just kept denying it. This remains an extremely odd show with random murderers and flautists popping in out of nowhere. It's a bummer because the chemistry is good all round, I just wish there as a story or something.  

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 20 end? - if that is the last episode it was a pretty ghastly last ep. I’ll give you a summary review next week if no ep 21 drops. Ooof.

It's airing but......

Gelboys (Thai Weds iQIYI) ep 1 of 7 - I’m immediately terrified by the fact that he’s carrying a guitar around. It’s slow with that dirty gritty high school authenticity thing from OG Love Sick. Which is not my favorite style of any show, let alone BL. I always get Kids PTSD. I think I’m gonna give this show a pass. It’s just too far out of my wheelhouse. I don’t have patience for this right now.

Slashes and Hearts (Pinoy YT) - the Philippines is doing Drop Dead Gorgeous only all gay boys queening their little asses off. Nobody has any chemistry with anybody else, so I have no idea where this is going (ore meant to go). I’m not mad about it. (Well I was a little upset by the terrible dance number. ) But I’m not gonna report on it in the weeklies, either.

The Last Time (Thai WeTV) trailer - from 2024, not sure about this one, looks dark. Since it's also difficult for me to get hold of I am giving it a pass until I know about the ending.

In Case You Missed it

Among others, My Ride is leaving Gaga soon, if you haven't watched it you should do so before it gone.

Thai BL grew up with this pulp (the first ever to make my end of year top 10). It’s a truly lovely and special little show featuring the extremely rare pairing of sunshine/sunshine (AKA a cinnamon roll couple) plus mature explorations of relationships using one of the softest, sweetest and most innocent friends to lovers vehicles. Kindly, overworked doctor meets broken-hearted motorcycle taxi driver in an “other side of the tracks” slow burn romance. The support cast is excellent, making for great friendship groups and family dynamics (elder gays!). With honest queer rep that adds to, but doesn’t impede, the story, and genuine conversation about the nature of class, wealth, and classism, not to mention communication, honesty, and respect for boundaries, you can’t go wrong with this show.

End of 2024 wraps are here:

2024 Trend Report

MY BEST & WORST BLs of 2024

Best Kisses (and sex scenes) of 2024

BL's 2024 Quirky Awards

2024 Awards - Quick Picks

Next Week Looks Like This:

2/27 Secret Relationships (Korea iQIYI) - Stars Wei's Kim Jun Seo. Adapted by Cradle Studio (Kakao). About clever and resourceful Daon who has worked hard to overcome being poor. His cheap ways annoy his coworker, Sunghyeon but after “an incident” with his parents, Daon grows closer to him. But Daon also has feelings for his former tutor. This has the signs of a classic Kdrama all over it: Office setting, love triangle, lead suffering for his self-actualization. I’m optimistic about a longer treatment.

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Got nothing. Wasn't a memorable week.

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

[shmisky]

Better world ford meet Reverse portal dtanley

Oh, boy, that would be something!

For anyone reading this, you might want to check out this first, or you won’t understand!

Ok, so. Moving on. I think that Better World Ford can be interpreted in two ways: 1) the one in which he’s devastated by the loss of his brother, but still functional and clinging to the morals he does have, and 2) the more dramatic and darker one in which he’s a bit... cray cray, as Mabel would say, driven mad by grief and potentially overprotective and possessive over any Stan he’d happen to find. From my profound fanfic knowledge, I think most people (not just shippers but the fandom in general) would prefer the second option, hahah. I will try to answer what would happen in both of these scenarios!

Let’s think of reverse portal!Stan first. I assume you can only mean a Stan who went through the portal instead of Ford. I’ve talked about this possibility before, here, and to shorten things: I don’t think Ford would ever genuinely value the “greater good” over Stan. He didn’t in Weirdmaggedon, when he was ready to offer the entire universe in exchange for the lives of three people (Stan, Mabel, and Dipper), and he wouldn’t back then, either, when he had much less discipline and control than old man!Ford. But Ford is a complicated little guy, isn’t he. So there are a number of reasons why he could, hypothetically, decide to not rescue Stan. 1) He assumes Stan is dead, 2) he somehow manages to gaslight himself for a while into believing he values the greater good over Stan (only to regret it bitterly, because that isn’t who he is at his core), or 3) someone (Bill or Fiddleford the Cult Leader) purposefully or accidentally messes things up for him.

Personally, I think the first option is the most likely one. Despite his admirable determination, Ford can be a pretty fatalistic, pessimistic man. When Stan lost his memories, he did indeed believe Stan was lost to him completely, and would have continued to think so, if Mabel hadn’t attempted to resurrect the old Stan through her scrapbook. “I’m sorry. Stan is gone,” he told his desperate grandniece.

Not just that, but there’s a very juicy reason (to me) why Ford would believe so: Bill. Bill, who knows exactly how much Stan matters to Ford. Bill, who already tried to hurt Stan to get to Ford once, in TBoB. (And who turned everyone into tapestry in Weirdmaggedon but spared Stan and the kids to use them against Ford! We have a pattern here!) Ford would sink into despair thinking of all the things Bill could have done to his brother before killing him. I think Bill could go and put more wood to the fire by appearing to Ford and making something up on the spot to brag about, about how Stan screamed and begged for mercy and died thinking Ford hated him. Ford would then assume Stan was really and truly dead, because if he were alive, then surely Bill would make an attempt to blackmail him, to convince Ford to fix the portal to get his twin back. The fact Bill isn’t doing that is proof enough. The possibility that Stan just managed to escape Bill and is still evading capture wouldn’t even cross his mind.

But while this Ford would be utterly devastated with the burden of having killed his brother, Portal!Stan would not know this. No, he would assume Ford decided it wasn’t worth it, to fix the portal and get him back. That he wasn’t worth it to Ford. He could easily be led to think that his relationship with Ford was now wrecked beyond repair. He’d feel like something he never noticed he still had (hope that Ford loved him deep down) was being taken away from him.

Most people, when they think of Portal!Stan think of... well, our canon Portal!Ford, but make it Stan instead. Same thing! But—I’m realizing only as I’m writing this—I don’t think Portal!Stan would be exactly the same thing as Portal!Ford. Ford is, surprisingly, more hardcore in his violence than Stan! There are many moments in the show that highlight this, but I’ll try to be somewhat brief.

Think about it: both of the Stans had their years running from the law. Stan was banned from US states, while Ford managed to make himself an outlaw in many dimensions. A state is inside a country that is inside a continent that is inside a planet that is inside a solar system that is inside a galaxy that is inside an universe that is inside a dimension, and somehow Ford want us to believe he was “just as wanted” as Stanley! Uh huh! Ford managed, somehow, to be known across the multiverse as “armed and dangerous,” even in his younger days, while he still had brown hair (which is what his Wanted poster in J3 says in code, btw!) The aliens were afraid of our guy! Mullet!Stan meanwhile, homeless and presumably struggling to survive just as Ford was, didn’t seem to have a similar (in)fame. We can see his own Wanted poster in his box of memorabilia in Not What He Seems, but they merely list his conman-typical crimes. Don’t get me wrong, he would end up very different from our canon Stan nonetheless. I think he would be just as hard to catch as Ford (Bill would be after him as well, for sure), and perhaps even develop a sense of revenge against Bill for hurting his brother if he put two and two together and Bill appeared in his dreams to brag. He just wouldn’t have the same vibes, imo, and would perhaps rely on different skills, such as his silver tongue and ability for lying and understanding people, instead of making himself known interdimensionally as a dangerous threat like Ford. Bill would repeatedly warn bounty hunters about not underestimating him, but somehow they always would, and Stan would always escape.

Now, now. Finally, let’s talk about Better World!Ford! I said there are two versions of him you could imagine, the more reasonable one and the cray cray one, but no matter the version, he’d be mourning his Stan deeply, like half of himself had died.

Let’s assign some names for them so we don’t get lost, first 😭

BW!Ford = Better World!Ford

BW!Stan = Better World!Stan

RP!Stan = Reverse Portal!Stan

RP!Ford = Reverse Portal!Ford

Moving on again.

I picture RP!Stan visiting the Better World dimension for some reason and BW!Ford immediately wanting him to fill the emptiness caused by BW!Stan’s death. I can’t see BW!Ford not being overprotective of RP!Stan, considering he’d be 1) traumatized about losing BW!Stan and 2) terrified of what Bill could do to RP!Stan. Because again, Bill knows how much any Ford, of any dimension, loves his Stan. Bill could try and use Stan to hurt him! (Which would be, in fact, exactly what Bill was trying and failing to do for so many years, hahah.)

RP!Stan would be shocked by BW!Ford’s transparent and overwhelming love for him. Didn’t every Ford Pines despise Stan Pines? Perhaps BW!Ford was faking his love! Perhaps BW!Ford was just completely different from RP!Ford!

But if so, where’s BW!Ford’s own Stan? What happened differently? Something terrible, perhaps? Did BW!Stan have to die or something for BW!Ford to start caring? But then again, RP!Ford (apparently) had left RP!Stan to die after pushing him through the portal, so perhaps an average Ford wouldn’t even care about an average Stan’s death... (I’m sorry if this is getting too confusing! 😭)

(RP!Stan also considers the possibility that BW!Stan was just a much better brother than him, but that hurts too much. BW!Ford wisely doesn’t tell him about the fact BW!Stan had obeyed his order to take away the journal.)

Let’s suppose that RP!Stan then makes the mistake of telling BW!Ford about RP!Ford, who (apparently) hadn’t bothered to fix the portal to get RP!Stan back. I think BW!Ford would realize what actually had happened, and then he would have a decision to make: to tell RP!Stan the truth or not. If he did, perhaps RP!Stan would then embark in a journey back to the arms of his RP!Ford. If he didn’t...

Here I think it depends on how you interpret Ford (and his morals) to be. I think his morals are pretty loose, but nonetheless he can be pretty noble and self-sacrificing and prone to profound, if sometimes repressed, guilt. He could still feel empathy towards his other self, knowing intimately the utter pain of living while blaming himself for Stan’s death. If he decides to be the good, selfless guy, then happy ending for RP!Ford, unhappy ending for him.

Could he believably decide to lie to RP!Stan and say that yeah, his own Ford didn’t care for him? Yes, imo, with the right rationalizion. As Alex mentioned before, Rob Renzetti (coauthor of Journal 3 and his Ford expert) made him understand a fundamental truth about Stanford Pines: that he can do anything as long as he manages to justify it to himself, because one of his greatest powers is rationalizing. I think even a Ford with canon Ford’s morals could justify lying to RP!Stan if he managed to successfully convince himself that what he was doing wasn’t against Stan, but against the other Ford. Ford on Ford violence, if you will. He can be very self-loathing and very hypocritical at the same time, so if he somehow twisted the narrative inside his head so as to paint RP!Ford as the villain who deserved to lose his Stan and himself as the one who will take better care of RP!Stan... Especially considering Bill, and the fact he could consider it unsafe for RP!Stan to leave the BW dimension at all...

And if you want to go a touch darker—now I believe we’re approaching a darker!Ford territory; that is, I don’t believe canon Ford would be capable of bringing himself to do this, but his BW version has been twisted by grief—he could ensure RP!Stan never leaves him quite easily, through many different means, including Fiddleford’s memory gun. That would mean a definitive unhappy ending for poor RP!Ford, forever without his Stan 😔

[animeyanderelover]

Request: Can I have Hc's of Kaneki with a darling that has regenerative abilities but is not a ghoul and was just recently kidnapped so they don't have the highest opinion of him or ghouls in general?

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional tendencies, paranoia, abduction, isolation, darling has had bad experiences with ghouls in the past, some gore

Tags: @flaming-vulpix

Darling with regenerative abilities

🔲​An abduction in general is a more nerve-racking experience for Kaneki than it might just be for darling. It is always fueled with paranoia and irrational fright though, the deep-rooted fear of losing you to someone, be it human or ghoul. There are certain scenarios where there will be more paranoia involved than normally and I believe that with a darling with such special abilities it will be such a case where there will be even more fear apparent than under already very suffocating circumstances. For you see, someone like you would surely be desired by both humans and ghouls for your special abilities. For ghouls you might just be a never-ending source of food for as long as you breathe and for the ghoul investigators and the Commission of Counter Ghoul you might just be a solution to the casualities if they were to figure out on a biological level how your abilities function. Threats are now then ever from possibly both sides and it is this terrifying knowledge that pushes Kaneki quicker than already over the edge. He does not want you to be a food source nor a science project and finds himself with no other choice but to take you himself.

🔲​Weighted down with very little opinions of himself and already expecting you to not have a very high opinion of someone like him, the despair is nevertheless there and unstoppable when you give him the cold shoulder after your abduction. A paradox if emotions that should not exist clash within him. On the one hand he recoils whenever he listens to his own obsessive thoughts, disgusted by himself. Then in the next moment he wishes so dearly to touch you and to receive the affection that he hasn't experienced in years. He loves you but at the same time he is too ashamed to face you and let you see just how pathetic he really is. After all you are right in your hatred, he has ruined your life to prevent one of many horrific scenarios in his head. Still, his presence is always lurking as he watches you whilst you are stuck in his apartment. Admiring, loving, worshipping from a distance where he believes he won't be of any burden or annoyance to you. He cannot be too far away though as if physical distance is harming him. The emotional distance between him and you is already so severe after all, at least let him keep some strings of sanity intact.

🔲​You reveal to him a few weeks after the abduction why you despise ghouls and by extension also him. In the past you have suffered from an attack by a ghoul who left you on the brink of death with mutiliated limbs. If it wouldn't have been for your regenerative abilities you would have never survived yet the process of regeneration was long and was painful. For weeks you had to lock yourself in your apartment, isolated to hide your secret and wait for the day until you had recovered. A story that does nothing but add to his paranoia as one of his fears is proven. You were already attacked by a ghoul. You already suffered by the hands of one side. Even though he is only a half-ghoul, even though he has nothing to do with it, Kaneki still feels horribly guilty and ashamed as if everything is his fault. You have a reason, a valid reason, for your disgust and low opinion of ghouls. Yet still he craves deep down to have you understand that he has only the best intentions in mind for you only to be met with that horrible knowledge that he keeps you locked up. The following weeks will be difficult for him as he struggles with his feelings and thoughts. A breakdown is bound to happen.

[onesiesdaydream]

Chamomile and Conditioner I Edgar Allan Poe x Reader

Summary: Poe is deep in one of his dramatic writing spirals, and you—armed with apple tarts, lavender candles, and relentless affection—gently bully him back to being human.

MASTERLIST

There were two things you knew for certain when it came to Edgar Allan Poe.  

One: he loved mysteries more than meals.  

Two: he did not believe in hygiene when the writing spirits were upon him.

You stood outside his study with a bag of pastries, the scent of butter and sugar doing its best to overpower the faint, lingering smell of… ink and despair. You knocked twice. No answer. You tried again, louder this time.

“Ed?” you called, pressing your ear against the door. “Are you alive?”

There was a shuffling sound—something that may have been a chair scraping, or perhaps the tortured groan of a man who hadn’t slept since Tuesday. Then, at last, the door creaked open, revealing the writer in all his tousled glory.

His shirt was buttoned wrong, ink stains bled into the cuffs, and his usually neat hair had formed a kind of knotted nest around his head. Karl, ever the loyal companion, perched on Poe’s shoulder with the expression of a soldier long resigned to the trenches.

“Ah… it’s you,” Poe murmured. His voice was scratchy, as though it hadn’t been used for non-literary purposes in days. He opened his mouth to say something, but then his eyes caught the paper bag in your hand. “What’s in there?”

You stared, ignoring his question. “Hun, when’s the last time you slept?”

“I—” he blinked at you owlishly. “What day is it?”

You sighed and stepped inside. The room was a catastrophe: papers strewn across every surface, candles burnt down to nubs, and a cold cup of tea already dry and staining the white mug beyond repair.

“Okay, new mystery,” you said, setting down the bag. “The Case of the Forgotten Bathtub. I’m the detective. You’re the suspect. The evidence? Your hair has formed a legally distinct ecosystem.”

Poe blinked at you. “I don’t—”

“No. I love you, Poe, honey, but even Karl is pouting from the smell.”

The raccoon made a small, pitiful noise of agreement.

“I was… inspired,” he offered weakly.

You walked past him and flung open the bathroom door. “Right. You’re getting in. Now. No writing, no mystery-making. You are going to take a shower and wash your hair—even if I have to throw you in myself.”

For a moment, he looked like he might argue—some dramatic declaration about creative necessity—but then he wilted, perhaps realizing the bath was inevitable. “Fine,” he murmured, dragging his feet toward the bathroom like it was the gallows.

You heard the water turn on and felt the tension in your chest ease. Small victories.

While he soaked (hopefully), you set about organizing the chaos. You didn’t dare touch his actual manuscript, but you corralled the worst of the clutter, tossing the old candles and lighting new lavender ones. In the kitchen, you replaced the vile tea with fresh chamomile in a new mug, along with the pastries now set out on a plate. Karl graciously accepted a bite of apple tart while you finished loading the dishwasher.

Twenty minutes later, Poe reemerged, damp-haired and in a robe that made him look vaguely like a brooding ghost with how pale he was.

“Here,” you murmured as you handed him the warm mug. With a soft smile, you gently nudged his side as he sat down beside you. “Look at you, almost passing for a functional human.”

Poe gave you a tired, crooked smile, his leg brushing against yours. “Your standards are alarmingly low.”

You laughed quietly, leaning your head on his shoulder. He smelled like lavender shampoo and old books now—a huge improvement.

He took a careful sip, then leaned into you with a soft sigh. “This is nice,” he murmured, almost surprised. “I can feel my sanity returning.”

You snorted. “That’s not your sanity, love. That’s chamomile and conditioner doing their job.”

He chuckled under his breath. The sound made something warm twist in your chest. It wasn’t often Poe laughed—truly laughed, not the dark chuckle of a man amused by death and irony—but you treasured it when he did.

The two of you sat in companionable silence for a while. Outside, the sun began to dip low, casting golden light over the windows. Karl snuggled against Poe’s side, letting out a tiny snore.

You reached for one of the pastries and broke off a piece, offering it to him. He blinked at it, as though surprised by the concept of food, before finally accepting the bite with slow reverence.

“Mm,” he hummed thoughtfully. “Is this… apple?”

You gave him a teasing look. “Yes, Poe, you���ve cracked the case.”

He smiled again—small, a little sheepish. But genuine. “I’ll write it into the next novel. The Apple Tart Murders. A gripping tale of deceit and cinnamon.”

You laughed, the sound light and effortless. “Only if I get to be the mysterious baker with a tragic past.”

That got a chuckle out of him.

Poe cradled the mug in his ink-stained hands as though it were something precious. The shadows under his eyes were still there, but softer now—less like bruises and more like evidence of a beautiful mind that forgot it had a body to care for.

Then, softly, Poe said, “Thank you.”

You turned your head slightly, confused. “What for?”

“For not being frightened away by… this.” He gestured vaguely to himself, to the mess, to the mountain of madness he called a writing process. “You really didn’t have to do all this,” Poe said. “Cleaning. Tea. Me.”

Smiling softly, you reached over and took his ink-stained hand in yours. “I don’t mind. You just get… temporarily consumed by your own brilliance.”

He nodded, eyes downcast but a small smile on his lips. “You always find me when I forget how to come back, though.”

“That’s kind of my thing, isn’t it? Dragging you back and feeding you sugar until you resemble a person again.”

Poe chuckled quietly—barely more than a breath—but it was real and so, so beautiful.

He turned your hand gently in his, thumb brushing over the faint smudge of ink he’d left on your skin. Then, without ceremony or hesitation, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. It was soft, reverent—almost antique in its sincerity. The kind of gesture that belonged in one of his stories—an echo of devotion.

Your heart stumbled.

“And you do it so well,” he murmured against your skin, before pulling back just slightly, as though the weight of sentiment had made him shy.

For a moment, you both sat in that hush—one of those rare silences that wasn’t empty, but full of something tender and blooming.

But Poe twitched suddenly, like a thought had struck him mid-heartbeat. He sat up straighter, eyes flicking toward his desk with a gleam of intensity returning.

He shifted, fidgeting with the edge of his robe sleeve. “I—I should write. I’m almost finished. The ending’s forming. Just there.”

He moved to stand up. “Before the mood breaks and the twist goes fuzzy,” he mumbled, half-apology, half-confession. “Stories are... fragile things.”

You smiled knowingly. “You’re not even going to pretend to be subtle about it, huh?”

“I tried.” He cast a reluctant glance at you, torn between affection and the call of his manuscript. “But... I’ll only be a moment. A few paragraphs. Half a chapter.”

You nudged him gently toward the desk. “Go. I’ll be right here. I still want to finish my coffee.”

He hesitated only long enough to press a quick, reverent kiss to your forehead, then slipped from your side and hurried back to his desk, the back of the robe fluttering like wings behind him. You watched as he settled into his chair, pen poised above the final page, the firelight glinting off the inkwell.

Nearly half an hour passed, the scratching of his pen against the paper steady as breath. You sipped your coffee, still at the kitchen table, the warm, familiar silence wrapping itself around you both. You found yourself lost in the quiet, content just to watch him work from afar.

Then, without warning, his pen paused.

A breath escaped him—sharp, almost triumphant—as he leaned back in his chair, the manuscript held delicately between his fingers like a fragile treasure.

“I’m done,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, his voice low and filled with a strange satisfaction, as if he could hardly believe the words had formed themselves.

You glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “That was quick.”

You brought your coffee over and moved to stand beside him, your fingers brushing through his damp, unruly bangs, pushing them back from his eyes. His gaze flickered to you, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his lips, as if he didn’t mind the small intrusion into his quiet victory.

On his desk, the scattered pages of his manuscript lay open, each one filled with his elegant, impossibly neat handwriting. You never could understand how his handwriting could be so perfect.

But it was the very top page that caught your eye—the cover page. The ink there stood bold and final.

You leaned closer, your voice soft but playful. “I have a feeling this one's going to make a mark. Maybe it’ll be the one to finally challenge Ranpo.”

Poe looked up at you with his tired grey eyes, a glimmer of mischief flickering in them. “I do hope so. If I can’t shock him with this... then perhaps it’s time to retire.”

You smiled at the thought, and he returned it with a knowing half-grin, before both of you turned your attention back to the manuscript.

The page read:  

The Fall of the House of Usher

Two Days Later

Ranpo popped the last piece of candy into his mouth as he leaned back lazily in the armchair, kicking his heels up on his desk at the Agency like he owned the place. Which… I mean… he pretty much did.

“Twenty-eight seconds,” he announced with a grin, brushing invisible dust off his cape. “Your best yet, Poe. Almost had me.”

Across the room, Poe slumped forward in his chair like a man just widowed. One arm draped over the desk, the other clutching the manuscript like a betrayed lover.

“Twenty-eight,” he whispered, voice hollow. “It took him twenty-eight seconds.”

“Which is longer than usual,” you offered helpfully, biting back a smile as you ran a comforting hand over his back. “That’s basically an eternity in Ranpo-time.”

Poe let out a muffled groan, burying his face in his arms. “He deduced the killer from a reflection in a spilled teacup. Who does that?”

Ranpo beamed, already halfway through another bag of snacks. “Genius detective, duh.”

You leaned down to press a kiss to Poe’s temple. “Maybe next time write a mystery without an answer. See how he likes that.”

He sighed tragically, wearing a face that made him look absolutely repulsed by the idea. “Then it wouldn’t be a mystery, my love… it would be modern literature.”

You just laughed and pulled Poe into a hug he only half-resisted, still mumbling about scent trails, teacups, and how Ranpo was clearly not bound by the laws of mortal deduction.

[katyaromanoffpetrova]

Is this the end? (part III)

Katya is new at SHIELD. When she messes up during her probation, she thinks Fury will send her away. To ease the pain, she distances herself from Nat.

• Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC • Wordcount: 4.8k • Warnings: angst, mentions of self-harm and (sexual) abuse (both not detailed) •A/N: The final part!! Sorry it took me over a month to finish... Hope you enjoy! Masterlist

Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

"Another lap! Keep going! Keep going!"

Katya's head still spun from the psychological tests they drowned her in this morning, and now they had her doing a military physical test in the Maryland afternoon rain. She completed the obstacle course in record time—as expected—and was now running laps around a muddy track with her lungs burning in her chest.

"Come on! I've seen kids go faster than that!"

Katya clenched her teeth, refraining from yelling anything back to the stupid woman in the middle of the track, with her stupid stopwatch and her stupid clipboard. There were two intimidating looking SHIELD agents, one at the south gate and one at the north, with pistols strapped to their legs, that wouldn't appreciate an outburst like that. 

She knew for a fact that she was going twenty percent faster than the fastest human being. Twenty percent smarter, twenty percent stronger, twenty percent faster. At least, that's what she was told. Who knows how true that all was. 

There were more things she didn't know about herself than she did know. This morning's tests had proven that once again. 

Besides the puzzles, the riddles, the IQ tests, the personality test, and the lie detector loyalty test—the one SHIELD knew she could beat if she wanted to—there was the shrink, the therapist. Katya hated them. Always pretending to understand what she felt, the sympathetic look, the invasive questions; those people could never help her. She didn't want their help.

But answering their questions was a part of this weird test day that she didn't fully understand, but she felt she had to behave for.

So she acted like nothing the shrink said bothered her, talked around things, and tried to fight off the pit of despair in her stomach when he asked her the most basic questions.

"Where were you born?"

"I don't know."

"Do you have any siblings?"

"No idea."

"What are the names of your parents?"

"Couldn't tell you."

Lucky for her, Katya didn't have time to dwell on them like she usually would. She was ordered to put on sports clothes and shoved in the back of a SHIELD van right after the interview ended. And now she was here, trying very hard not to think about them again as all the laps she ran blurred into one.

Instead, she tried to figure out what this testing thing was all about. Because last night, she was still one-hundred percent convinced she would have to leave SHIELD. No doubts. Her bags were packed. She had made peace with it. 

But then they pulled her out of bed at 6 this morning. First to put her in a room with all these tests; figural reasoning, logic-based reasoning, situational judgement. And now to test her physical fitness. All stuff to determine how good of a spy she'd be. 

Why?

Katya mulled over that single question on the journey here, to this SHIELD training facility. 

Why would they be testing her if they were sending her off?

That question spun around and around in her head. It was there as she climbed the rope net, there as she crawled through the mud—inches below barbed wire, there as she dashed across a slim beam, and there as her feet splashed tirelessly in the puddles on the oval track. 

She still didn't have a solid answer. 

She didn't dare to think about the positive answer. 

Nothing in her life had ever turned out good. Her stay at SHIELD—it had felt finite from the start. Too good to be true. She was a tool, one that was meant to work and function. Worthless if it didn't. There was no way SHIELD was going to keep her if she didn't function. The organizations she was a part of before didn't. Why would SHIELD be different? Even here, there must be no space for leniency.

No, they were definitely going to throw her by the side of the road like trash. 

Or—and this possibility started to claw at Katya's heaving chest with terror—they were selling her again. Back to the Russians. Back to whatever party wanted to have her.

Katya hadn't noticed her rhythmic steps had started to falter until a loud voice called across the field.

"Come on! Don't stop! Keep going!"

But she was heaving now, panic slashing through her body when she couldn't catch her breath. She stumbled clumsily, her heart racing in her chest. The ground rushed towards her. 

They were making her go back to Russia.

"Hey! Petrova!"

She wasn't gonna let them. Another life of abuse, of torture. She couldn't do it. She wouldn't do it.

"Are you hearing me?!"

She'd die before going back there. If she was going to be handed off, she was going to make a run for it. Either she'd make it out alive, or they'd shoot her dead. A win either way. 

"Are you hearing me? I said: keep going!"

Katya abruptly shot up, her eyes spitting fire as she turned around with newfound energy. "Shut up!" She screamed, so loudly her aching lungs burned. "I'm trying! Can't you see I'm trying!" 

Her supervisor blinked a few times, her thumb frozen on the start/stop button of the old-fashioned stopwatch. She didn't look surprised as Katya glared at her. That must not be a good thing.

Immediately knowing she fucked up, Katya turned around again and ran off as fast as her numb legs could carry her. Through the mud, through the soppy grass, with no real destination in mind. There was no way out of this fenced complex, but she didn't stop until she collapsed against the wall of an electricity cabin, black spots dancing across her vision. 

Tears burned behind her eyes. Her breath came and went in short bursts as she tried to fight off an even intenser panic attack. 

Everything was officially over. Yelling at her supervisor definitely closed the book of a life at SHIELD for good. And it was all her own fault. Her fault for not being good enough, and that was a completely new thing for her. She'd always been the best.

Katya turned her face up to the sky, the cold raindrops refreshing on her burning skin. She used them to ground herself, counting them one by one to gain control of her panicked body.

Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine.

Strangely enough, she longed for Natasha. The woman had no clue of her panic attacks, but Katya suddenly felt a strong need to have her by her side, helping her through this one.

Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two.

Her chest ached, but not because of her lungs this time. She would have to say goodbye to Natasha again soon. 

Thirty-three, thirty-four.

Her tears mixed with the rain. All her emotions surrounding the redhead were a confusing mess. Where her whole life and future felt unsure and scary, Natasha was the center of calmness. If Katya thought of her, she felt strong, safe, able to do anything.

Thirty-five, thirty-six.

Natasha brought up emotions within her that Katya hadn't felt in ten years. Genuine happiness, affection, purpose, but most of all, that incredibly dangerous four-letter word.

Thirty-seven, thirty-eight.

But there was also fear, and guilt, and anger, and grief. One minute, Katya was confident of what she felt and wanted. The next, she was sure everything was doomed and nobody ever loved her.

Thirty-nine, forty.

"Petrova!" A voice called from the distance. Katya turned her head away from the sky, squinting through the rain. "We're done for today! Let's go! We're leaving!"

Forty-one, forty-two.

This was the end. But her life at SHIELD was doomed to end the day it started, so what did anything still matter?

~~~~

She didn't apologize for her outburst when she got into the car. The concept of a genuine apology was foreign to her. Nobody had ever said sorry to her. Not for touching her, not for beating her up, and not for starving her to death. So she never apologized either.

Rain, sweat, and mud dripped from her body onto the leather seats and the floor mats down below. Katya felt disgustingly gross, if that was even a thing. Her socks were wet, she stank, her skin felt gross, and her nails were black with mud. It only added to her emotional misery. 

She wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. Her life had known very deep lows, but this must be one of the most painful moments of all. Right when everything was at the tips of her fingers, it fell out of reach. And that happened while she looked and felt like a drowned rat.

Shivering and shaking, Katya crawled out of the car an hour later, eager to take a shower. 

She decided not to wait any longer. After getting clean, she was going to pack her bags and leave. She had waited long enough. This had dragged out long enough. If they weren't going to make the decision, then she would, walking out of the best thing that ever happened to her.

"Fury wants to see you in this office."

That sentence should have instilled more fear into her than it did, but Katya felt physically nothing as she nodded once, turning to the lifts to freshen up before facing the most important man of the Western world.

"Right now."

She stopped and turned back to her supervisor, raising her eyebrows. Some dried mud cracked on her forehead. "Can't I shower first?"

"Now," the woman ordered, striding off with big steps.

Katya suppressed a scoff, sighing deeply as she dragged her feet to the elevators. What a way to get fired. She didn't blame the people that shuffled away from her in the elevator this time. In the reflection of the doors, she caught sight of herself and completely understood their disgust.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Those were not the first words Katya had expected to hear from her boss when she stepped into his office, but she hadn't missed the hint of amusement in his voice and in the glint of his eye. She couldn't blame him either.

Awkwardly, she pushed her damp hair behind her ears. "Maryland rain, sir," she answered stupidly, too paralyzed to come up with anything better.

Fury scoffed a laugh, rustling through the papers on his desk. "You better not drag any of that on my carpet."

"I'll try not to," Katya answered, standing even more still.

It appeared Fury had no rush, because he kept searching for something in the silence that settled into the room. She hoped he couldn't see her anxiety. Because despite her acceptance of the future, Katya's heart pounded in her chest with nerves. She hated it. There was only one emotion that could persist after all this: 

Hope.

Her mouth opened before she could stop it.

"Before you send me away, sir, I would like to say something, if I can." 

Blankly, Fury looked up. He couldn't be thrilled about an interruption, but Katya took his sudden attention and silence as a yes. She cleared her throat and felt the corners of her mouth turn up.

"I just want to say thank you. I know it wasn't generosity that allowed me to stay. It wasn't pity either. I don't know what it was. But you gave me an opportunity to become better, to turn my life around… and that means more to me than you'll ever know."

Now, she was ready to leave. Thanking him was the last thing on her to-do list before she could peacefully go. He was, after all, the first man who had ever protected her.

"Who said anything about sending you away?" 

Katya blinked—once, twice—trying to grasp the meaning of his words. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the world started to spin.

Fury sighed, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach. "I had Romanoff storm into my office on Monday. She's very… protective of you. Said I had no reason to doubt you. That you hadn't lied about anything. Was she wrong?"

"No, sir," Katya answered on autopilot. Her brain was numb, too confused trying to understand what the hell was going on. She was only half aware of what he was saying.

Fury calmly studied her. "I assume she told you that the mission was a test? A test of loyalty."

Katya nodded once. It had felt so unimportant when Natasha told her that. She failed her mission, test or not. End of story.

"See, I can never be certain of the choices someone makes until they are in a life or death situation," Fury continued. "When you joined our fine organization, you were locked up, literally chained to the floor with nowhere to go. It's easy to give up your loyalty that way."

His leather chair squeaked when he sat up straight, folding his hands together on his messy desk. His one eye pierced her skin until it stared straight into her soul. Katya had never felt more like a kid.

"So, I wanted to see if you'd do the same thing again. If choosing to join SHIELD was just a way to save your own ass, or that you really wanted a second chance."

A drop of rain water trickled down Katya's temple and cheek.

"The easy way out would have been to surrender to Hydra, convince them you joined us with the goal to spy on us and report back later. But you didn't. You fought for your freedom, for your return to us."

Part of Katya was hurt and furious that he put her through that. That he emotionally broke her by letting her believe that she messed up. But the bigger, rational part of her completely understood. Fury wasn't the director for nothing. He made smart choices—hard choices—in order to keep his organization safe. 

She wouldn't have trusted herself either if she was in his shoes. She had all the odds against her. Russian, a spy. She'd killed dozens of good guys, grown up brainwashed and indoctrinated. She'd been physically, mentally, emotionally and sexually abused her whole life, making her the most unstable, traumatized person on the planet.

The only reason she was standing here was because of Natasha. And because of that small, tiny spot in Fury's heart that was soft for lost, broken people like her.

Fury picked up the iPad in front of him, swiping and tapping on it until he started to read from it. "See, today, you gave me the best scores I've seen since Romanoff did the same military course. In dry weather." 

Surprised, Katya's lips parted. Her performance today didn't feel like anything special.

"You ran multiple track records forty minutes in. You're stronger than the strongest guy we have, you are more intelligent than most of the scientists we have down at the lab, with zero mistakes on the tests from this morning. Your aim is impeccable, and your situational judgement is excellent." Fury lowered the iPad, pointedly looking at her. "I would be extremely stupid to let a good spy like that walk out of my building."

Katya could hardly hear anything over the pounding in her ears. She was shaking so violently she feared she was spraying drops of water everywhere like a wet dog. "What are you saying?" She asked, suppressing the hope in her voice.

"That I'm taking a big leap—no a huge leap, by making you an official Agent of SHIELD, but I believe that you won't break my trust."

Katya squared her shoulders, ignoring the huge wave of relief that crashed into her. "I'll be the best, most loyal spy you've ever had."

Something flickered behind Fury's eyes. A smile? He reached for the drawer of his desk, pulling something out. "Somehow, I don't doubt that." 

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed something on the far side of his desk. Curious, Katya took a step closer, stretching out to see what it was.

Her own face stared back at her. 

Katariina Alina Petrova. Level 1.

"Welcome to SHIELD, Agent Petrova."

~~~~

Katya pulled her knees tighter to her chest, closing her eyes and enjoying the hot water that cascaded down her body. It wasn't only cleansing her skin, but her heavy soul, slowly washing away all these months of insecurity and tension, revealing the person that she forgot existed underneath. It felt freeing, like a rebirth.

Another violent tremble shook her so badly that her teeth clattered. For this reason, she had to sit down to shower. It started once she realized she was safe, shedding her muddy clothes on the bathroom floor. First, she'd thrown up her lunch in the toilet and nearly fainted, and then the trembles started. It was just her body's way of getting rid of all the tension.

Katya didn't even mind it. She was too ecstatic to be bothered. Her sobs bounced off the tiled walls in relief, in disbelief, in happiness. She sobbed until her lungs hurt. It felt so good.

There was only one person on her mind who she desperately wanted to share the news with. The only reason she hadn't stormed over there immediately after getting her SHIELD ID was because of the way she looked and smelled. And because of the way Katya had been treating her these past few weeks… 

It took an hour for her body to calm down enough that it was safe to stand up. Katya got out of the shower on shaky legs, made herself look presentable, and then snuck to the kitchen. Her stomach felt queasy, her throat raw and dry. She chugged a whole bottle of water and stuffed a sandwich down before stealing something out of the special cabinet.

Even the hallways of SHIELD HQ felt different as she walked through them. She saw things she'd never seen before because she had been too anxious, too focused to see them. She'd never fully taken in all the details, because why would she do that if she wasn't sure that she could get to stay? Like a foster kid that didn't dare unpack their clothes until a few months later because they weren't sure if their foster parents would want to keep them.

Katya sat outside, by the river, on one of the only recreational benches that were placed there. HQ was built on such a small island that there wasn't much space around it. And all the space that was there, was used efficiently. Agents that wanted to go on a stroll in the fresh air had to cross the bridge. 

But Katya wasn't looking for exercise. She was looking for a quiet place to drink. Was that a smart idea on a sensitive stomach? No. Probably a very bad idea. But even though she felt on top of the world, the reality of her actions also came down on her in this sudden clarity of emotions. 

She'd treated Natasha like shit. Avoided her, yelled at her, ignored her. And the redhead had deserved none of those things. 

Katya's heart ached when she thought about it. She couldn't help how dark things got when she fell into a depression like that, but it didn't mean she shouldn't take responsibility for her actions. It wasn't an excuse to behave like she did. 

But it was so, so hard to talk about. Emotions, feelings, they weren't supposed to be spoken about. They were supposed to be hidden. She was supposed to be stronger than those raging feelings in her body. Look where it brought her if she gave in.

Katya shook her head strictly and took another sip of vodka. Those were toxic thoughts. Things they programmed her with. She was human, and humans had feelings, and feelings were meant to be felt. What she was about to do went against everything she was taught.

She was going to apologize to Natasha. 

By the time she managed to muster up the courage to knock on Natasha's apartment door, she'd finished half the bottle of vodka. It had done little to nothing to ease her nerves. Her hands still shook as she pushed her ID deeper into the back pocket of her jeans and fiddled with the cap of the vodka bottle.

Katya was prepared for anything. If Natasha wanted to slam the door in her face and yell mean things at her, then she deserved that. Honestly, she expected it. Anything slightly better than that would be too generous.

Her heart threatened to burst out of her throat when she heard shuffling on the other side of the wooden door. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe she should just send a text message. But before she could actually bail, the door swung open.

Natasha froze in place, her eyes widening. "Kat," she breathed in surprise. It must have come out different than she wanted to, because she shifted her weight around and added a more casual, ''Hey.''

She must have seen the difference in Katya's demeanor right away, right when she laid eyes on her. The dark war flag had been taken down for one of surrender. Usually, it was a shame to wave a white flag. But in this case, it was bravery.

"Hey," Katya answered with a trembling half smile, avoiding Natasha's gaze in a way that was meant to be nonchalant. Stupidly, she hadn't thought of what to say. Who the hell came up to give an apology and didn't rehearse what to say first? "I have something for you."

As disoriented as she was, Natasha took the bottle of vodka without thinking. When she held it up to study it, Katya realized what an incredibly stupid gift it was, and how she deserved a slap in the face for this terrible attempt at an apology. It's just as soon as she was in front of Natasha, all the words left her brain.

"Yeah, sorry, I drank half of it," Katya said sheepishly when she saw the odd look on Natasha's face. "I needed some courage to come talk to you.''

Her vulnerable confession came as a surprise to both of them. Natasha's expression visibly softened while Katya fought the urge to run away or make a joke to cover it up. She'd never felt this uncomfortable, but she rooted her boots into the floor and refused to give in to it.

Natasha turned the bottle over in her hand, reading the label on the back. "Where did you get this?" Katya was grateful she didn't comment on her confession.

"The kitchen."

The redhead's head snapped up. "You stole this?" Her eyes flickered left and right into the hallway, the blood draining from her face. She looked afraid. "Kat, one foot wrong and you're out—"

"Yeah, I wouldn't worry about that anymore." With a sly smile, Katya pulled her new SHIELD ID from her pocket and held it up. 

The rest of Natasha's scolding words died in her throat. Her mouth closed, and she slowly raised her free hand to take the ID. It was obvious that Katya had surprised her. So many different emotions crossed over her face but they were gone too quickly to nail down. She was too hard to read. Even for Katya right now.

"When did you get this?'' She asked distractedly, reading the words on the very plain, very boring ID. Katya's headshot wasn't even pretty. They took it right as she came out of the isolation cell, when she had barely seen the sun in weeks. 

''Two hours ago?'' She nervously chewed on her lip. She couldn't tell if Natasha was happy about it. What if she didn't want her to stay anymore after this week? Oh gosh, what then?

But then, right as Katya couldn't take it anymore, a smile broke through on Natasha's face. ''Well, shit.'' She gave a disbelieving chuckle, her green eyes sparkling proudly as she looked her childhood friend in the eye. ''Congrats. I knew you could do it.''

Katya felt tingly all over. The first person to believe in her wasn't herself, it was Natasha. For a long time, it was only Natasha. It made her want to hold her chin up a bit higher, and try a little bit harder. For her. 

''Thank you.'' She ignored the heat in her cheeks as she stuck the ID back in her pocket. Receiving compliments was an art she didn't master, so she covered it up with a joke. "A lot of people aren't going to be happy with this decision."

Natasha scoffed cockily, stepping aside to let Katya into her apartment. "Screw that. You belong with m—us now. I always knew, but now it's on paper too." She shrugged her shoulders after she closed the door, placing the vodka on a cabinet to the side. "Or on plastic, I guess."

Puzzle pieces fell into place. Peace settled over Katya like a warm blanket in the winter as she looked around Natasha's plain apartment. This was her home now. She was officially safe. She had friends who had her back. She belonged somewhere. She could breathe.

The emotions were so overwhelming. The urge to curl up into a ball on the floor and cry happily was so strong. Twenty-three years of living and she finally had a place in this world.

"Natalia.'' 

Natasha was already looking at her, but Katya felt the need to say her name, to make sure she was listening. That she knew something serious was coming. Uneasily, the blonde shuffled in her spot, staring at Natasha's stomach instead of looking into her eyes. She wouldn't be able to say what she wanted to say.

''I'm sorry.'' Her throat felt tight. The words were hard to get out. But Katya pushed them out and threw her heart at Natasha's feet. ''I really thought Fury was going to send me away. I tried to make it easier for myself by distancing myself from you, to try and make the heartbreak hurt less. It was stupid, and unfair, and I hurt you, and I'm really sorry for that."

She sucked in a shallow breath. That was the most open she'd been her whole life. But it felt good to get that off her chest.

"It was stupid," Natasha said. Shocked by her bluntness, Katya forgot her nerves and looked up. "Stupid to think I wouldn't follow you out that door if you left."

Katya quickly shook her head, refusing to acknowledge the weight of those words. "I would never want you to give all this up for me. It's the reason I didn't come to find you in the first place.''

''Looks like I don't have to give up anything now.'' Natasha looked so sure about her decision that Katya didn't even try to argue any more. She just observed the woman standing in front of her. The one she didn't deserve in every lifetime.

"I'm sorry, Talia. Again. I fell into old habits."

"Don't beat yourself up. You're already forgiven,'' Natasha said softly. She glanced at the floor, sliding her hands into her back pockets. ''I also want to say sorry, for the way I reacted when I found you in the shooting range.'' She shook her head, as if she disapproved of herself. ''That could've been done way better. I was just—you scared me.''

Katya mirrored her depressing mood, shame washing over her in waves. She was so far away from that state of mind right now, that it was hard to understand why she wanted to dig that knife into herself to begin with. ''That was the first time somebody was there to stop me,'' she muttered, immediately beating herself up over saying that when Natasha's face saddened further. 

''I'm sorry.''

Katya shook her head. ''I don't want you to feel like you have to keep me alive or something.''

''I don't feel like that,'' Natasha answered with conviction. ''But when you ever feel that urge again, will you come to me?''

''I can try.''

The redhead nodded once, then straightened up and took the vodka from the cabinet. ''Enough of the heavy stuff. We should celebrate. Have you been to the roof?'' She asked mysteriously, a smug sparkle in her bright eyes. And just like that, the conversation was over and they were all good again.

''No…?'' Katya answered warily.

Natasha smiled, swinging the door open. ''Let's go then, Agent Petrova.''

Katya chuckled as she passed through, watching Natasha take a big swig of the liquor as they walked down the hallway. ''You do realize you're going to be stuck with me forever now, right?''

''It's the only way I wanted it.''

[lacunammmm]

Hello! I recently saw your reaction to a poll about which ships in MHA you don't like and you had very interesting answers and depth into some in particular... Hawks.

You said, and I won't quote because I frankly can't remember, that Hawks would be a much better character if he actually had more development/nuance to him and I wanted to know how? And why you think his character isn't as nuanced and/or developed as of now?

I'm a large Hawks fan myself, and I was super interested in seeing your opinion, since I've never seen somebody say he needed more development, would you care to share some of your thoughts?

Let's take a look at the bones behind Hawks:

-Child of a villain.

-Was an abused child by his domestic abuser dad.

-A child soldier molded to be the perfect secret agent and hero by the government.

-He's basically in the Japanese CIA.

-He's immensely powerful and also likes Endeavor, who he has a parasocial relationship with because he admired him as a father figure.

-He killed a guy in an incredibly contrived scene (he could have simply drugged Twice before the operation began and spirited him away) but it raised an interesting question: Should heroes kill? And under what circumstances should they do so?

-Dabi bathed him in blue fire after he killed Twice and Tokoyami reacted that his wings were burnt off.

So what's the story do with him?

He just becomes an Endeavor cheerleader.

The HPSC gets killed off by a clone of Redestro, meaning the good guys don't ever have to confront the government at all.

His burnt wings recovered and the worst that happened is he needed some prosthetic blades, which functioned just as good as his original feather swords. Was this man crippled for his future fight against All For One? No.

When he sees Twice again on the battlefield, he yells that they should kill him, showing he's exactly the same as he was the day he killed the guy.

And he doesn't give a single blue fuck about Endeavor being a domestic abuser. He knows the true story, and he simply doesn't care.

This is the same for all of the good guy characters, but Hawks especially experienced an abusive dad.

The guy he idolized turned out to be like his dad, except a hero and not a villain.

And he doesn't care. Have you ever seen the show Law And Order? I want you to imagine how the cops on that show would react if one of the hero cops they've worked with for years was outed as a domestic abuser. There would be an angry confrontation, some hurtful words thrown around, and a fracturing of relationships. Permanent changes to how these people see each other, with different people taking sides. Friction that would spread far beyond just this one event. Instead we get...nothing, I guess, because Endeavor feels sorry for what he did, so it's okay now.

The question of when and if you should kill a villain isn't answered by Hawks or people connected to him. It's answered by Gran Torino. We learn that killing is another way of saving someone if they're too far gone, which Deku apparently takes to heart.

What's worse is that Nagant exists. She took the last bit of intrigue Hawks' character could have had.

I firmly agree with @class1akids that an arc where Hawks fell and joined the villains fits a lot better than inventing a new character out of whole cloth, and then inventing a government conspiracy of the previous regime to go with her, and then this never going anywhere.

Imagine, if you will, a universe where everything is played straight. Tomura decays Endeavor during their battle, so he's dead.

Dabi truly did burn off Hawks' wings entirely, so those are gone.

And in the chaos that follows, the public despairs and wants someone to blame. So, the HPSC uses a scapegoat.

And that person ends up being Hawks. The guy who planned the raid. The guy who spied on the villains. And, according to the government the reason for the heroes' failures.

He's useless to them now because he doesn't have his quirk anymore. And he's reeling from the reveal of who Endeavor actually was.

So at his lowest moment, stripped of his hero license and his legacy tarnished, All For One appears.

It works even better if you merge the elements of Nagant's character into this version of Hawks.

Hawks was a secret agent who assassinated numerous people on the HPSC's orders. Hawks believed in the system and while he had some doubts, this event completely destroyed his faith.

We can also accomplish something else, here. AFO could test a beta version of the rewind drug the Doctor made on Hawks, which restores his wings to the point they were at in canon after Dabi burned them. It 1, gives Hawks his iconic wings back in a plausible way, and 2, foreshadows All For One's endgame desperation move. The audience just isn't told what Hawks was injected with until the final war arc.

And then he gifts the guy with the same quirk Nagant had. And sends him to capture Deku.

Now suddenly this battle against Deku actually means something and it's between two people who know each other and who the audience has a connection to.

How, then, does Deku restore Hawks' faith in heroes when it's been shattered so terribly? A true test of Deku's abilities to understand villains and turn them. He doesn't have the easy win he got against Nagant, but the fact that he knows Hawks means he has more information to work off of.

The reveal that Hawks is no more than a contract killer for the government while having a happy, smiling face in public is a train car to the gut for Deku.

You can still end the fight with a fakeout, as the story loved to do at that time.

After he decides to switch back to team Deku, he has a bad reaction from the drug and collapses and is apparently dead.

We just bring him back later like they did to Nagant. He got saved offscreen. You know, like how Nagant survived exploding.

Heaven forbid we kill off anyone loyal to team hero.

[ryker-writes]

Can I please request Idia for the sibling serie?

Yes! I'm finally getting around to writing Idia's! I wanted to finish book 6 before I started, but got stuck on one of the battles. Thankfully, I got through and can write this now

This post had to be separated into 2 parts because of the length

Part 2

Request rules and Masterlists

Broken Sibling relationships

Warning: Spoilers for book 6

Idia as a sibling (Broken relationship)

the Shroud family was a very important, but very unknown family

they were a core part to the function of the Island of Woe

for generations, the Shroud's have been in charge of Styx as well as the containment and research of phantoms

it's because you were a Shroud that you grew up in Styx surrounded by technology and phantoms

research and data collected from the phantoms was basically what everyone around you would talk about

except for your dear brothers

Idia was often busy, but made a point to spend time with you and Ortho

it's because he would be busy that you and Ortho were super close

you two were practically attached

but you still spent a lot of time with Idia

Idia and Ortho were always there for you

and you were there for them

when you three were together, it was easy to forget about all of Styx and all of your problems

Idia would always show you and Ortho a new game he found, and taught you how to play

since Idia was the oldest, he was the one that was going to take over Styx in the future

you were sure he was under a lot of pressure, but he still found time to play with you and Ortho

in a sense, he was like a hero to both you and Ortho

it was during one of the games that you three were playing that you guys talked about being heroes on an adventure

Idia said he couldn't ever do it because he has to take over Styx

but you and Ortho wanted him to be happy

for everything that he did for you two, he deserved that much

so you both encouraged him to go on an adventure before he takes over

for Idia, the greatest adventure for all three of you to go on would be to leave the Island of Woe

you and Ortho were together like always when you found Idia hacking into the Styx system

he said he was going to open the way for all of you to leave and go on your adventures

it was exciting

...until the alarms started going off

panic immediately set in as the system said some phantoms were being released

Idia didn't intend for that to happen, and scrambled to undo it

down that hall, something big was coming

you moved towards the computer to try and help any way you could

but it was useless

the door was blasted open, and some rubble hit Idia, knocking him unconscious

you ran over to him to try and wake him up

he was the hero, and he would get you out of this!

the phantom set it's sights on Ortho and started attacking

you couldn't do anything but watch as it tore into him

he screamed and cried, but you couldn't move

after it was done, it turned to you

you could feel tears run down your face and fear overwhelming your system

the last thing you saw before passing out was people coming in to stop the phantom

when you woke up, you found out that Ortho was gone

the phantom had killed him

you were devastated

how could this happen?

it was your fault

you encouraged this adventure and Idia knew how much you didn't like it here

and you did nothing to save him

Ortho was gone because of you

he didn't deserve that

in your despair, you tried to reach out to Idia

but he had locked himself in his room

every time you tried to see him, he insisted he was busy or wouldn't answer

this went on for months before he finally came out of his room

and when you saw him, he was happy to show of his creation that he's worked so hard on

it was Ortho

no, it only looked like Ortho

the real Ortho was gone

you of all people knew that

Idia made a robot to replace Ortho

it was programmed to have all his memories and act like Ortho

but there's no way you could accept this

the real Ortho couldn't be replaced

this thing could never be him

you tried to talk to Idia and tell him that this wasn't right, but he wouldn't listen

"We finally have Ortho back and you can't even accept him? How could you just move on and give up on him? He's here, and you don't even care about him!"

"I care about Ortho, the real Ortho! But he's gone. This is not Ortho."

Idia was furious

"You're wrong! This is Ortho. If you can't see that then you don't deserve to be near him!"

and he left with the robot

Idia tried to avoid you as much as possible after that

and he was always traveling with the robot

you couldn't stand it

every time you saw that thing, it reminded you of the real Ortho

...and his death

as the days passed, the distance between you and Idia grew larger

[lilasamaaa]

Miss missing you | Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genres | Angst, Hurt.

Word count | 2.1K

Warnings | Breakup, depressing thoughts, mentions of cheating.

Summary | Reader wakes up the day after her breakup with Charles and reflects on their relationship. Inspired by the song "Miss Missing You" by Fall Out Boy. Author's note | Sorry for being criminally addicted to writing sad things.

Don't panic, no, not yet

The living room shutter is closed. Impenetrable.

She has no idea how long she's been like this, slumped on her couch in the dark, her face irritated by the relentless assault of her tears. Outside, she knows life has gone on without her. She suspects the sun has risen, like every morning. That darkness has given way to light, like every morning. She even heard her neighbors in the hallway, heading to work. Like every morning.

Taking a deep breath, she feels her heart and throat tighten, tears doubling. She didn't even know she had that much water in her body. It's not just an ordinary morning. It's the first of many mornings where she will wake up with her heart in pieces.

I know I'm the one you want to forget

She remembers, a few years ago, listening to Taylor Swift's "Mr. Perfectly Fine" for days on a row. She remembers cursing Joe Jonas, she even remembers feeling so sorry for Taylor. What kind of guy breaks up with his girlfriend over the phone?

Well, Charles, apparently.

She's not stupid, not blind, not even a little naive.

She had felt it coming. Had noticed him slowly drifting away. The calls were less frequent, and the ones she managed to intercept, shorter. She knows there was someone else. Maybe multiple someones. They'd somehow stopped talking about him, about her, about them. They only talked about races, cars, airplane trips. That's the only thing that seemed to keep them together. The only thing that had brought them together in the first place. She, the daughter of the CEO of one of Ferrari's sponsors. Him, the one who wore the suit with the logo printed on it.

Cue all the love to leave my heart, It's time for me to fall apart

She wished her heart would close. She wished she could block his access to it. She wished she could reclaim it, as one might retrieve the keys to an apartment once shared. But that bastard remains wide open. It's almost embarrassing, the way her heart, cruelly empty, hopes to be filled again. To feel his warmth once more. To beat for him again.

Her mind has stopped functioning, but her heart, somehow, hasn't stopped. It keeps beating, selfishly. It keeps her alive. For what? To feel the hurt, the betrayal, the despair? Honestly, it's not worth the effort. The poor thing should have just stopped.

Now you're gone, but I'll be okay, Your hot whiskey eyes have fanned the flame

She's young. She's had flings, but she's always been the one to end them. Charles was her first serious relationship. The only significant one, actually. She didn't think the pain would be so raw, so physical. She feels like she can sense her heart crumbling a little more each time she thinks of him. She feels it in her chest, swelling, taking up space, trying to escape. It wants to leave her body. To break free from this darkened, wounded brain that suffocates it.

She's not against the idea. It can leave. She can function without it. She's almost convinced of it, if that's what it takes to feel alive again. To feel like her again.

Maybe I'll burn a little brighter tonight, Let the fire breathe me back to life

Her heart isn't the first to be broken. Won't be the last.

She's heard stories from friends, from close ones, who've gone through breakups. Today, she feels so foolish for feeling so little concern about those stories back then. She's always been a listening ear, an unwavering support. She's sat in bars, cafés, bedrooms, listening to stories of betrayal and broken promises, and she simply didn't believe it would ever happen to her. As if she were above the laws. Above all that. She remembers listening to tales of broken hearts like children listen to myths of dragons, of wizards, of magic.

That's what it was for her. Fantasy. Something so unreal, so inconceivable.

Even though it hurts, she has sworn to let herself feel everything. The good as well as the bad. She knows that one day, she will look back on this period of her life, and she won't be overwhelmed by sorrow and pain anymore. But today, she has to go through it, let the flames lick her body to better heal her wounds later.

Baby you were my picket fence, I miss missing you, now and then

She'd never introduced a boyfriend to her family. Never envisioned a future with anyone. Never looked at houses with anyone. But with him, she did. A few months ago, while strolling on the hills of Monaco, she'd passed by a gate behind which a stone path led to a discreet little house. She'd fallen in love with the garden bordered by trees and flowers. She'd liked the color of the gate surrounding the property. She'd even found charm in the slightly crooked chimney protruding from the roof. She'd taken a photo of the "For Sale" sign and sent it to Charles. He had responded with a series of emojis (a face with hearts for eyes, sparkles, a star, the rest she can't remember). He had promised to call to set up a visit.

She would never walk down the stone path.

Chlorine kissed, summer skin, I miss missing you, now and then

She's never been drawn to wealth. She was born into it. Penthouses, luxury cars, diamonds hold no charm in her eyes. She's always been searching for more authentic, more simple things.

One summer when Charles had suggested a yacht outing, the lovers had ended up on a poorly patched-up rowboat that was taking on water. The monacan had complained all afternoon, but she still remembers the sensation of lying against him, against his warm, salty skin, alone in the world in their small boat. A feeling that no amount of money could ever buy. A feeling that no amount of money could ever get her back.

Sometimes before it gets better, The darkness gets bigger

What had begun as sweet and innocent had taken a turn.

Times were tough. His job was demanding. Exhausting. She did her best to support him, to show him he could lean on her anytime he needed. He wouldn't talk. Little by little, she was abandoning more and more things from her daily life to dedicate herself to his. His stability. His success. His worries. Sometimes, she felt like she was losing herself, but she knew it was temporary. She thought she would soon get the old Charles back. Even when he started going out late. Even when he started coming home late. Even when he started not coming home at all.

The endless suffering hadn't brought her anything. In fact, it had taken everything from her.

The person that you'd take a bullet for, Is behind the trigger

She knew the signs, had seen them in her own parents. When they ate together, he could go through the entire meal without meeting her gaze. When she placed her hands on his body, he would sometimes shiver. Not the shiver of anticipation from the early days. The kind that suggested he didn't deserve the display of affection.

Her own friends seemed oblivious to the situation. "I ran into Charles yesterday, at the club," "I saw Charles in town with a friend", "Aren't you with Charles today?". Were they trying to pretend everything was fine to protect her? Or were they already distancing themselves from a situation they didn't want to witness?

Oh, we're fading fast, I miss missing you, now and then

She pinpointed the breaking point as her sister's wedding. How ironic, she'd thought. Celebrating love, respect, and unity when I feel none of these things in my own relationship. Charles had arrived late, his hair disheveled, tie slightly askew. She had felt tears burning behind her eyes, had bitten her cheek to hold back from exploding in the middle of the church. She refused to believe that he had done that to her. That he had disrespected her on this day, in this place. Her entire family had cast a glance in her direction, had observed the way Charles had slipped between the guests to sit next to her. Without a glance. Without a touch. Her sister, speech in hand, had taken a few seconds to start. "With you by my side, I know I can face anything," she had started saying to her husband, letting her eyes meet the teary ones of her little sister.

Making eyes at this husk, around my heart, I see through you and we're sitting in the dark

He told her everything, recounted everything to her. From what he felt in the car during a race to his latest argument with his brother. She read him like an open book, could anticipate every word, every gesture, every thought, even. To joke around, she often said she knew him better than she knew herself. Upon reflection, they got together when they were eighteen. Had she even had time to get to know herself, or had she cowardly built herself around him?

The idea of pursuing her life's journey without him terrified her. She didn't know who she was, who she wanted to be. She didn't even know if she liked herself. She sometimes wondered if he knew her as well as she knew him. If he knew her favorite color, her favorite song, her favorite season. She always ended up pushing those somber thoughts away, reminding herself that these concerns were those of a schoolgirl, and got back to her duties. To taking care of him.

So give me your filth, make it rough, Let me, let me, trash your love

She was gentle, with a calm nature, almost maternal.

She never lost her composure, never raised her voice. But she had yelled that day. When they arrived home after the church ceremony. She would never forget, and he probably wouldn't either, how her voice had broken when she had shouted three words, three little words that had been enough to shatter everything. "Who is she?".

She, who admired him so much, who thought of him as a man of the purest and most sincere nature. She had given him a chance to repent. He hadn't seized it, hanging his head low. That day, facing her anger, the pain of a betrayed woman, she'd found him so small that he was almost ridiculous. He hadn't responded, of course. Hadn't said a word.

I will sing to you everyday, If it will take away the pain

She'd stayed. She wasn't sure if love made her do it. Perhaps it was out of habit. Or masochism. But she had stayed, and life had resumed just as it was before, for a few weeks. They had started waking up side by side again, sharing their day over a meal again.

Making love, again. She hadn't even realized they had stopped touching each other, desiring each other. How long had it lasted? A week? A month? Six?

He played the piano in the evening, proclaiming a love strong and indestructible over the keys, letting his fingers glide from white to black, filling the apartment with sounds and colors that had disappeared. Of feelings that had disappeared.

Oh, and I heard you've got it, got it so bad, 'Cause I am the best you'll ever have

She had let herself dream of the life before.

A life where Charles had only touched her, only tasted her. A life where she didn't discreetly grab his phone every night when his breathing indicated he was asleep. A life where she didn't send messages to Carlos at all hours of the day and night to find out where he was, with whom he was when she wasn't there. A life where her sister didn't regularly tell her how worried she was about her, finding her too thin, too stressed, too distracted.

So, she had left. She had left the spare keys he had given her on the dining table. She had fled his apartment and returned to hers, the one she had just planned on returning the keys to the owner, ready to move in permanently with him. She had spent three days alone, spending entire days in the dark. Ignoring the messages and calls of her mother, her father, her sister. Carlos, too.

Baby you were my picket fence,

By the end of the third day, he had finally called, and after three rings, she had picked up.

Neither of them had spoken for several seconds.

Then, he had done it. For the first time in months, he had been honest with her.

"It's not working anymore," he had sighed into the phone. "I can't do it anymore."

She had hung up.

Lain down on the sofa.

Waited for the day to save her from the night.

I miss missing you, now and then,

Now and then.

[nownahc]

tokens of appreciation | jww.

exhibit eleven | is it really worth it?

chapter summary ⌨️. wonwoo seeks help from mingyu or mingyu makes wonwoo seek help

▶• ılıılıılılıılıılı. talk by fog lake

taglist @tacosandbitch @mellowmarigolds

warnings. self deprecating thoughts, low self esteem

notes. sorry for the late update, i struggled writing this piece if i'm being honest and work was kicking my ass. anyway i think i found a new routine so updates will go back to normal now, yippee! also i changed the headers cause the old stressed me out

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WRITTEN PART BELOW THE PHOTOS

⌨️ written part ▶• ılıılıılılıılıılı. talk by fog lake

Infuriating. Exasperating. Noisy. Boisterous. Presumptuous. That's what Wonwoo would say about Mingyu right now, all cordially of course. If Mingyu had put his mind in coming over and check on him, there was no way to keep him from doing it. Impassive, Wonwoo watches as Mingyu enters his apartment as if he owned it, checking over the state of the place, and the state of him.

"I'm surprised you're not diabetic with the amount of junk food your fridge has to keep alive."

Of course the first thing Mingyu has to point out is his unhealthy eating habits. Breaking news, not everyone should be allowed in a kitchen, especially Wonwoo.

"It's either that or I don't eat," Wonwoo deadpans, standing in the doorway, looking unruly as ever, as if he just stepped out of bed after a 12 hours sleep shift. "You could have asked me to prep your meals before I left."

The scoff he lets out is instinctive, of course Mingyu would say that, he's been taking care of Wonwoo's diet for the past few years now. Wonwoo turns on his heel grumbling something under his breath, something that sounded like 'I'm not your kid'. His best friend's eyes follow his form as he walks back to his couch, plopping down on the cushion with the grace of an elephant. Mingyu prides himself in being a Wonwoo connoisseur, so it worries him when he notices that it’s the messiest he’s ever seen him. There’s despair in his eyes, distress even, as if he was unconsciously begging him to tug him out of this hole he dug for himself.

"Alright Wonwoo, spit it out."

His tone has never that serious, something was bothering his best friend, so it bothered him too. As if approaching a wounded animal bound to attack to protect himself, he’s careful with each steps he takes towards him. Wonwoo looks like a ghost of himself, as if everything he’s been keeping in, simply dawned on him all at once, burying him under layers and layers of issues, traumas, problems, unable to breathe with the lack of oxygen. Sitting down on one of the arm chair, Mingyu decides to watch him, wanting to leave him the choice to talk, not wanting to force it out of him. The silence was deafening, he could hear his own thoughts and he might go crazy at that fact. To think that Wonwoo live like that, drowning in the turmoil of his worries, never letting them out when Mingyu could scream after just 5 minutes of being stuck in his head was totally foreign to him.

He can’t take it any more, the sight of his best friend’s misery too painful to witness any more. “Wonwoo, what’s going on?”

All Wonwoo can do, is shrug. What’s going on? Hell, if he himself knew, he wouldn’t be in that state. Is it the excruciating thought that he’s never enough, or the thought that he’s barely a functioning human, or the thought that he’ll never be like Mingyu, that he’ll never be the version of himself that he longs to be. Perhaps, it’s all of that at the same time. Mingyu visibly falters at the lack of response from him, not knowing how to make him talk nor if he should in the first place.

“Did I do something? Cause when I left you were alright.” “It’s not you.”

Wonwoo was everything bad in his opinion, but he’ll never let Mingyu feel guilty for something himself provoked.

“So there is something.” Wonwoo could tear him open right now, he hated how good he was at this little game, hated how right he always was. “It’s just… It’s nothing I can’t handle.” It’s barely above a mumble, as if he wasn’t believing his own words. The look alone Mingyu sends him is enough to make Wonwoo falters in his couch, he knows that he knows, and it’s extremely infuriating.

“I felt lonely.” It was stupid now that he said it. Lonely. A dog feels lonely when his owner is at work. A lover is lonely when their other half is in another country. An elder is lonely when their family don’t take the time to visit them no more. Wonwoo shouldn’t feel lonely, he has no right to feel this way, none. Yet, when he was drowning in his pain, that’s the only word he could think about. Loneliness. Endless and pure loneliness. For a moment, the words linger, both men taking them in. One discovers it for the first time, millions of theories about the cause of it running through his head. While the other, regrets them immensely.

“It’s stupid, just forget about-” “Why do you feel lonely?” Mingyu would never let it go, not when it comes to one of the most important person in his life. He’s in front of him right now, and he’s ready to come to his help, to aid him in this rough moment, whatever it is. Wonwoo doesn’t stray his gaze from his carpet, his hands joined on his lap tightly, his skin turning white at the contact.

“Because I did that to myself. By not being outgoing or extroverted. By not… by not having friends or wanting new ones anyway. And…” He doesn’t know if he’s ready to let out what he’s been feeling during the days all his three friends were away, living a life he wasn’t in. The feeling that was drowning him though, was too strong to be contained anymore, the little monster had grown too much within him, and it screamed at him to be released. “I feel like I’m not enough. For you, for Hoshi, for Seungcheol, for me. Like, I could be a better version of myself but I’m the one sabotaging it.” His eyes flickers to the ceiling, trying to tuck back in the tears, threatening to spill at the edge of his eyelids. “I hated you for leaving on that trip, and I hated myself for it.” Mingyu thinks about all the trips he went to without Wonwoo and, he wonders if he always felt like this, like he wasn’t enough for him to take him with him.

“Wonwoo-” “No let me finish, please.” He takes a deep breath, his facial muscles strained to keep his composure, he has to stay in control, at all times, even in his most vulnerable states.

"I don’t like feeling this way cause it seems like I’m behaving like a child, like a dependant fool who can’t function properly when left alone. For fuck sake I can’t cook for myself Mingyu. I just… I wish I could be the person I dream about before falling asleep, you know? Someone who knows how to talk to people, who’s not lost when the only people I think tolerates me aren’t in my vicinity. I want to be… like you.”

There it was, that unsaid truth that lingers in him every time he’s with Mingyu. It’s not jealousy, but envy. Envy at being this person that he deems to be perfect. His best friend is no extremes, he’s perfect in between. Not too nice nor mean, not too friendly nor closed off, not too serious nor bubbly, not too confident nor self conscious. Perfect.

It hits Mingyu like a ton of brinks. The man he adores, the man he cherishes for who he is, thinks he should be entirely someone else. He’ll have none of this.

“You don’t want to be like me Wonwoo, I think, fuck it’s hard, wait a second I’m trying to gather my thoughts.” His hands messes up his hair, tugging at the roots as if to let out the words he can’t find. How is he supposed to phrase that Wonwoo is more than enough, that his quirks and flaws are what makes him him, that there’s nothing to fix about him. All he needs to do, is realize that there’s everything to love about him,that everything is already there begging to be seen by him and nothing to change.

“Alright,” Mingyu focuses on Wonwoo, wanting to communicate through his words and his eyes, hoping it’ll be enough. “Hoshi, Seungcheol, Me, we’re your friends right? You’re the one who got closed to us, the one that maintained the contact, the closeness, it’s wasn’t just me or them. I think, deep down, you know how to do the things you long to do. No offense Wonwoo, but I think you’re just terrified of the idea that you can do the things I do, but in a much different way. In your own way.”

It's clumsy and not exactly what he wants to vocalize but it's something, a start of something at least. Even, it's a sign that Mingyu is far from being perfect, far from being spotless.

For a moment he's silent, letting the words soak in his unconscious. He didn't understand how Mingyu seemed to always find the right words, how he always was so eloquent in any given setting while he, well, let's say words weren't really his thing.

"Mingyu, how do you talk to people?" Flashes of past conversations, of barely started friendship and dropped opportunities passed by in front of his eyes. Even recently, with that foreign photographer, he had been so awkward, so cold that he dreads opening the app again in fear of seeing the messages again.

"You just, do it I guess? There’s no guide book for that, you either feel it or you don’t" Mingyu senses that his answer isn’t enough for his logical friend. “Sometimes, some people aren’t meant to form something and it’s okay. I mean you only see the friends I made but you don’t see those I didn’t manage to make, right? People they’re, they’re easier than you may think really, we all want something simple and stress free. If a deeper connection is made, then that’s good, but if it’s just a simple friendship or nothing really, that’s good too.” Wonwoo turns over his friends words, trying to spot a hidden trick, or a magical formula, but all he he gets from it is that there’s no rules, no right way or wrong way to do it.

“So I just… talk?” “Yeah, you just talk.”

For the first time in his entire life, Wonwoo realizes that he was the sole reason to his pain, that he carved his own wronged vision of himself. It’ll take time, because wounds and words can’t disappear like in a 2-hour long movie, but he’ll try. For the first time in his life, he wants to let his brain roam free, with his awkwardness, his stoicism, his funny without wanting to reactions, his tendance to sarcasm, he wants to try and be the version of himself that he already is. Perhaps, he’s always been the perfect Wonwoo he longed to be, he was just too scared to realize it. Not being in a proper box, not doing things in a conventional way, that's what made him quiver in fear.

Infuriating. Exasperating. Noisy. Boisterous. Presumptuous. That's what Wonwoo would say about Mingyu right now, and quite frankly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

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[tobiasdrake]

I'm curious what Tenshinhan's fighting style is beyond general weirdness lol. I always interpreted it as a "showing off" sort of style back in the 22nd Tenkaichi Budokai, with most of his moves being visually impressive and/or intended to instill despair in his opponent, but then you have his kikōhō, a move that damages the self for greater strength...

Tenshinhan is fucking weird is what he is.

I mean that sincerely. Fitting for a man who walks in with three eyes like that's totally normal and no one ever speaks of it, Tenshinhan's style comes straight from the realm of the bizarre and esoteric. He's an outside-the-box challenger to test the limits of Goku's counter-fighting.

He is the drunken boxer. The fighting game character that plays utterly differently from all other characters, making them hard to learn but unpredictable when mastered. Ten forges his own way through martial arts with off-the-wall tricks and game-changing shenanigans.

It's just. Easy to forget how weird he is because the rest of the cast have thoroughly cannibalized his style. Kame-senryu are a bunch of fucking thieves.

This eye-searing image is the most normal thing Ten has in his repertoire.

Ten and Chiaotzu lay out that they're going to be... unlike anything we've seen before right from the get-go, when they use psychic powers to rig the matches.

Already, it's clear that we're about to see some weird shit. Both of these characters are built on the martial arts philosophy of "Okay what the hell even is that, how did you even bring laser eyes to a knife fight?"

Ten in particular is a formidable martial artist.

But as early as his first match, the oddball nature of his abilities start to settle in.

Okay, so Ten can just Nope any Kamehameha thrown at him. Sure. Guess that's a thing now. New rule, guys: No more Kamehamehas.

But you also kinda get it. Like. Tsuru-senryu is the rival school to Kame-senryu, and the Kamehameha is the signature technique of Kame-senryu. So it makes sense that they'd develop countermeasures for the Kamehameha.

Also, they can levitate.

Well, that's going to make scoring a ringout fucking hard, isn't it? One of the two ways you win in this tournament is by making your opponent fall in the grass outside the ring, and these fuckers can fly.

That's unfair, is what that is. They don't even need to use helicopter tail shenanigans or a well-aimed Kamehameha for propulsion to do it. They can just decide that they don't feel like being rung out today.

This is the first technique that doesn't seem so special today because everybody cannibalized their Bukujutsu. But at the time, it was unique. Even Taopaipai, their idol, couldn't fly. He got around by the delightfully comical method of throwing something really hard and then jumping on it and being taken for a ride.

Taopaipai was doing Breath of the Wild rock transit decades before it was cool.

As the tournament picks up, Chiaotzu foreshadows the bizarre nature of the fights ahead when he reveals his ultimate technique: Binding his opponent in place with psychic powers so they can't defend themselves.

That's. Not. Really. A martial art? Even by the incredibly loose definitions already on display in this manga. It's closer to General Blue's paralyzing glare. And there's a lot more of that to come.

Further included in Ten's repertoire of Weird Shit (TM) is his third eye, which serves a vital function in combat until everyone starts ki sensing and it ceases to be relevant.

Ten has enhanced perception, allowing him to see things that others can't. This is notably distinct from being able to sense people by following their ki signatures. A distinction the Muten-Roshi helpfully lays out by stating he can't see Goku but can sense him just before Ten confirms he can still see him.

When Goku meets Popo, we'll have entered the realm where the limitations of human eyesight can no longer keep up with the speeds of the characters, and learning to perceive through ki sensing becomes necessary.

But right now, Ten's enhanced perception lends him a number of edges over other martial artists that have to rely on eyesight to track their foes. Advantages such as thwarting this particular invisibility technique of Goku's.

Or piercing the illusion of the Zanzoken/Afterimage speed technique.

As an aside, I love the way both of those moments draw attention to Ten's two normal eyes looking one direction while his third looks the other. It's such an eerie but effective way of conveying the idea that he can see more than a normal man.

Ten and Chiaotzu play by different rules than everyone else.

Sometimes he has four arms. That's life, man. Again, they make a point of showing us what this looks like as a speed technique:

Both to set up Goku's counter for this and also so that we understand how meaningful it is that Ten is not doing that. Chapa and later Goku perform Hasshuken, moving their arms so fast it creates the illusion of eight. Ten physically sprouted two extra arms. He can just. Like. Shapeshift, I guess. He's a flying shapeshifter who sees faster than everyone because of his three eyes and he hangs out with a telekinetic doll.

Also he can flashbang his opponents as a clincher.

This is another move that seems mundane now because everyone stole it from him. They took his Bukujutsu/Levitation and they took his Taiyoken/Solar Flare. But it's another data point on the list of ways Ten's such a weird and complicated opponent to try and fight.

Even by the standards of Tsuru-senryu, he's weird. Taopaipai didn't do half of this shit. Ten specifically refers to the Taiyoken/Solar Flare as a New Tsuru-senryu technique, which implies that he created it himself.

Which makes me wonder just how much of his moveset is actually part of the Tsuru-senryu curriculum and how much is Ten. Just. Being weird.

Notably, at the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai, Ten shows up with something even more absolutely freakish than the Shiyoken/Four-Armed Fist.

Shishin no Ken also known in English as the Multiform Technique is another departure from your illusory speed techniques, in that Ten splits his body into four bodies. How does he do that? Fuck you, that's how. This is the evolution of both his enhanced perception and his ability to sprout extra arms - And, in being so, a demonstration of how Goku has left him behind.

It's an admittedly creative solution to the problem that Goku, following his training with Popo, can move too fast for even his three eyes to follow. But now he has twelve eyes.

TWELVE. That's as many as four Tens! And that's terrible.

The Shishin no Ken was another weird-ass technique from a weird-ass martial artist, serving a practical function in enhancing Ten's unique characteristics to compensate for Goku's now godly abilities.

But it was ultimately undone by a catastrophic vulnerability, which is the reason nobody ever tried this shit again.

Splitting into multiple copies of yourself turns you into a team of useless scrubs who can't throw a punch to save your life. It's a bad technique and was written off immediately after this fight, never to be seen again.

...except in anime filler, where everyone stole that from Tenshinhan too.

You guys were both at the tournament when Goku pointed out that this technique makes you throw punches like slow, limp noodles! Come on, guys! These characters would not even try this shit.

But I digress.

Not to be outdone, Chiaotzu invented a technique where he blows himself up and dies ineffectually.

Tenshinhan never let him fight another person again for the rest of his life. This cost him fighting privileges. Straight up left him with the non-combatants during the Android arc. You are done, Chiaotzu.

Look, just because their shit is weird doesn't mean it's all good.

Of course, we can't talk about Ten without talking about the Big Gun. His ultimate technique. The thing he's known for better than anything else, especially by people who never watched or read the material prior to Raditz.

The Kikoho/Tri-Beam is not a Tsuru-senryu technique or a Kame-senryu technique. It's not even a Tenshinhan original. It's a forbidden technique known to both schools but, at least in the Muten-Roshi's opinion, inappropriate to ever pass on. Tenshinhan's going to use it to win at recreational sports.

And people complain about Korra entering the Avatar State to win a race. If Goku broke out the Genki-Dama/Spirit Bomb to punch Krillin out of the ring, Kaio would have his ass for that....

The Kikoho is, so far as we know, the most powerful individual technique in Dragon Ball in terms of the gulf between the wielder's power and the destructive force output by their technique. It punches far above Ten's weight class. Whether that means:

Managing to fuck up Nappa pretty bad.

Holding back Semi-Perfect Cell.

Or even dissipating a shot from Super Buutenks, the Kikoho is in a league of power far beyond anything Tenshinhan would be capable of himself. This technique lends Ten the ability to show up and be occasionally useful even after the power scales leave him far behind.

At least, for a short time.

Sorry, man. You cannot fight at this level. But at least you got that killer shot in.

Tenshinhan and Chiaotzu are wild cards. Not as characters, mind you, but as martial artists. Their greatest strength is their unpredictability. You never know what they're going to pull out of their pocket next, which for a time made Ten in particular into a fun and engaging rival for the ever-analytical Son Goku.

[walnutcookie]

alright you didn’t specify what you wanted next so here’s replacement au cast and some fun facts about them bdjaidgkaj(in order of infection stages)

Preface: The remaining original toons mostly take shelter in the staff only rooms, although Dandy is mostly absent since he has to run his shop.

Toodles(Uninfected):The last original toon to not be infected. She was originally kept oblivious to what was happening, but she learned after she snuck out, which led to her seeing twisted Rodger(ooh how unfortunate). She’s now a bit more serious, and keeps a taped up Rodger capsule in the base just to be near her dad. Not much to talk about, considering she isn’t in the process of twisting.

Astro(Stage 1): Resident therapist of the group, not great considering he’s incredibly paranoid and feels guilty for everything that goes wrong. His twisted design doesn’t have that much, but since his 50% research description calls him “overwhelmed by guilt and despair,” that’s what I’m working with here.(the next 3 are more interesting I promise)

Shrimpo(Stage 2): The fighter of the group, Shrimpo was uninfected and doing pretty well, considering he’s learned how to punch twisteds without getting Ichor on himself, but he tried to fight a twisted Shelly and here we are. He’s very aggressive around the replacements, since he doesn’t view them as the actual toons, which to be fair, they aren’t. Has trouble speaking sometimes due to Ichor in his throat and around his mouth.

Gigi(Stage 3): The closest to twisting, Gigi is not allowed to go on runs. Her head is almost filled to the brim with Ichor, which causes massive headaches. She’s mostly non-verbal, despite being able to talk, but I headcanon she just doesn’t talk when stressed. She has to take a special medicine every day or so, or else she might become twisted. She doesn’t really walk much either, mostly resorting to crawling around or getting carried. She hoards things more than ever, likely as a coping mechanism.

Dandy(my dude my guy what is going on): The first time Dandy ever went on a run, he came unbelievably close to twisting due to a close encounter with Pebble(He couldn’t bring himself to run from his dog). He gave himself a new version of the cure he was making, which caused him to kinda be fixed, but also not really. He essentially functions with a voice in the back of his mind telling him to kill everyone on a daily basis, meaning he can switch from twisted and back if he wants, but he doesn’t like to. He only goes twisted if nobody buys things in a run, and there’s none of the originals. He feels extremely guilty afterwards, often getting comforted by Astro. And I want to emphasize this as much as possible, Dandy is NOT evil here.

alright that’s all for a fun activity, try and figure out why I chose this specific assortment of characters

the twisting stages will come soon wooohhhhhhhsjshdmw hvdjehud how’s

THIS IS SO SICK AUGHH I LOVE THIS IDEA??? i love me a good toodles angst <3 also im staring so hard at dandy /pos I LOVE IT WHEN THE VOICES TELL ME TO COMMIT ATROCITIES !!!!

[shaisuki]

the sun's gentle with it's rays shining throughout the beach. the waves rolling along with the salty breeze. the sand's nice too. his footsteps disappearing when the waves rolls along with his problem.

he was free.

it wasn't so bad, after all.

he always wanted this but the need to save others came first but now there wasn't any of it. no curses. no overtime. just him. splashing with the cool water when the breeze fanning all over him and the sun bathing him in it's warm rays. there's no need to reminisce about the past but somehow it's time for him to look back.

sixteen.

sixteen he was when nanami gets a glimpse of how life flashes in your own eyes even it's not your own death.

sixteen he was when nanami first felt what death must feel like and the bitter taste it left with his tongue. bile rising and words stuck in his throat followed by the sensation of being choked. death didn't made him sick. it was the cruelness of how the world works for jujutsu sorcerers like himself and to haibara.

haibara was sixteen and so was he. the difference between him and haibara. he aged. haibara was sixteen forever.

the despair of being weak and being faced with the inevitable damaged him. it's part of the cycle, the system. he accepted it. embraced it but what of it to a sixteen year old?

and so he left. ran away.

away from the madness this world had to offer for someone like him. you're not the only who's damaged, kento. he thinks to himself sometimes and brushes it like a dirt when he moved on.

did he truly moved on?

twenty seven.

“nanami, long time no see.” you said the first time you meet him on the hallways of jujutsu tech. “i thought you weren't coming back — after that.” he can see how your shoulders shake, lips quivering. fully knowing what you meant. it has never been the same and with that you walked away from him.

it's like a slap to his face how he left you alone. you were there. felt the same pain of losing someone. you were also part of his life and he chose to ignore you. you needed him. the same he needed you but he was never good at his feelings and with his words and like a coward he is, he ran away from his feelings and to you.

hopefully, he won't run away again this time with you in the picture.

nanami didn't expect this that he would catch feelings at this stage of his life to you. a closure and make amends to you even it wasn't needed. you remind him of the happy times. the days of his youth and the last time he felt happy and with you, slowly, he was getting attached again.

“we're still allowed to be happy, kento. don't be too hard on yourself.” you say to him out of the blue. leaning your head in his shoulder and nanami moves his arm to cradle you. putting you in his lap and you fully lean in his arm. “you make me happy.” he briefly said to you and he watch as your eyes widens, tears pooling in your lashes and rolls to your round cheeks. his thumb wiping the tears and he found himself his reflection in the glossy eyes of yours. a man whose damaged to admit to himself. a man whose tired with the bullshit that he had to deal and a man whose capable of loving someone, of loving you.

far too damaged to function as one — to love. he couldn't afford to go through the same pain of losing someone again. he couldn't but the squeezing feeling in his chest tells him otherwise and he took a leap of faith again with you. he will protect you even it's the last thing he can ever do.

and with that his thumb brushing in your round cheeks. leaning down to catch your lips with his and just what like he imagined. all this years and he could have done this sooner. kissed you with love and adoration with the longing and the sadness.

the kiss it was fine. just both of your lips brushing with each other along with murmurs of your names. it's gentle that the tears won't stop pouring and nanami is there to wipe it all and kisses your tears away with the promise of starting again.

twenty eight.

after months of being with you, nanami will be always reminded of how history always repeats itself. of how things are out of reach for him.

you were gone.

“see you on the other side, kento.” you smile at him. he watches as the light and warmth in your eyes disappear. there's no tears for him and he wants to laugh at himself. he swore to protect you and guess who protected him — you. there's no regret visible in you more like relieved.

shibuya was cruel. walking around with corpses scattered in the streets and he carried your lifeless body and placed it on the ambulance waiting. you were far long gone to be revived and nanami kisses your forehead. the gesture you loved so much before walking without looking back.

at the brink of death — he sees haibara. pointing behind him and itadori was there. he was contemplating that itadori shouldn't be burdened and carry such heavy matter in his young hands but haibara was stubborn and nanami let out a small smile and with that he turned around.

“you take it from here.”

the salty air, the cool water and the waves gently splashing in the sand with his feet dipped in the grainy sand. nanami think this must be it. he served his purpose and along those ridged lines of the sand. the look in his eyes doesn't change. those brown eyes with the hardness although they're a little softer. he's contented.

nanami stretches his arm. looking at the sand beneath his feet. smiling at himself. feel the gentle breeze in his face. he wasn't tired anymore. it's not too bad he thinks as he continued to walk. waves rolling like a blanket being covered to your body at night. it was gentle. splashing himself with water and relishes on the coolness of it

in the other side of the beach he makes out a figure. a all too familiar figure. it's you. staring at the distance like you were waiting for someone, dressed in a white sundress. your head turning to the side to meet him, look at him with a smile dancing in your lips.

he stops in his tracks. can't believe what his eyes were seeing before his tentative steps turning into a full running to get to you.

“kento.” you murmur. foreheads pressed together and nanami could almost cry. you're here with him and he hugs you tightly. afraid that you'll disappear from him again. “you look so happy there. i'm really glad you're happy, kento.” you whisper to him but nanami shakes his head.

“i am. now i'm with you.” you giggle at his words. nuzzling at his chest and nanami draws circles in your back. if this was the afterlife it wasn't so bad now he's with you. he calls your name and you raised your head to meet his gaze.

“it wasn't so bad, after all.”

[thatboreddrake]

How do you maintain hope? I keep seeing posts about it and I want to have that. I miss feeling like things might be okay

First off, my deepest apologies for taking so long to reply to this one. I wanted to make sure that I gave it its due attention, because it really is important.

Now, I feel like there's several layers to this one. Because 100%, it started for me from a perspective of "well someone's got to." I saw the people around me were hurting and wanted to do something about it. The way I settled on was to be that ray of hope, that person who truly believes that things can get better, that the best is yet to come.

But that's not enough, not anymore anyway. Because an ingrained part of that was the idea that my issues didn't matter. That I shouldn't talk with people about the things I was dealing with, because why should I add to their burden? They were already going through so much! But all that led me to was a growing melancholy and frustration with my own feelings.

And so, slowly but surely, I've started to open myself up to other people. To tell them about the things I was struggling with. And you know what they said? They certainly didn't minimize or dismiss my struggles, as I for years had worried that they would. No, when I expressed my feelings, that I shouldn't burden them with the things bothering me, they looked me in the eye and told me: "The fact that you're hurting is enough. It doesn't matter how small it is."

And as I've started to be more open on here, I've been fortunate enough to find like-minded people. My friends like @ivebeensetonfire and @minty-cheese who consistently reiterate that we are loved, and that we *will* make it through.

And there's definitely a part of me that still feels like I have to hold onto hope, otherwise I wouldn't be able to function. How could I ever move forward if I didn't believe that things could change for the better?

And this is definitely where my faith plays a part. For context, I was born and raised as a Christian, and I still hold that faith to be my own. Now, I certainly don't believe the same way that my parents do (I think I put a lot more weight in God's love and compassion than they do), but that doesn't mean that I'm no longer a Christian.

So yeah, I believe with absolute confidence that the best is yet to come. But I don't want that to just be some nebulous platitude of "someday the world will get better so I'll sit and wait for that day." No, Jesus calls Christians to love and serve people, to be His hands and feet in this world.

And so I hold on to hope. I offer a word of encouragement wherever I can. I lend a listening ear when it is needed because sometimes all someone needs is someone to hear their plight. And I strive not to counter with hollow positivity because I know that often all that does is twist the knife deeper. I know that sometimes, all you need is someone to say "I know that sucks. I'm here for you. Let's get through this together."

And seeing as you sent me this ask, I assume that you're probably one of my mutuals. So hear this and believe me: I love you. I'm here for you, and I want to do whatever I can to help you. I can't force positivity or hope, but I will continue to speak to it. So if you ever need love, encouragement, a kind word, a listening ear: we're here. Me, and many others like me.

I hope that that answered your question, if in a somewhat roundabout way. To be fully transparent, there are many days when I start to despair, feeling like I'll never be able to move beyond where I am now. All you can do is to take the next step. Because as long as we keep moving forward, I believe that we will see the sun rise again.