#its been almost half a decade huh

[supervillainarchaeologist]

Any time I see someone say "Marvel knew what they were doing when they cast Tom Hiddleston" I feel a bit like...they didn't though? I think you're projecting some 4D chess grandmaster stuff onto Marvel Studios that doesn't really exist.

Tom was cast via Kenneth Branagh and yes it was PHENOMENAL casting but let's not pretend like Marvel Studios didn't spend the next near-decade and a half deleting Loki's scenes, killing him then instantly reviving him, deleting yet more of his scenes, killing him again, retconning killing him, sticking him off-screen for almost half a decade, removing yet another scene and not even compensating his fans with a DVD extra, killing him again, then suddenly remembering he's popular (again) and coming up with something to use a now-for-real-dead character as the lead but it wasn't exactly the same character (just another version of him) and now they're apparently done with him again when it's pretty obvious he'll be wheeled out of that tree at some point.

I love Loki. I love Tom's portrayal of Loki but the only people who have consistently genuinely seemed to care about the character are the fans. Because we've been given nothing but crumbs by Marvel and yet produce all this beautiful fan art, fan fic and meta. Marvel have just kinda stumbled around Loki like some perpetually confused pigeon in a hall of mirrors that keeps crashing into its own reflection shrugging "huh...what IS this? Ooh shiny!"

Knew what they were doing? More like lucked out with a very talented and charismatic actor and a dedicated fanbase that formed 2011-12 and is somehow, despite everything still here.

[phyrestartr]

Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.1)

W/C: 3.5k #full is NSFW, mild yuuji/reader, yuuji and gang are v early 20s, heian sukuna, male reader, typical kitsune shapeshifting, mentions of abuse, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, sukuna has FEELINGS but is BAD AT FEELINGS, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, dubcon elements, soz if anything is clunky asdkjf; i can only reread the same fic so many times for editing sadge

A/N: Decided to separate this into parts since I'm dying to post some of it lol I've held it in a chokehold in the shadows of my WIPs for too long, some of it has to come out before I explode o(--( there is more to come!

tag: @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9

The scripture was incomplete, worn away by age.

…herein lays the God...imprisoned...by...Disgraced One…

Yet the society felt this, the coffin uncovered decades ago, could be an invaluable asset. The vessel was decrepit and ancient, yet still stood strong against the test of time and the wear of nature. Seal papers, no doubt left by a monk of sorts, covered the entirety of its surface, hiding away rotting wood and rusted bands of metal from modern sorcerer's curious eyes.

Few knew why the higher ups kept the vessel under lock and key. Fewer knew why they kept it at all; however, those few understood the importance of such a relic. They'd been the ones to seek it out, to steal it away before malicious forces took it for themselves, warping the supposed deity inside for their own, malevolent purpose, whatever that may be.

And with Ryoumen Sukuna's fingers being found one by one, they could not allow anyone to possess humanity's failsafe: you. A great being imprisoned by the devil.

“Anything?” Gojo trilled, patting Yuuji’s shoulders frantically as he stood behind him and beheld the wooden tub covered in sigils. 

“Uh…” Yuuji tried to focus on Sukuna’s presence inside of him. He didn’t seem intrigued or frightened, nor did he seem too bothered with the idea of them trying to smite him down with a sealed god–he was, however, annoyed that Yuuji continued to poke and prod at him. 

Piss off, runt. 

“Yep. Nope. Sukuna doesn't care,” Yuuji sighed. “He's getting all pissy now that I'm bothering him, though.” 

Gojo laughed and patted Yuuji's shoulders a few more times before all but twirling towards the bound box. “Well, that's a pretty good sign that he's not the one that did this, then! In that case,” he started, walking up to the seal papers keeping everything locked down, “let's pop ‘er open.” 

Before Yuuji could even wonder if that was a good idea, the white-haired witch used an overzealous amount of cursed energy and disintegrated every scrap of seal paper. 

Yuuji braced for impact. Surely something terrible like a bankai or a spirit bomb would send them flying once the coffin came undone. Surely they'd pay for this, for unleashing whatever godly spirit laid locked up for far too long, only to release it back into the modern age and–

“Huh. Weird.”

Yuuji cracked open an eye and saw the dull shine of tattered onyx fur, and his control slipped with a blitz of vertigo. 

Markings flared across his skin as he stormed toward the coffin, heart howling with thoughts and memories crashing through a shared mind; a face he didn't know but knew so well bloomed at the forefront of it all, eyes framed in pointed scarlet, skin bathed in ancient, dappled sunlight.

They reached the edge of the coffin and gripped the edges, splintering the wood as they took in the sight; crimson and curse decay pooled around a figure, curled up and half-submerged. Several black, tattered tails spilled free from the tub, no longer crushed from the force of the lid sealing them inside, but they were bent awkwardly and matted with whatever tincture lay at the bottom.

Then there was the so-called god in the middle of it all–you. Still. Quiet. Curled up in a haori far too big for you. Eyes closed. Almost peaceful.

Confusion tore at Sukuna while nausea ripped through Yuuji; he couldn't bear to look at such a morose scene.

So, Sukuna pushed him aside.

[Heian Era]

You were never supposed to be anything more than a trinket. 

You were a gift from some family trying to show off for Sukuna, so much so that they offered him a delicacy, something he surely didn't have yet–a yokai. A kitsune, to be more exact. One with peculiar black tails. 

Sukuna found it interesting, and similarly desperate, to be brought such a creature as tribute. Certainly, it was meant to be seen as a high honour, yet somehow it felt…off. Why would humans give up something so powerful? 

Unexpectedly, it'd be you who told him. 

They submit me for the sake of convenience and mockery, your withering voice whispered where no one else could hear. You sounded weak. Tired. Maybe afraid, yet brave enough to reach towards the king and unveil the intentions of the men who brought you before him. 

Sukuna's eyes flicked to you, his feigned interest in what the sorcerers said falling straight into dismissal. You were much more intriguing. 

“Oh?” Sukuna asked, a smile creeping onto his face. The speakers ceased their jabbering and stared at your back with fierce intensity. Sukuna grinned wider. Oh, how he loved the way fear twisted mortal faces. 

You didn't shift or crumple into yourself under the eyes of so many, however. You pushed on with what little energy and life you had, so intent on dragging that clan through the mud. 

What I say is true, you assured simply. I expect to die today–

“Speak so everyone hears you, fox,” Sukuna commanded.

“--so I–I–” you coughed and cleared your throat, trying to rid your voice of the scratchy, weakness it struggled through. “I wish to not die with regrets.

"They have rendered me ill and unable to produce children, they see the black of my tails and regard me as an ill omen; yet they bring me to you, daring to spin sweet tales about the value of such an offering. But they lie,” You hissed. Your eyes glinted with molten malice, and Sukuna fell captivated.

“They throw me to you as they would diseased meat to dogs.” 

The courtyard fell silent, and Sukuna basked in it. You really were such a little troublemaker. A quietly chaotic force of nature. 

The king stood, rolling his shoulders as he did, and his pride flared as you dropped to your knees before him in respect. He walked to you and patted your head as one might a child's before appraising the sorcerers stood before him. 

“What a disappointment,” Sukuna sighed, raising another hand. The couple took up position, pooling their cursed energy in hopes of fending off the monster standing before them. The effort was quite cute. “Here I thought your clan might actually earn my mercy.” His hand dropped as the two lunged. Then, the two clansmen fell, too, both in neat, vertical halves. Quite overkill, yes, but he had a point to make. 

Where he expected a reaction from you, he got nothing. Only panting and poorly-stifled coughs came from you, racking through the entirety of your skin and bones frame. Sukuna could see it up close now, the way your body trembled from fatigue, the sickly greying of your skin, the scent of disease clinging to you. 

That wouldn't do. Sukuna liked his things to be in good shape. 

“Uraume,” Sukuna droned as he stared down at you, “fix this.”

It took some time, but you managed to recover. It was an unnerving experience, with the way Uraume tended to you with sincerity. Perhaps it was genuinity born from their devotion to Ryoumen Sukuna, but you greedily soaked it in, filling your stomach with the care they offered you. 

Sukuna didn't bother much with you, not that you really minded; you were much more content to be fed and forgotten than hunted down by the creature that supposedly took ownership of you without enforcing it. If he didn't cause harm or good, if he simply existed somewhere else and forgot you breathed the same air as him, you'd still be at peace. 

But he was more intrigued than you gave him credit for. 

“Ho? So this is where you scamper off to,” Sukuna hummed, leaning over you as you dozed in the nice little spot you'd made for yourself in the garden, right under the crimson cover of a maple tree. You jumped the slightest bit, your daydreams and sunbathing interrupted by the brute’s silhouette eclipsing the sun, but you settled again quickly. The beast of a man wasn't a cause for panic in your little world, after all. 

“Does it displease you?” You inquired, fixing your hair and straightening out your robes. 

Sukuna held onto an overhead branch of the tree as he looked down at you. “Pets are supposed to play in the yard, aren't they?” He smirked as you pursed your lips and flicked your tail before calming it with hasty pets. “What, you don't like being my pet?” 

“I would not refer to myself as a pet,” you countered as the man sat down with you and leaned against the tree. The king's presence calmed you. With him, you knew you were invincible. 

“Pft. Then pray tell what your damn role is around here.” One set of arms folded behind his head while the other set crossed over his chest. “Pets are freeloaders. Pretty sure that's exactly what you are.”

You huffed. “Freeloader. Tch. How rude.” 

“Lookit that. You're copping an attitude now that you're fat and fed. Used to be so much more polite.” 

“Fat and–I am not fat.” You headbutted his side lightly, something that would make more sense had you been in your fox form. You grinding your forehead against him suggested this was more of a human move, however. “I am perfectly normal now. I was brittle and nonexistent prior to now. This is a grand improvement.”

Sukuna scoffed a laugh and looked down at your head pressed up against his side. “Thanks to me,” he boasted. 

“Yes,” you agreed. You held onto his haori and looked up at him, placid and intense. “It is thanks to you. I would not be here if not for your mercy and intervention.” 

Sukuna raised a brow as he regarded you. “Hm. And what will you do to repay me?” 

“My very presence grants you luck, good fortune and fertility.” You tilted your head. “I already repay you by being here.”

Tch. But the gardens and surrounding lands did look more lush and lively since your arrival, he couldn't deny that fact. But he was a king; he could always ask for more and expect to get it. 

“What more?” He prodded.

Your tail flicked as you thought. “What would you ask of me?” 

“Something you haven't given another,” Sukuna replied. Ugh, your flowery, poetry-y, bullshit speak was rubbing off on him. 

You stared at him, gemstone eyes glinting with earthen hues and shards of gold in the yawning afternoon sun. The leaves bristled just perfectly, letting in dapples of citrus sunlight as if trying to make this moment something special, as if to burn your ethereal presence into history for all eternity. All this, just while you thought of what to give him. Perhaps a riddle is what you wanted. Perhaps purple prose suited your fancy. Perhaps it was something else. 

You sat up, carefully raising yourself onto your knees before leaning up towards the hulking king. He turned his face to you in interest, feeling a sort of natural energy begin to pool around the both of you, reaching from the far depths of the earth and the wide stretch of the sky to converge on your existence as you framed his face with gentle hands, and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

It lasted only a second. But a second was long enough to catch the scent of petrichor and petals on your skin, to indulge in the heat of wildfires raging in your soul, to feel the blasphemy of you against him; then, you parted. 

“For now,” you murmured, and Sukuna swore he saw your single tail fan out into nine, “I give you my divine favor, Ryoumen Sukuna.”

You wondered if your favor was enough. He'd been gone some time, off to accept a duel from the snotty shitheads Sukuna had received you from. Apparently, having two of the eldest boys murdered rubbed them the wrong way. Sukuna was glad for it, you knew–the man lived and breathed for a fight. 

Of course, you stayed put. Uraume assured you'd be fine on your own, and Sukuna reminded his staff they'd all be eaten alive by the king himself if anything uncouth were to take place in his absence. It was more so that Sukuna didn't like the idea of idiots touching his stuff than it was the notion you were important to him, from your understanding. 

Regardless, the time alone left you restless. That king made you invincible. Without him, you were nothing more than the scared kit locked away in darkness, never to emerge lest your stubbornness trick them. But things were different here. Everyday was filled with unknowns and uncertainties when the two you'd forged fragile bonds with fell absent. 

So, you thought of how to repay Sukuna. Your divine favor would only do so much, after all–you didn't think a man like that really needed the extra luck, but he seemed more than intrigued by the manner of delivering the blessing; you remembered how he looked at you, eyes half-lidded, shielding you from the inferno burning out of control. He grumbled something low in his chest, just loud enough that you heard: 

You better be here when I get back.

“Ah–” The thrill those catastrophic words gave you nearly led to stabbing yourself with the needle. You tutted and regained focus, continuing to carefully embroider the sleeves of one of Sukuna's many plain black haori.

You learned how to sew and embroider from watching an elder from that clan work her magic on old, tattered clothes. She never spoke to you nor regarded you, but she never turned you away the rare times you watched her fix garments; you thought it was beautiful–the art of turning something mundane into something meaningful.

Though you wondered if Ryoumen Sukuna, the most powerful sorcerer, the most feared man alive, had a desire for anything useless and meaningful. 

The answer came quickly. You'd found yourself void of confidence when the monarch returned to his palace after (obviously) winning whatever duel he'd agreed to; you weren't sure if you were to congratulate him, celebrate him or something more. On top of that, he'd eventually find that haori you'd slaved over for days, and you weren't sure you could take the heartbreak of dismissal. 

However, those fears were quashed when, from a new little secret garden hovel, you spied the man donning the very haori you slaved over; it wasn't a flashy piece, you didn't want to subtract from the marvel that was the king of curses, so you opted for using black, shimmery thread to weave intricate twisting trees and blackened blooms along the sleeve. Only if the design caught the light would one be able to notice it. 

But that was enough for you. Knowing he accepted such a meaningless gift was reassuring of your place in his world. 

So, you finally let Uraume convince you to stay in the room they'd prepared for you. 

“No need to be nervous,” you hummed, that undying urge inside you to take care of something helping you soothe the young woman's nerves. You fixed her hair, your deft fingers carefully slipping strands into place before sliding a decorative pin in to hold it all together. You took a step back to appraise her, Sukuna's latest concubine. 

“I–thank you.” Sachiko blushed fiercely and bowed the slightest bit, not risking a deep bow for the fear of her hair falling loose. “I can see why all the girls love you.” 

You laughed, low and warm. “Well, it's hard not to love someone who takes care of you, no?” Gently, you tilted her chin up and leaned in, carefully examining the red lacquer staining her lips. The colour matched her kimono and the gems in that exquisite hairpin keeping dark locks at bay. “But I'm glad. I know it's difficult to find respite in these times.” 

Sachiko held her breath as she looked over the natural paint of crimson adorning your eyes. “I-I, um–yes, I do agree.” 

You hummed and carefully fixed the smallest smudge on the corner of her mouth. “Mh. So I hope you do your best to please him.” 

“I will!” Sachiko promised. “But–I wish to–may I give you something?” 

“Of course.” 

She gathered her kimono up in her hands and leaned up toward you. You leaned down, expecting a secret or hushed words, but perfect red lips pressed against your skin instead. And you were dumbfounded; you'd never been kissed before. You'd never had a lady show that interest in you. 

Sachiko got down from her tiptoes and hid her mouth with her sleeve. “Just for good luck!” She squeaked before bowing and hastily running through the doors where Sukuna would no doubt be waiting for his woman for the evening’s events. 

You looked at the doors sliding closed and caught a glimpse of Sukuna stood before the young woman, his frame swallowing hers as you looked on. And you caught a glimpse of his eyes, his stare of shock and utter vexation–clearly, he'd seen the short woman give you a kiss for good luck. 

You turned away, choosing to abandon the girl to her demise as your fingers ghosted against your lips in wonder. 

He showed up in your chambers later that night. You were still awake, quietly embroidering another haori; this time, it was for Uraume. They insisted they didn't want to burden you, but they crumbled under your more insistent insistence, and accepted the offer on the condition it looked subtle and muted. 

Sukuna padded toward you, hardly bothering to announce himself or ask to join you (ugh, how annoying) before plopping himself onto the futon beside you, sighing as he laid down. 

“I see you finished early,” you commented, jumping the littlest bit when large hands caught your flickering tails. He didn't hurt you, no; he was simply an overgrown toddler with a penchant for examining whatever wiggled before him. 

“That woman kissed you,” Sukuna answered, unhelpful. “Ruined it.” 

“Ah. Well. I didn't expect it either.” You cleared your throat, feeling an unexpected bubble of embarrassment rise in your chest. “I have…I've never been given a kiss before. Not from what I can recall, at the very least.” 

“The hell are you talking about?” Sukuna grouched. “You planted one on me in the gardens.” 

“Giving is not receiving,” you corrected, flicking your tail so as to hit his face. “I've never given a kiss on another's lips, regardless. Though I find myself wondering why I–” 

You yowled when he yanked your tail like he meant to rip the thing off, and you whirled on him, eyes drawn into slits and chunky fangs bared as you dug your nails into his wrist in an effort to make him let go.

Yet the king looked unfazed. He sat up and  tugged you closer by your tail, yank after yank, ripping an impressive collection of vexed noises from you until his broad hand caught you by the throat. You clawed at his wrist and forearm, scrambling to find purchase, idly wondering if he'd finally had enough of you and sought to put you down after dirtying one of his concubines–

But he kissed you instead. His lips were warm and dry, not quite soft yet not unwelcoming. Sukuna knew what he was doing, too; his tongue licked at your bottom lip before pushing inside to finally taste you and taint you from within just a little bit. 

Your grip on him laxed the slightest bit, and you even eased into his hold as he, too, refused to harm you further. If you weren't aware of his malevolent spirit, you might've thought him gentle in that long, simple moment–a special brand of “gentle” that was wholly Sukuna's. Kind, but jagged around the edges. 

He started pulling back, though, and you followed after his touch like a bewitched maiden chasing after the lips of a lover. You nipped at the air like that'd do something for you, but soon settled on leaning into the hand holding you still, even if your throat scratched and ached because of it. 

You found Sukuna's calm stare watching you when you opened your eyes a crack. For once, you thought he looked content; the cruel, mocking lines of his face had smoothed and relaxed, and that annoying, cocky smirk he'd been born sporting had been replaced with a placid, normal lilt. Even the inferno blazing in crimson depths eased into pools of yawning embers–warm and spirited, yet contained. 

The sight relaxed you despite the confusion it brought to your rationale. 

“That,” Sukuna said, so odd and quiet, but powerful and judicial. “Is your first.” His thumb stroked against the side of your neck, pausing to feel the pitter patter of your heart thrumming under his mercy. “It'd serve you to remember that.” 

You nodded shallowly. “Of course.” 

Pleased, he let go of your quite breakable neck and moved like he was about to get up. You grabbed at his hand and pressed his palm to the side of your face like he was cupping your cheek. Your insistence on touching gave the beast pause, but he settled again, content to let you keep him hostage for as long as you wanted.

And you indulged in the simple favour. You nuzzled into his palm with a very fox-like chitter as a bassy, quiet trill of a purr lazily rolled through your chest, eventually reaching Sukuna himself. It somehow had him feeling content. Relaxed. Like he was basking in the warmth of the sun. 

“I request another,” you chirped, and Sukuna quirked a brow. 

“Another?” 

“Kiss.” 

Sukuna twitched a smirk. “It'll cost ya.” 

“Oh?” 

“Give me another blessing.”

And you agreed.

[porcalinecunt]

𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄.

→ you were never ment to be a good husband, and neither was he. so what now? simple. when the spouses aren’t home, someone else is.

🎧 𝐒𝐀𝐄 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

♟️𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 / 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓

𝐜𝐰 — infidelity. trans!reader. pussy slapping. degredation. some spanking. edging (?). rough sex. creampie. no aftercare. mean dom! sae. sex addiction (?).

a/n » i told yall i was cooking up smth ;) anyways, life sucks sm ass rn but sae brainrot + a need for angst got me making this. this might end up as a mini series but i’m not 100% sure yet. i’ll see how well it does on here and on ao3 (pls support my works there too 🤍) otherwise, enjoy the fic!

Cold. That’s the only thing you could feel besides your numbing fingers and goosebumps rising on your limbs. The house could get so cold during the wintertime, then again, it’s much warmer than when Rin was home.

Rin Itoshi, the man many would kill to have a chance with, who was your beloved husband. Together for half a decade now, marrying while still being quite young. To many, it was a dream come true and you cannot blame them for that. Rin had it all. Wealth, looks, a successful career as a pro soccer player. He had it all, or better said, almost had it all. Even for him, he lacked the very thing a husband should have. Love for his spouse.

He wasn’t the most loving husband, instead the polar opposite. Many days he was mostly cold, floating around you as if he was a ghost. You rarely hear him utter an “I love you” or any sweet names you’d give him. The most you get is a quick peck on the cheek, then off he goes. again and again.

So it was no surprise you’d find another man to spend spare time with, it was who it was that made it so taboo. And he had just arrived.

The doorbell rang, startling you out of your trance. Your body almost moved completely on its own, turning the knob till the door cracked open, revealing your company for the night.

He didn’t say a word, only standing there. Sae Itoshi, your seemingly brother in law. Then again, he doesn’t really deserve nor fit the title. He’s the very last person Rin would want in his home, and for very good reason. He’s cruel, untrustworthy, and a liar, but then again, he’s all the things you’d wish Rin was. Even if it came with the uglier bits. Sae didn’t waste time walking through the door, pulling you into a passionate kiss.

The man didn’t utter a ‘hello’, and was already prying at your pants. Palming at your soaking cunt, not breaking the kiss to let you breathe. He could be so greedy, so selfish. His lack of foreplay and even care for you was addictive, he was quick and straight to the point, useful when it comes to covering your act up quickly.

“S-Sae..”

You winced, but the man doesn’t stop for anything. Instead, tearing off the loose pajama top you had on and trailing his lips from your face to your jawline. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his hips as he carried you off into your bedroom. Plopping you onto the very bed your husband sleeps on, the sheets still smelling like him.

“Still aren’t gonna leave him?” Sae asked, his tone condescending and almost mean.

You shook your head, hearing him scoff before he began to unbutton his shirt. You felt your stomach twist once he fully shed off his white collar top, immediately going for the belt next. You sat up, almost reaching out to unzip his pants but was pushed back down. This time, his hand gripped your wrist and pinned you down.

“So impatient, Rin has been neglecting you huh..”

You quickly nodded, your cunt throbbing with need. It’s been too long since you had a cock stuff you full, your fingers couldn’t satisfy you nor could any of your toys. Rin didn’t help either, even when you two did have sex, he lacked the intimacy and treated it more like a chore if anything. You don’t remember him even trying. With Sae, however, it was almost like the man knew your body better than your own husband. It’s a damn shame you can’t always see him.

Sae climbed on top of you, crashing his lips against yours. His tongue poked and licked at your lips till he pried them open, stuffing your mouth till you whined from the overwhelming feeling. You clung onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin till it became red.

He snuck his fingers between your thighs, digging into your boxers till his slender fingers reached between your folds. He teased, pressing his thumb against your throbbing clit. He chuckled when he heard you shudder against his touch, prompting him to gently slap your cunt. Your legs snapped shut, but not enough before he forced them back open and placed another (and harder) slap. You screwed your eyes shut, hissing from the slight sting yet the rush of pleasure that sent chills down your back.

“S-Sae please—“

“Please what? Speak up.”

He leaned closer, spitting his venom in your ear. His lips touched the flushed lobe, to the point where you nearly fell backwards.

“Please fuck me, please i’ve been waiting for—“

You whispered, already breathless. You couldn’t finish, however, as Sae once again landed another and harsher slap on your soaked cunny. A loud yelp tore from your throat, before a string of sobs filled the room.

“C’mon, giving up already..?”

He inched his hand away, causing you to grab his wrist and place it back onto your weeping cunt. You pleaded, and oh did you plead. Begging for his cock, for him to use you to his heart’s content, even if he broke you a little bit. He was yours, torn out of Rin’s arms and onto his dick effortlessly. It was embarrassingly easy, but then again, Sae always gets what he wants. Always.

He finally tore your boxers off, discarding them and looked down at the view in front of him. Flustered and eager, your legs spread wide open and your eyes syrupy from the tears you shed earlier. The sight made him harder than a rock, prompting him to fish out his cock from his tight pants. It was already leaking precum, the tip a flushed red as he stroked it, lubing up his dick. You took him plenty of times, so he’d stop using lube and fuck you raw.

“You like this don’t you? Taking another man raw while Rin is away. So fuckin’ shameless..”

He hissed, emerald eyes staring down at you like a predator. His face filled with lust and a carnal desire that begs to be released, released onto someone like you. Slowly, he sunk into you, biting back a groan. He looked down, watching his cock dissapere in your tight cunny. He watched your face shift, your mouth opening into an O shape and your eyebrows tilting upwards. It was a sight he could never get bored of. He leaned down, bottoming out while pressing kisses against your cheek and jawline. You were caged between his large arms, his body hovering over yours. You couldn’t help but open your eyes a bit and stare at your lover’s face. He was so damn beautiful, almost unreal. It’s no surprise he caught your eye when you saw him for the first time.

Sae moved slowly, dragging his cock in and out while peppering open mouthed kisses against your neck and chest, his mouth eventually catching one of your nippled. He licked and toyed with it while pinching the other between his fingers, grinning when he heard your mewls and cries. The sounds you made went straight to his dick, an insatiable appetite growing in him. He just couldn’t get enough, no matter how many times he stuffed your greedy cunt.

The sound of skin slapping against one another got louder once he quickened his pace, fucking every little sound your throat hid out. “Ah-ah-ah—“ choppy moans and cut off sobs from his sharp thrusts filled the rooms till its all you could hear. You could barely hear Sae’s degrading names and the rare groan that slips off his tounge.

“Greedy thing, aren’t you?”

He muttered against your skin, pulling away as he slowed down a bit but his thrusts remained harsh. Inching closer and closer to your cervix, your eyes rolled back till you began to see stars. Your fingers curled into the sheets below you, the pit in your stomach growing till you felt like you were gonna pass out from the heat and pleasure.

“Sae..! Why did you slow do—“

A loud smack along with a stinging pain on your inner thigh cut off your whines and forced a crooked sob out of your sore throat. Before you could look up, Sae pulled you up by your arms and flipped you onto your stomach. Pulling your hips up till your on your knees, you looked up from the pillow to meet Sae’s eyes. Strands of his hair stuck to his face, his gaze focused on your current position. While he lacked the love Rin at least had, his tone dripped with lust along with his seductive details in his face and body made you disregard how he could care less about you.

Rin still had the decency to treat you like how a lover should, you were just another paramour to Sae.

And he treated you as such, slamming his heavy cock back in your abused cunt. His hands gripping on your hips, enough to surely leave hand marks. You couldn’t keep up with his pace, to the point where Sae was just pulling your numbing body onto his dick. Fucking you hard and deep like if you were a damn fleshlight.

“Sae! Sae! Sae!”

You sobbed, clawing at your bedsheets until your fingers curl into the already ruined pillow. You stuffed your face into it, trying to muffle your screams. You’d hate it if any of your neighbors overheard what you were doing when your husband was away.

“Y-you’re too good, fuck..! Ah..!”

He abruptly stopped, grabbing a fistful of your hair and forcing your head up from the pillow.

“Yeah? Better than your dear husband?”

In a dumbified state, your lover balls deep and your body hot and numb, you nodded.

You admitted it, you actually fucking admitted it.

He laughs, breathlessly. In a mixture of shock and appeasement, he picked up his pace until your body was practically rocking up against the bed. He kept your head up, deep emerald eyes staring holes into your mind. He didn’t have to keep guessing, he already knew anyway. He just didn’t expect you to admit it in your most vulnerable state. Usually, a good husband would reassure his love for his significant other, even in the act of infidelity. Whether it was a lie or not, the spouse would always be first and everything.

But he could make someone break that rule so easily, and it fueled his ego to no end. The rush and pleasure he gets from this, from fucking his brother’s husband dumb till his cunny was filled with his seed. Even the image of it gets his dick hard. No matter what Rin would do, Sae would always get the upper hand. Even when it came to the very person who vowed up and down to be with him till death.

That gut wrenching feeling pushed Sae over the edge, as he shoved your head into the pillow once again and pressed his body against yours. You let out one final cry as the warm feeling of his cum filling your cunny overwhelmed you, twitching and shaking underneath him. Your mind went blank, only thinking about his cock that still sat in you. Not at all about Rin, or the fact that you're doing this behind his back. You didn’t remember the overwhelming guilt that would wash over you once Sae leaves the room. The short afterglow of it all, that’ll slowly melt into the same loneliness that had you running into his arms anyways.

An addictive cycle, one you refuse to break despite the consequences it’ll bring soon enough.

Sae pulls out, the feeling of your empty cunt ruining the afterglow. You weakly turn your body around, watching him redress himself. He didn’t have the decency or time to give you proper aftercare, after all, he has better things to tend to. Better yet, a better person.

“Still with her?”

You asked, annoyance and jealousy made clear in your tone. Your lover turned around, just as he was buttoning up his shirt. His face was traced with irritation and maybe a bit of anger with the way you referred to his wife.

“Tch. Think I'm gonna leave her for you?”

“You might as well, Sae..”

He turned away at your response, clearly not listening. You rolled your eyes, staying quiet as he slips his shoes on without saying another word. He leaves the room, as you listen to him walking down the stairs and out the front door. Cold and alone, once again.

Being selfish was the worst decision you could’ve made, and not just for you.

Your phone dinged, revealing a text from your husband. With a grimace face, you opened it much to your regret.

rinnie 💙: I miss you y/n. Let’s do something together once I get back, yeah?

You clutched your phone. Rin almost never texts, let alone even says “i miss you”. Reading that message was a punch to the gut, as you could almost hear the sincerity of his message.

Bastard. Why now?

🎧 this work belongs to @porcalinecunt. reblogs and feedback are appreciated. <3

[bug-bites]

one of my fav things to read/write is a f!reader x Simon "Ghost" Riley, where the reader is almost exactly like ghost. I'm talking full black mask, (maybe legally dead) few words, silent, callsign generally spooky like Reaper or Phantom, and I was wondering if you would wanna do that?

Usually I have reader as a childhood friend or adopted sibling of Roach, which is why roach is so comfortable around ghost. He's just used to it. If it's pure fluff or platonic that's completely fine, and if you don't wanna do that it's also fine!! I just thought I might as well shoot my shot :)

Your an amazing writer, have an awesome day <3

seeing double

cw: canon-typical violence, breif (pun intended) mention of ghost having skeleton boxers (nothing like explicit though i dont even know if this needs to be mentioned tbh but better safe than sorry), ghost gets shot womp womp, angst w/ a happy ending, so many military inaccuracies, barely proofread :P

pairing: platonic!simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader, gary 'roach' sanderson & reader

characters: simon 'ghost' riley, gary 'roach' sanderson (price, gaz and soap mentioned v briefly!)

authors note: omg you are so sweet thank you so much!! sorry this took so long i've been so busy with things, i hope you don't mind that i got a bit silly with this one and basically wrote a fic in jot notes 😭 (ALSO ROACH MENTION!! I LOVE MY BBYG THANK YOU ANON <3)

when you first met ghost he genuinely thought this was a joke. the balaclava, the whole death motif, your callsign being phantom which is literally synonymous with ghost, even your attitude was so eerily similar to him. it was like looking in a mirror

it didn't help when he tilted his head you mirrored your actions

i think he wouldn't gravitate immediately to you, it's not that he didn't like you he just felt a bit odd with how similar you two were, in all honesty he was probably slightly unnerved by you

soap and gaz definitely crack jokes about you being the second coming of ghost or something dumb like that

whenever anyone is referring to you and ghost and phantom it was always "the ghosts" or "ghost and girl ghost" which pissed you OFF

roach cant count all the times you have ranted to him about how everyone treats ghost like he came up with your whole aesthetic and you copied him when you have been doing this for YEARS before you even met ghost!

"and everyone acts like he invented skeletons and being legally dead! how self centered do you have to be to act like you invented skeleton iconography?! THEYRE SKELETONS. THATS LIKE BASIC HUMAN ANATOMY. and its always men taking the credit- god its so stupid! i did shit this first and how do i know that he isn't copying me huh?? did we ever think of that?? and ghost is such a basic ass fucking name like really. ghost? bet the only reason he wears that mask is to cover up his casper sized forehead."

roach knows that you're annoyed and you probably aren't trying to be super mean- maybe you don't even think ghosts forehead is casper sized! but hey, he isn't trying to argue while you look like you're about to rip someone's head off

instead he opts for calmly signing words of comfort lest you tear ghosts head off (with a few minor corrections)

"yes roach i know phantoms are pretty much the same as ghosts but that's not the point. you're basically my brother. you have to be on my side. that's how it works."

its good you and roach get along with each other. however, since you are just so similar with someone whos name starts with s and ends with imon "ghost" riley he becomes friends with roach quite easily and rants to him too

"she thinks shes so fookin crea'ive but you know wha? she isnt. bet ive been in SAS longer than her. wheres 'er skull tattoo at?? cause i got a whole sleeve done almost a decade ago! she isnt the first to come up wi' this. see, i get youre friends wi' 'er but truth is she di'nt come up wi' all o' this 'erself and she isn't half as dedicated as me. i even got skeleton boxers! she got those??- wait no dont answer tha' i dont wan' tha' image in my head."

for the first month or two whenever you see each other its clear you two do not get along.

roach tried to crack a joke but if anything it just made you hate ghost more

"hey, phantom. what's got two legs and bleeds?" "half a dog." you and ghost respond in unison

the rest of the day you dont even acknowledge each other. price makes a joke about how "you both are acting like you killed someone" which you mutter a small "oh im going to that's for sure" under your breath

safe to say you had a long rant to roach about how now not only is he stealing your whole persona, he's taking your jokes now too

you think roach would be torn between choosing sides but no this man loves every second of it. its so petty- so stupid he just needs to see how long you two idiots will keep butting heads

you mention how you were planning on getting a red mask? he's going up to ghost being like "hey, ghost did i ever tell you red is totally your colour? you know what actually? you should get a red mask!"

you both walk into the next briefing with your new masks and you couldn't be more pissed

to make matters worse you both are teamed up for the next mission. something about stopping a major arms dealer but ghost is the one getting his hands dirty. all you need to do is get into security, guide him through the complex enough for him to grab intel and leave

its simple. you've done it a billion times before, same with ghost. the first half goes fine. you both get in, he grabs the intel and is ready to head out, both of you speaking only when necessary.

minor issue- actually major issue, getting out wasn't as smooth. somehow ghost ended up shot right as he's notifying you that he's almost out. you hear the gunshot ring out, a grunt and scuffling.

"phantom to ghost. how copy."

your voice rings out, an eerie silence following after

"ghost. how copy."

you repeat again, this time earning a response

"m' alive. shot in the leg. bullet went clean through, makin a torniquet as we speak" he grunts back. you have never been happier to hear his stupid manchester accent "keep it that way."

if past you knew those four words directed at ghost would come out of your mouth, you're pretty sure you would've stolen a tank and driven it off a cliff immediately with ghost in it too probably

but now is not the time hotwiring a tank and locating a cliff would take too long anyways, you guide him out, occasionally telling him some stupid fun fact to make sure he's still there or just to keep him alert

"did you know that jellyfish have one hole for their mouth and asshole?" "these get more concerning the more you tell me." "most koalas have chlamydia." "alrigh', 'nuff of that. fun facts are s'pposed to be fun, you know that right?" "learning is fun."

this earns a chuckle from him which he quickly covers up with a cough

he makes it out alive, busted up that's for sure but alive nonetheless

you hook his arm over your shoulder, talking about everything and anything to keep him conscious. he's going to listen anyways so might as well make the most of it

"you're not as bad as i thought you'd be, 'specially for a copy cat." he says after you tell him yet another bizarre animal fact "i got a red mask first by the way" "piss off. this is why i don't compliment you" he rolls his eyes, for once not out of annoyance "i wear it better anyways." "sure, sure. believe what you want, but just know that i'm the cooler one." "you also are shit at making tourniquets" "so you finally admit that i'm cooler." no amount of eyerolling or snappy comebacks can hide your grin at this point. you silently thank your past self for choosing to wear a mask all the time "you're quite bold for someone who got shot in the leg"

once you two get back, practically everyone is surprised how all the deadly glares and colorful insults muttered under heavy sighs between you two have now been replaced with playful banter and empty threats with no murderous intent behind them

price heard you laughing with ghost followed up with you telling ghost "they will never find your body" which did scare the shit out of him but it made ghost laugh so hard he nearly pissed himself

price made sure to check that ghost was in fact alive for the next few days, just to make sure you were joking

when asked about it both of you just shrug and reply "trauma bonding."

roach, although disappointed with the absence of drama is glad to see two of the most special people in his life getting along bros just sad he cant be an instigator anymore

and as soon as ghost comes back from leave, he's got double the scary dog privileges he originally had

[musei-thoughts]

𝘙𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴.

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘚𝘩𝘶 𝘠𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘰 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 1978𝘸.

𝙖/𝙣: 𝘪 𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘶'𝘴 𝘰𝘰𝘤. 𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 :(

𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙨: @shouyaiofficial (𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨...)

Two men stood in a field as the wind blew past them, tension filling the air. 

Shu kept his peace, keeping an observant eye on his opponent.

"You..." the taller male spoke, his long raven hair flows across his face with his two sharp horns protruding from his head. 

"...have what I want."

The tip of his blade points at the sorcerer, his glare piercing through his soul.

the latter stays silent, bracing himself for what the demon has in store for him.

"Give me the scroll and I will spare your life."

is voice was firm, commanding, but Shu remained quiet, staring at his blade.

The demon took his silence as an answer. He readies himself to cut the male in half but then he spoke,

"In your dreams, demon."

Everything was black.

"..-hu...shu...SHU!!!"

The sound of footsteps gradually became louder as Shu struggled to pry his eyes open.

"Oh my god, please be alive..." The sound of his lover's worried voice rings in his ears as his consciousness slips away.

The sound of soft humming reaches his ears as warmth envelopes his frame. Shu flutters his eyes open, lifting his face from the soft place where his head rested, which was his lover's chest.

"Good morning Shu."

Meeting your warm smile, his heart melts making him bury his face back into your chest, hiding his flustered self. "Morning..."

"How are you feeling?"

"Huh?"

"Hikarino and I found you in the middle of the forest passed out and bleeding..."

"Passed out...?"

You nod and continued with a serious voice, "We carried you back and called the doctor as soon as we could, you were...bleeding so much that I thought..." A grimace makes its way into your face at the memory of him unconscious on the ground, heavily injured.

Shu was a strong sorcerer, but seeing him like that pushes you to the brink. He was so pale and vulnerable. He almost looked...

Dead.

Shu lifts himself off you and sits upright, wincing from the pain from his wound.

The sight of worry on your face made his heart ache, "I'm sorry..."

He knew how you hated it when he gets hurt, when people get hurt.

For some reason, you couldn't help but feel guilty.

He pulls you into his arms, comforting you with the words: "No matter what, I'll always come back to you..."

You couldn't help but nuzzle against him, feeling safe and secure in his embrace. "When the doctor came to check up on you, he said that you can't use you magic in your state, so no working today and rest till you recover, okay?" You looks up at him, waiting for his reply.

The sorcerer nods, "M'kay. No working till I recover." He smiles.

You two shared a loving kiss, cherishing each other's mere presence and warmth. Oh how you wished your days together were always like this.

Five years. That's how long you've been together. Shu couldn't ask for anything better than being by your side.

You two met during a battle between demons and sorcerers. Your hometown was attacked by demons and the nearby sorcerers—who knew how to cast them off— came and protected them.

Those vile creatures are all after the same thing.

You.

Your blood to be exact. Your father's side was a family favored by the gods for serving the emperor and was "blessed" with blood that  can make demons fall to their knees.

Blood that was finer than wine, sweeter than honey and more intoxicating than anything else the world could offer. Blood that could quench any demon's thirst that would last them decades.

Along with that, they were blessed with many male children in assurance of their family's continuous reign over the generations.

Since a female child was rare, they were considered a delicacy to demon kind.

You were so close to dying in the hands of a demon but Shu swept you off your feet and saved your life.

It didn't take long for courtship to follow and now you were happily married.

Pulling away from the kiss, Y/n points a finger at Shu's face, "Also, whether you be injured or not, you better not do anything reckless, okay Mr. Yamino?" The pout on your face made him chuckle, "Yes ma'am."

Taking your lover's hands in yours, Your pout slowly turns into a sad and worried frown, "Promise?"

With his other hand, Shu caresses the side of your face with his thumb.

"Promise." His voice was tender and quiet.

You sighed with a smile, you know he meant it. You  knew that he won't break his promise no matter what happens.

Or would he?

Night came and the couple slept soundly in their shared room, but as midnight struck, Shu opens his eyes and gently pulls away from you. He quietly left the room, heading to the basement.

He clutches onto his wound, little groans leaving his lips as he climbs down the stairs.

It was that demon who did this.

Golden irises, raven hair, and that look of determination to get whatever he wants.

What the demon wanted wasn't you, but a scroll. A manuscript of a spell that would turn back time. Time was not something you should mess with, one little change can alter the whole future.

If this demon gets his hands on the spell, the present never have happened. Meeting you may never have happened.

That's why he has to get rid of this scroll. He knew that it was a reckless decision, but it was a now or never situation.

No demon has gotten this close to killing him. He knew that he wasn't in the best state to use his magic, but this was to protect the present and future.

His future with you.

Shu's hand grasps onto the scroll as he drew a magic circle on the basement floor. He placed the piece of paper on the center and with a deep breath, he began to chant.

"Ad horam inter diem et noctem hanc a superficie verbi deleo..." Whirls of his magic create big winds, surrounding the room with bright light.

On the other hand, you were woken up by a sudden lurking presence. "Shu...?" you turned to his side  of the bed only to see him gone.

Getting off the bed, you anxiously walking through the dark halls of their home. You felt piercing eyes on you making your heart pound in your chest. With every step that you took, the presence got closer.

"S-stay away!!" you yells in panic and began running. Then, you hears noises from the basement. Thinking that Shu would be there, you burst through the door in fear.

"...Non magicis ullus , nec aliquod Sacrificium hoc carmine repetat- Y/n?!"

"Sh-shu! There's someone in the hous-!!!"

Shu stops chanting.

The spell was interrupted.

And he loses control.

The levitating scroll began to shake violently. Then suddenly the whole room was engulfed with blinding light. Your ears were filled with the whirring of the magic; so loud that your ears began to ring.

The light slowly fades and the scroll falls to the ground, unscathed.

Wait...

If the scroll wasn't destroyed, then what did the spell hit...?

Shu stood there for a moment before turning around, "Y/n, are you oka-

Y/n...?

Y/N!!!"

You felt cold, but your body was burning. The pain was so much but you couldn't scream.

You couldn't move.

Blood coats your silky white nightgown as you breathe your lover's name, "Shu..."

On your chest was a hole that was shot through you by the destructive spell, burning every bit of skin on its way.

It didn't take long for a pool of blood to form around your frail figure.

You were dying.

Shu ran towards you, dropping to his knees before your frail figure. He fumbles with his potions and spell book, repeatedly muttering the words: "Hang in there Y/n...I-I can fix this. I can fix this..."

He finds a spell and casts it on you, light envelops his hands along with your wound, "damnum solve..." The light slowly fades,

but your wound doesn't.

Shu felt the panic rise, his heart dropping to his stomach. He turns the pages of the spell book, his breath heavy and uneven as he tries again. "sanare vulnus...sana hoc vulnus divina virtute ignis..."

Shu does another attempt, ending with nothing happening. Tears prickled his eyes as you stared at the ceiling with your dull eyes.

You couldn't die.

Not like this.

He's not ready.

He needs to save you.

"Aquis..." he closes his eyes, feeling his strength leave him. "Y/n...stay with me.."

Shu sets his fatigue aside and tries again.

"Ut auferet eam dolor..."

and again.

"da eam ad me..."

and again,

"Quaeso.. reduces eam..."

but in the end,

He couldn't save you.

Gently placing your head onto his lap, his face contorted in pain and grief. "Y/n..." He whispers.

"Please...wake up.." He mutters brokenheartedly.

Moments passed and he stares at his lover's lifeless body, he couldn't move or make another noise.

It felt like his soul had been ripped away from his body along with his sanity.

All he could feel was emptiness.

Until...his eyes turns to see the scroll that long forgotten on the floor.

Grasping it within his hand, he holds it tight in his hand.

He looks at your unmoving figure before standing up and carrying you back to your room. Shu gently places you down on the bed, he was so careful as if you were made of glass.

You laid there, looking so...peaceful.

The moon's light peeks from the window and cascades down onto your pale skin, illuminating your perfectly sculptured face.

Shu stares down at you as he stood before the bed where you laid. Soon after his legs gave up on him and he falls into his knees, clutching onto the satin sheets.

The sound of your name left his lips as he wept, his painful cries rang through your home for hours.

Dawn soon came, and Shu takes your hands in his. His tear stained face contorts in sorrow as his warm hands makes contact with yours.

"Your hand is so cold...." He weakly muttered, bringing your cold hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on it.

The sorcerer closes his eyes for a moment before standing up and leaning in to give you a kiss one last time.

As his lips parted from yours, he whispers his last, "I love you..." before walking to the side of the room and drawing another magic circle.

He wasn't supposed to do this. He wasn't supposed to use the spell. He was suppose to destroy it and keep you safe.

But in the end, he failed.

At the cost of his joy.

His future.

Just because of his reckless decision.

Looking back at your figure, Shu begins the incantation, asking for forgiveness from his ancestors who forbade him to use the spell,

"Prima luce noctis, sub lucem diei,

ad floriditatem gemmarum et ad clamorem infantium

tempus vertatur in quando res futurae essent..."

He chants the words over and over until the words started to blur together. Then, all he sees is black.

His vision becomes clouded by the darkness, and his body goes numb before everything went silent.

Shu opens his eyes slowly as he felt himself lying down on something hard and damp. The feeling of pain reminded him of how severe his injury is, "Ugh..." he moaned in pain as he tried lifting his arms. His wound ached like hell.

As he struggled to stand up, he walks out of the dark alley.

His eyes squints at the bright lights of the city of modern day Tokyo.

Wait...

MODERN DAY TOKYO?!

Well, trying to go back in time to save your deceased lover was a decision that you could consider...

Reckless.

𝘈/𝘯: 𝘴𝘰…𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 :)

𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 >:)

𝘈𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵: 𝘚𝘩𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘧𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘯𝘰𝘵. 𝘞𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘩𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘢��𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴.

𝘏𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨??

← 𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 │ 𝘕𝘦𝘹𝘵 →

[hannahmanderr]

DANNY AND DAMON 👁️ (sorry i just love me the protective dad)

(affectionately calling this one Protective Detail)

part 1 ~ part 2 ~ part 3

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Of all things Damon Gray wasn't expecting on the night of the biggest snowstorm in a decade, a snow-covered Danny Fenton in his t-shirt and jeans standing outside his apartment door certainly had to be at the top of the list.

"Hi Mr. Gray!" Danny said brightly. "Mind if I come in?"

Damon gawked at the boy for a moment longer before seeming to come around. "Ah... yes, yes! Come on in! I can... grab a towel for you to dry off..."

Danny blinked before looking down at himself. "Oh!" Before Damon could say anything else, Danny's body flickered into a hazy mist, and the snow fell harmlessly through him and onto the floor. "Sorry about that," he said with a sheepish green as he flickered back into a solid form.

Damon couldn't help but gawk again. Sure, he'd known of Danny's status for years now (supposedly, Valerie had made Danny tell him after they'd graduated), but it wasn't often that he witnessed the boy he'd known as having the worst phobia of ghosts in Amity Park use such ghostly powers so easily. To witness him doing so now, after appearing on his doorstep in such a strange state, unannounced, was odd to say the least.

It wasn't until he realized that Danny was still watching him expectantly and he himself was still blocking the doorway that he noticed the silence stretching into discomfort. Muttering an apology, he stepped aside and ushered Danny in.

The door closed behind them with a heavy click. Now inside, Danny seemed to lose some of his bright demeanor as he shuffled on the entryway rug.

"Valerie's still at work," Damon said as he walked past Danny and into the kitchen area. "I'm hoping she gets off soon. I'm not sure I want her trying to get home in this storm. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, no, that's alright, thanks!" Danny edged closer to the window in the living area. Outside, snow fell wildly, blowing in all sorts of directions, blocking any view there might have been. Really, he'd seen worse snowstorms in the Far Frozen, but the human world wasn't quite as adapted to it as the yetis were. Weather like this could spell serious trouble for humans.

Damon reemerged from the kitchen with a mug of something steaming. He stood next to Danny, and the two of them watched out the window. For a long, quiet moment, they simply stood, Danny with his arms wrapped around himself and Damon sipping quietly at his drink.

It was Danny who broke the silence first. "I still feel bad she has to come all the way from here in Elmerton to work in Amity Park," he said quietly.

"She does it to herself," Damon replied with an air of humor. "I keep telling her to just find a place there in town. That's where everything important is, that's where she should be."

"Not you." Danny barely realized the response had popped out on its own. "She's still really worried about you. I mean, I know things are better than they were, of course, but... y'know..."

"What, with this thing?" Damon raised his left arm with a tiny whirr, and Danny couldn't help but stare at the metal hand that waved back at him. "It's been working like a dream. I was just telling her the other day that sometimes, it feels like it works better than the one I lost!" Damon laughed quietly to himself.

Danny joined in, but it was half-hearted. Memories flashed through his mind - a brutal fight at Axion, a toppling metal supply closet, lights and sirens and frantic screams - and he physically winced. That accident had been nearly two years ago, but the memories lived fresh in his head, just like the memories of his own accident from almost a decade ago.

"I... I think she still blames herself sometimes," he said quietly. "For letting Spectra distract her. I keep trying to tell her it wasn't her fault; I was closer, I - I should've been fast enough to get to you, but..."

Damon nodded soberly. "She's a stubborn one. Gets it from her mother. Once she gets something in her head, she just doesn't let it go."

"Yeah."

The two fell back into an uneasy silence. Snow howled away outside, and a gust of wind blew a wall of flakes toward the window, nearly making Danny jump.

"She wants to live there," Damon finally said. "In Amity Park."

Danny almost gave himself whiplash turning to look at Damon. "She does?"

"Mhmm. Not that she'll ever admit it to me out loud -" - again, Damon laughed quietly to himself - "- but she's always talking about wanting to be closer to the FentonWorks. That way she can be closer to work and closer to the portal. Heaven knows how many times she's left to go fight a ghost only to come storming back in ten minutes later because you've already been able to handle it."

Danny couldn't help the smile that crossed his face. "Yeah, she's definitely given me an earful about that before."

"I'm sure she has! But you know, Danny, the thing she really talks about being closer to is you."

Danny's heart pounded in his chest. "Really?"

Damon glanced at him, something Danny couldn't decipher twinkling in his dark eyes. "Is it really that surprising?" he teased.

"Yeah? I mean, no! No! Er, maybe? Ish?"

Damon's laugh was much heartier this time. "Well, if it is a surprise to you, then she's doing a good job of hiding it from you. I can see it in her face when she talks about you. Just the way she lights up and starts talking faster and faster, like she just can't seem to contain whatever she's feeling. Even when she's mad at you, you can still tell she thinks the world of you."

He paused to sniff and wipe at his nose. "She's always worrying that she's not doing enough for me, especially since I lost my arm. I keep trying to tell her she's doing more than enough. Just seeing my baby girl so happy... that's all I need." He turned to look at Danny head on. "And I have you to thank for that."

Danny's heart swelled. The love was too overwhelming. It shouldn't have felt like such a surprise to hear Damon's praises, but just hearing the words come from his mouth...

Without thinking, he took a deep breath, and, in one rush of words, said, "I want to ask Valerie to marry me!"

Damon, who had taken a sip of his drink, proceeded to spit all over the window.

Danny winced. "I - I mean, only if that's okay with you, of course! I'm not... I would never just go behind your back or anything, no, but you know, it's just something I've been thinking about for a long time now and - and I mean it just feels like the right time, although maybe it's not, but I just... I love her so much, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her, if - if that's okay?"

Damon blinked once, then twice in an attempt to process Danny's frantic speech. "You... want to marry Valerie?"

"I - uh..." If Danny's face had still been covered in snow, the heat coming from his cheeks would have melted it instantly. "I - yeah. I mean yes. Yes, I do. If... you'll let me."

For a long while, the two stared at each other. The longer the silence stretched on, the more Danny shrunk back into himself. This was such a bad idea, bad idea...

"Wait right there," Damon said before setting down his mug and jogging into the back hallway.

Danny could only watch him disappear, dumbfounded. The urge to just transform on the spot and high-tail it out of there grew stronger and stronger by the second. Such a bad idea.

His and Damon's relationship had started on rockier terms, sure, but it was only because he had been worried her hanging around Danny would end up with her swept into his parents' shenanigans, especially because he still hadn't been a big fan of her side job hunting ghosts back then. And okay, maybe there had been some hiccups back when Valerie had forced - er, persuaded him to tell the truth to her dad, but those had all been smoothed over by now, he'd thought.

Right?

When Damon returned, he held a tiny box in his hands and tears in his eyes. "Come here," he said, sitting down on the couch. Danny obeyed.

"I was a little younger than you and Valerie when I first met my Sherrie." Damon ran an absent thumb over the tiny box. "She was the TA for my stats class my junior year of college. I'm telling you, I walked into class on that first day and got the rug pulled straight out from under me the moment I saw her. The most beautiful woman I'd ever laid eyes on..."

Danny's leg bounced anxiously, but he stayed quiet. Valerie had mentioned her mother a few times, but she'd died before Valerie could really remember. Hearing Damon talk about her now was unexpected, but he got the distinct feeling this story was important.

"I sat right next to her. Introduced myself, tried to act all suave and smooth by asking her out, then got my butt handed right back to me when the professor introduced her as the TA. Still didn't stop me from asking her out again, as soon as the class ended. And again, and again, and again. I just knew it was meant to be with her. The day she finally said yes, I felt like I was truly living again." The smile on Damon's face carried the wistfulness and nostalgia of years long past, and Danny couldn't help but smile himself.

Damon looked at Danny again. "What you and Valerie have... it reminds me of what me and Sherrie had. I see so much of her in Valerie. She's got the same spark, the same stubbornness in her blood. Both of them just have this drive and intensity, and it's one of the things I admire most in them."

"I love that about her," Danny said instinctively. His voice had taken on its own dreamy quality as memories of Valerie's tenacity flashed across his mind.

"And that's part of the reason I see so much of myself in you."

Danny nearly fell off of the couch as Damon's words struck him. "Wait, what?"

Damon laughed. "You're a bright young man, Danny. You take a lot of pride in what you do, and you always look out for the people you care about. Even that right there tells me you and I are a lot alike.

"Not to mention that for as much as I see how Valerie looks when she talks about you, I also see how you look when you talk about her. I see the same joy and wonder in you that Sherrie brought out in me. I don't need to ask to know you'd go to the end of the world and back for my baby girl. You'd do anything to keep her safe."

"I would," Danny agreed earnestly. "She's my whole world, Mr. Gray. I-I know it sounds really cheesy but... I need her. I don't know what I'd do without her in my life."

"I know," Damon said, offering a warm smile. "Which is why I'd like to give you this."

He offered Danny the tiny box. Danny took it gingerly, cradling it in his palm. "What is it?"

Tears pooled in the corner's of Damon's eyes again. "The ring I gave Sherrie when I proposed to her. When she got sick and... and we got the prognosis," he said, his voice becoming thicker as he spoke, "one of the things she made sure she made clear before she... passed on was that I could do whatever I wanted with it, but she wanted her wedding ring to go to Valerie."

The box suddenly felt much heavier in Danny's hand. "I thought you said this was the engagement ring?"

"It is. I couldn't help myself. I was selfish." Damon reached up to his neck and, from under his sweater, pulled out a chain. Hanging from it was a simple silver band, studded with tiny little diamonds and twinkling like a star. "I've worn this every day since she passed. I couldn't let her go. Valerie was too young to understand. I swore to myself that when she got old enough, I'd give this to her, but... I'm a weak man." He sniffled again and wiped a tear off of his cheek. "I love my Sherrie so much. I'll never let her go. Not even death can keep me from her."

Danny wiped a tear from his own eye. "I've come face to face with death. It was... the worst thing I've ever had to go through," he said in a near whisper. "For Valerie, I'd face it down a hundred times over."

"And that's exactly why I know I can trust you with that ring." Damon took his prosthetic arm and gently closed Danny's fingers over the box. "It's not the wedding ring Sherrie wanted to give her... but hopefully it's the next best thing."

"She'll love it."

Damon cracked a smile. "And just how do you know that? You haven't even seen it."

"I don't have to. I know for a fact this will mean more to her than any ring I could buy."

Tears falling from both of their faces, the two men leaned forward and wrapped their arms around each other's shoulders. Damon squeezed Danny tighter and tighter to him. "Take care of her for me," he whispered into his ear.

Danny shut his eyes tight and hugged Damon even tighter. "I promise."

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part 3 here

[animebw]

Re-Watching: Kimi ni Todoke Season 2

In which my opinion has flipped so completely on its head that I'm un-retiring for a single post to talk about it.

Return of the King

It's been almost two years since I've made a post like this.

For those of you who've only joined me after my semi-retirement on the tail end of 2021, The Anime Binge-Watcher used to be one of the most extensive anime analysis projects I've ever seen in Western fandom. I would consume anime at ridiculous rates and blog my thoughts in chunks of 3 or 4 episodes, piecing together all my observations and opinions in nice structured paragraphs like the ones you're reading now. In my glory days, I could get through two, three, even four posts a day. Heck, when I first watched Kimi ni Todoke five years ago, I tore through all twelve episodes of season 2 in a single day, writing no less than five separate analyses of my developing thoughts along the way. My long-term readers can attest to what a wild and wonderful journey it was, and even though I've since transitioned into a much looser and low-key blogging style, I still miss those days when I could spill countless words about the countless stories I consumed.

But of course, life moves on, and there was only so long I could dedicate that much of my free time to a hobby when real life was knocking at the door. I started this project as a college freshman with way too much free time on his hands; I'm an actual adult now, overseas job and everything. Not to mention all the other hobbies and creative pursuits taking up my attention. I just don't have enough time anymore to spend on truly in-depth analytical writing like I used to. And that's okay; the three-and-a-half years I dedicated to The Anime Binge-Watcher in its true form were more than enough to say everything I needed to about this medium and my relationship to it. This project is as complete as it could ever meaningfully be. So while I certainly miss those days, I'm more than happy to let this be my casual anime watching blog from now on.

But I'm making an exception today.

Because re-watching the second season of Kimi ni Todoke has so thoroughly upended my opinion on it that I have no choice but break my thoughts down just as extensively and in-depth as I used to do on a regular basis to explain why.

God, it's so fucking good to be back.

Sympathy for the Devil

So, since it's been... god, it really has been half a decade at this point, huh? Since it's been five years since I first watched and blogged about Kimi ni Todoke, here's a quick rundown of my thoughts for the countless among you who weren't around for it: I fucking love this show so much. Not only is it one of the most achingly sweet shoujo rom-coms out there, but the protagonist Sawako Kuronoma so perfectly captures my experience of teenage awkwardness and uncertainty that I swear the author was taking notes from my life. It's a story about growing up on the spectrum, whether it realizes it or not, about the difficulty of communication when you can't grasp the norms everyone else takes for granted. But it's also about how those seeming walls between you and everyone else barely exist at all, and as long as you have the courage to reach out, you'll forge connections wherever you go. It's a feel-good masterpiece the likes of which we so rarely see, and I recommend it to anyone with even a passing interest in anime.

And when I first watched the second season all those years ago, I absolutely hated it.

Okay, to be clear, what I hated was the first half of season 2. I hated the miscommunications, I hated the contrived misunderstandings, I hated how the very fabric of the show seemed to be conspiring to force Kazehaya and Sawako apart. By the time we reached the point where they both confess to each other and yet somehow think the other only means "I like you" as a friend, I wanted to rip my hair out of my skull. Mercifully, the second half won me back by finally letting them get together as a couple and indulge in adorable puppy love awkwardness so mind-numbingly sweet I needed an industrial warehouse full of epi pens to make it through unscathed. And I'm not exaggerating, god the final stretch here is some of the cutest shit I've ever seen. But it was really rough going to reach that point through what felt like the absolute nadir of forced misunderstanding plotlines. Nothing but contrivance after contrivance piled on top of each other to force the couple apart long past the point they should have gotten together for the sake of dragging out the will-they-won't-they as long as it could possibly be milked.

And yet, as I got to re-watching this show in preparation for its shockingly announced third season (my excitement is through the goddamn room), dreading the moment I reached season 2 and would have to suffer through this bullshit again, something truly remarkable happened when I finally reached this point: I didn't hate it.

And then something even more remarkable happened: I started to like it.

And then something truly impossible happened: by the time it was over, I couldn't imagine this show without this arc anymore.

Readers, I have never turned around on a show like this. I've had shows I disliked but softened on as time went by, sure, shows I liked but came to love more and more as they lingered in my mind. But this is the first time I've returned to a story arc I actually hated only to end up loving it by the end. And that's the reason I'm returning to my old in-depth analysis blogging to talk about it. Because there's no way to discuss the 180 I've done on Kimi ni Todoke season 2 without breaking it down in as much detail as humanly possible. I don't just want to write a couple paragraphs and be done with it: I want to memorialize this moment. I want to really, truly express why I came around on this arc and why I think it's so meaningful now. Because there's a real conversation to be had here about the the power of storytelling in general and the power of this story in particular. And for a show that's meant so much to me for so long, I can't think of any other way to do it justice.

So let's dive in. Because good god there's a lot to talk about.

Right on Time

So the first question I want to ask right off the bat is: was I wrong to hate this arc the first time around?

Well, I'm not gonna tell you it's free of contrivance. Kazehaya and Sawako's building misunderstanding requires so many different people to misinterpret so many different things in so many carefully staged situations. Not just the lovebirds themselves, but Kent's ill-informed meddling, Kurumi's intentional sabotage, and especially Chizuru's completely oblivious worsening of Kazehaya's insecurities at a critical moment. And that dual-misinterpreted confession scene is still some buuuuuuuuullshiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. There's a reason this arc gets so much shit from me and others; you can practically taste the hand of the author as it shoves all the pieces around to keep this misunderstanding growing well past the point someone should have realized things were getting out of control and stepped in to clear the air. And when you're as anxious as me for these two dorks to just ask each other out already, it's hard to see this as anything but cheap, forced drama from an author desperately trying to stave off the inevitable.

But here's the thing: what if there's an actual point being made here?

See, this arc is such a frustrating experience your first time through that it kind of shuts down any attempts to analyze it on a deeper level. You're so pissed off at being denied the confession that's dangling right in front of your face that you write off the whole thing as nothing but empty delay tactics. And yet, Kazehaya and Sawako get together literally right after this. If this was just a case of dragging out the will-they-won't-they, this misunderstanding would have lasted much longer and done much more damage. But no! They confess properly, they clear everything up, and they're officially going out mere episodes after you're left fuming at their double misinterpretation of each other's "I like you." So while it feels like nothing more than cheap delay tactics in the moment, a full view of the story's trajectory rejects that theory pretty firmly.

And that's the big thing that changed in this re-watch: I already knew this wasn't going to last. This wasn't going to force them apart forever, it was going to get fixed, I didn't have to worry about this relationship I loved so much getting screwed over by coincidence. And without that worry of endless delays, I was able to do what I couldn't my first time through: actually think about what this arc was trying to say. What was the point being made by this part of the story? What was it trying to communicate about Sawako and Kazeyaha's relationship by putting them through the wringer? Was there, in fact, a reason things needed to play out this way?

And believe it or not, the answer turned out to be yes.

End of the Fairy Tale

Sawako and Kazehaya's relationship starts like something out of a fairy tale. Sawako, the lonely rejected girl who can't connect with people and scares off everyone she tries to get close to. Kazehaya, the ever-cheerful prince who sees her plight and reaches out a hand to pull her into the light. And with his endless support and supportive charm, she's able to find her place in the world with friends who love her and a handsome admirer who will always stand by her side. It's every lonely girl's romantic fantasy brought to life in dazzling colors, fully earned by how human the characters feel and how well-realized their growth is. Small wonder we all got so swept up in it we fully bought into the fantasy ourselves.

But people aren't princes and princesses. We're not perfect fairy tale archetypes. We're people; flawed, imperfect people who make mistakes and don't always see things clearly. And as impatient as I was for Kazehaya and Sawako to just get together already, what re-watching season 2 made me realize is that as of season 1, they were not yet in a place where getting together would be a good idea. Season 2 isn't delaying for the sake of delaying, it's holding up a spotlight to these lovebirds' biggest flaws and pointing out that if they don't find a way to overcome these weaknesses, any relationship they start is doomed to failure. It's pulling the curtain down on the fairy tale and forcing you to realize that this sparkly, shiny portrait of two young lovers actually has some deeply unhealthy undercurrents that would shatter their attempts at a happy life together if left untreated. And all the drama and misunderstandings that spring up as a result of those undercurrents are what force Kazehaya and Sawako to truly confront those issues head-on, move past them, and grow into stronger, more self-assured people who can actually be with each other without messing it all up.

Girl in the Gutter

To start with Sawako, because she's much simpler to understand, her problem is the same problem she's had from the start: a complete lack of confidence in herself. As much progress as she's made, she still sees herself as inferior to the people she loves, someone who has to earn their affection by proving she's worthy of it. A life lived isolated from her peers has left her incapable of seeing herself as part of them; they're all so much smarter and kinder and braver than her. How can she consider herself their equal when they're clearly not? And because of that inferiority complex, she's completely incapable of considering the fact that other people might care about her just as passionately as she cares about them. Not just Kazehaya, but Yano and Yoshida as well. She can't picture a world where the people she loves return that love with no caveats or expectations; how can she, when he doesn't consider herself on equal footing with them?

And in Yoshida's beautiful rant to Sawako in episode 6, we see just how painful it is to be on the opposite end of that self-loathing. Sawako isn't just hurting herself by putting herself down, she's hurting everyone who loves her by implying their love is, in some way, untrue. Imagine how it must feel to care so deeply for someone, to devote so much of yourself to them because they mean the world to you, only for them to assume you can't possibly care that much because they don't deserve it. It's legitimately gut-wrenching. And if Sawako had tried to start a relationship with Kazehaya still under that impression, it would've been a disaster. She would've spent the whole time thinking he was just doing her a favor, being nice and helpful like always, hating herself for forcing him to become someone he didn't want to be just for her sake. And Kazehaya would've spent the whole time hurt and frustrated that she would think so little of the feelings he's cultivated for so long. They would've lasted a couple months at most, and it's a genuine question whether they'd even be able to talk to each other anymore when it was over.

In short, Sawako could never be in a healthy relationship with Kazehaya, or anyone, really, until she finally got it through her thick skull that she is exactly as worthy of love as the people around her. Only after Yoshida's rant does she finally realize how much she's been putting everyone else on a pedestal, that the only one who considers her lesser is, well, herself. Kazehaya is no god, Yano and Yoshida are no angels; they're people exactly the same as her, flaws and fears and wants and all. And there is nothing Sawako can give them that she doesn't deserve back from them in return. Then, at last, she's able to truly accept that Kazehaya might love her just as she loves him- and more importantly, accept that it's okay for someone like her to be a part of his life. Because this glittering boy who seemed to stand so far above her was, in the end, just as normal as her. And if someone as wonderful as him was just an ordinary person like any other... than maybe she could be just as wonderful.

Boy on a Pedestal

And speaking of Kazehaya, something else this re-watch made clear was that I did not understand his character the first time around. I remember being so annoyed my first time through by how much he started waffling on his feelings in season 2 when he seemed to clear-eyed before. You're a sparkly shoujo pretty boy, what business do you have getting all angsty out of nowhere? But going through it again, no, Kazehaya was fully justified in his concerns. His seemingly effortless cheer is just as much a social mask as Kurumi's pretty popular girl shtick; he just does a much better job of turning it on naturally. But underneath that cheery exterior lies a boy who's riddled with sharp edges. He's impulsive, he's quick to anger, he gets jealous easily, and he's got a genuine possessive streak that flares up basically whenever he thinks there's even a chance Sawako might be in the sights of another guy. The boy is as sweet as they come, but there's a real darkness to him that I didn't really pick up on my first time through because that sweetness was so incredibly blinding.

So when they move into their second year classes and Sawako starts forging new connections well outside her comfort zone? Kazehaya feels that darkness gnawing at him stronger than ever, and it scares him. It scares him to think he might lash out and hurt Sawako with the force of his feelings for her. More than that, though, he's scared of the thought that her lack of feelings for him (by his own thoughts) will only make that possibility an eventuality in time. She's making so many friends and finding so many connections beyond him, and as much as he wants to be proud of her, he also feels like he's losing something precious, something that used to be just between him and her. Something that Kent touches on early in the season is that Kazehaya can't leave people alone when he thinks they're in trouble; he swoops in and lends a helping hand because it's the right thing to do. But there's a world of difference between helping someone in trouble and building a life with them. And the more Sawako finds connections outside of him, the more jealous and uncomfortable he becomes... which only makes him all the more concerned that his gestures of kindness were little more than an attempt to bind her to him like a baby chick to its mother.

The fact of the matter is, Kazehaya and Sawako's relationship as of the start of season 2 is incredibly unbalanced. He's essentially been something like a teacher throughout her first awkward high school year as she began to develop her sense of self, and he's been a wonderful guiding light. But because of that, she puts incredible amounts of trust in him... trust that would be painfully easy for a less well-intentioned person to abuse. Sawako thinks so little of herself, and so highly of Kazehaya, that he could probably ask her to do anything and she would do it, no matter what it would mean for her. And because Kazehaya is so aware of his own demons, he's also aware of how easy it would be for his jealousy to spike out of control and hurt her. He's torn between wanting to hold her fast and never let go and wanting her to leave him behind. Wouldn't it be better for her to stop being so dependent on him, to find happiness in a broader community of people? Wouldn't she be happier- safer- if she could carry her happiness as far away from him as possible?

Golden Goose

Of course, the problem with Kazehaya's perspective is that he's making exactly the same false assumption as Sawako; thinking there's no way they'll be able to see eye to eye because he puts her on too high a pedestal. He's so consumed with thoughts of how much he could hurt her that he's incapable of seeing how much good he brings to her life. There's a great moment where Pin calls him out for this kind of selfish thinking; for all his claims of wanting to do the best for her, his own feelings are the only things he's really taking into account. He's so obsessed with his own way of seeing things that he never stopped to consider what Sawako thought of their relationship, never considered that someone as honest and straightforward as her might also have feelings she was too scared to talk about. So while Sawako needed to realize she was just as worthy of love as everyone else, Kazehaya needed to come to terms with the fact that everyone else is just as flawed as him in their own ways. Everyone else has doubts, hidden desires, questions on how to move forward with no easy answers. But just because you can't be sure of everything is no excuse not to try.

On that subject, something else I really came to appreciate on this re-watch is how Kent serves as a foil for Kazehaya. He's essentially the person Kazehaya is afraid of becoming: someone who does good deeds and helps people not out of a genuine love for the people he cares about, but as an ego-boost to fuel his sense of self-importance. Yes, maybe Kent has good intentions, and he certainly did some good for Sawako helping her settle into her new class, but when push came to shove, his sense of self-righteousness won out over his desire to do the right thing, and thanks to his own misinterpretation of Kazehaya's feelings, he meddled in ways that almost drove Sawako and Kazehaya apart for good. He was so convinced his perspective on what was happening was correct that he never stopped to wonder if he was doing more harm than good until he'd almost ruined everything forever. And Kazehaya is so terrified of becoming that kind of person- or the thought that maybe he already is- that he pulls farther and farther away from her rather than try and fix things upright. It's only when he finds the courage to be as honest and straightforward as Sawako, doubts be damned, that he's able to meet her on equal footing, see her clearly for the first time, and embrace the love he was so scared of losing with all his heart.

Hearts Wide Open

And it's that incredible catharsis that officially turned me around on season 2. Seeing that incredible confession scene and all the sugar-bomb adorableness afterwards not as an apology for a season wasted on delay tactics, but the culmination of a genuinely beautiful coming-of-age for both of them, made me realize just how damn important this arc I thought I hated was. Kimi ni Todoke needed to let its characters face their flaws like this. It needed to confront their worst aspects to they could grow beyond them. It's only now that they're truly self-assured people, confident in themselves and each other, that their relationship is able to be so unspeakably, unfathomably delightful. And while there's definitely more than a little narrative railroading to force them into that situation, the payoff is so spectacular than I genuinely don't mind anymore.

So I guess, if you, like me, found yourself groaning throughout Kimi ni Todoke season 2 the first time you watched it, rolling your eyes at the contrivances, yelling at the screen as they kept misunderstanding each other and hating the writers for putting you through such bullshit... give it another look. See it for what it is. I can't promise it'll win you over as fully as it did me, but with the benefit of hindsight, you may just find yourself a new light in what you thought was the darkest corner of the sun.

And with all that said, I'm bumping my season 2 score up from 6.5/10 to:

9/10

God, I'm so fucking happy I decided to rewatch this show. To my old fans, I hope you enjoyed this nostalgic return to form. To my new fans, I hope this was a fun change of pace! If you want to see more writing I've done like this, I've got an enormous backlog of shows I've analyzed like this, so feel free to check them out! And now, let's all wait with fingers crossed that season 3 is just as wonderful as what's come before...

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

Write a Different Chapter for Us

Chapter Seven: The Distract and Conquer Strategy

.....

Summary: Tony’s not-so-successful meeting with the board

Words: 3391

Rating: Teen

Characters: Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov, Pepper Potts

Relationships: Tony Stark/Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark & Pepper Potts

Tags: established relationship, family, pregnancy, conversations, PTSD, hurt/comfort

Note: Excuse my terrible math. Seven chapters, not six. Sorry. Carry on.

“The stock is going to be a major talking point.”

“Uh-huh.”

New York didn’t feel the same, but Tony couldn’t figure out what had changed.

“And that very public tussle with Whiplash is going to come up. It has a lot of investors nervous. Hence the stock drops.”

“Right. Got it.”

Everything was more or less right the way he had left it. There were some newly bent streetlights and a few obviously filled-in craters littering the sidewalks (apparently the X-Men and the Brotherhood had had another... tiff). But, other than that, it was the same city, teeming with the same hustle and bustle.

“But if we pull their focus to the latest advancements in our medical tech departments, we may be able to keep them happy... or distracted, at the very least.”

“Yeah? Good. That’s good.”

Actually, scratch that. The hustle and bustle was different. The people were... it was summer—summer vacation. There were more families out and about.

“We just have to be careful not to get through the business side of business too soon or we’ll back ourselves into a corner.”

“Of course.”

A young boy sat on his father’s shoulders, clearly thrilled by his new perspective of the world. His mother walked alongside; she looked like she was enjoying the sunny morning and whatever they had planned, but she still kept a careful eye on her son.

“Oh, and Galactus called. He’d like to replace our CFO.”

“Okay.”

Tony didn’t know the family, but he found himself hoping they had a good day, hoping nothing bad happened to them. Bad things happened way too often, especially these days—

He jerked backwards. Blinking rapidly, he pulled his gaze away from the window and rushed to orient himself. Car, backseat, Pepper, board meeting, stocks... Galactus? “Wait, what?”

Her glare, shot sideways, was about as subtle as his spacing out. “Are you with me now?”

He pried his fingers off the door handle, his knuckles aching from the death-grip. “Yeah. Sorry. Just... making sure New York’s still in one piece.”

“It’s all there and I can assure you it will still be there after this meeting.”

“I know.”

“Tony, I really need you to focus on—”

“So. Classic distract and conquer strategy?”

The sharp turn back to the matter at hand did little to convince Pepper he was fully on board, but she didn’t work with him for more than a decade and not learn the meaning of “futile” so she let it go with a terse sigh. “Basically, we just need to show them you aren’t dead and remind them that, even if you were, the company is standing on its own two feet and moving ahead.”

Tony grimaced. “Did the stock really drop that bad?”

She passed him her tablet, dropping it in his lap before he could track the movement. He stamped down the instinct to jolt backwards and forced himself to hold it, forced his focus to hone in on the colourful graphs and charts on the screen, forced himself to ignore the sudden flare of heat in his chest.

“You got attacked by a guy who sliced a garbage truck in half like it was a block of butter and then you made no verifiable appearance for almost a month. Yes, the stock suffered. Haven’t you seen the news?”

“Uh... no. Not really. Been a bit busy... recovering, you know?”

Something adjusted in her expression at that; he never did learn the right word to describe it—he knew it wasn’t quite sympathy, but it wasn’t totally devoid of care, either. With or without a name, he had come to understand it as her way of saying-without-saying: “Your life is ridiculous and I’m surprised you aren’t dead or dismembered yet... but I am glad you’re well.”

“Look,” she said, her critical tone easing, “I’ll run point on this. Just back my play and do what you do best.”

“Put on a show?”

That got a smile. “Yes, but no fireworks.”

“How about sparklers?”

“Nothing flammable.”

“Buzz-kill.”

“Fine. You can have glow-sticks.”

“Thanks, boss.”

. . . . .

Business mode took over, enabling Tony to project his most presentable version of himself: not dead, not in pain, totally on the ball and not thinking about anything that didn’t pertain to the company and its interests.

He sold the image well—Obadiah used to say he could sell water to a drowning man—but that was all it was: an image, i.e. no substance.

The pretty picture started fading as the meeting ran overtime. It was just a few small things: he couldn’t quite sit up straight, his replies came short and clipped, and he was just too aware of the knot of his tie touching his throat.

No one noticed; no one that wasn’t Pepper, anyway.

From all the way on the other side of the room, she caught him sliding two fingers between his tie and collar, not-so-subtly trying to tug it loose. She gave him a look; not exactly the glare he earned earlier in the car, but it was nearly there.

He corrected the action, turning it into a subconscious attire assessment. It couldn’t fool her but it didn’t have to.

They only just reached the finance affairs as the clock struck noon. Tony excused himself to the bathroom; he didn’t have to, but he mentioned the curry—it bought a few knowing chuckles and an eye-roll from Pepper which was always worth it.

After washing up, he didn’t hurry to return. He pulled out his phone and commandeered a spot on the floor near the sinks—Stark Tower’s restrooms were cleaner than operating theatres and his germophobia came and went as it pleased, so as long as he didn’t think about it, he was okay.

He wasn’t surprised to see no messages waiting for him; Pepper used to insist he keep his personal phone off while handling SI business but Iron Man, SHIELD liaising, and then the Avengers corroded that rule—now she just asked he keep it on silent.

No messages didn’t necessarily mean no problems. A tight, invisible band remained fixed around his chest as he typed and sent off a simple “Everything alright?” message.

Natasha replied within seconds. “All fine.”

Tony told himself he had to believe that. “Might be home an hour late,” he told her.

She sent a low resolution picture of a kitten with big, sad eyes.

He huffed a laugh, the small sound echoing in the confined space. The fact he married the World’s Most Dangerous Women never for a moment escaped him, but it certainly made her brand of texting that much more amusing.

“Want me to get you anything?”

“No. Had lunch ;)”

“Ok. Stay safe. Love you.”

He signed off with a heart emoji because that was another thing he did now (Peter once told him it was inaccurate and he should use the blue circle instead).

He checked the news, then checked his message bank again. No calls to assemble, no giant robots attacking the city, no aliens threatening invasion. He checked the time, reminded himself he had to get back. He checked the weather... and then the news again, just to be sure.

Nothing was happening in the world—nothing he could fix, anyway. It should’ve been a relief, but it wasn’t.

Giving the phone a rest, he shut his eyes and tilted his head back against the cold, tiled wall. Silence asserted itself, but between the constant ringing in his ears and the white noise of his thoughts, he hardly noticed.

Hiding in the bathroom wasn’t exactly professional; he knew he should pick himself up off the floor, get back, and give this his best, as was expected... but motivation eluded him.

In a bid to compromise, he allotted five minutes of peace and sternly told himself he couldn’t have more than that. When his five minutes were up, he got to his feet and headed out before he could argue.

Somewhere along the way back to the conference room, he decided to ditch the tie altogether, rolling it up and stowing it in his pocket.

The mood had shifted in his absence; judging by the stiff set of Pepper’s shoulders, it wasn’t good...

. . . . .

It was close to two in the afternoon by the time Tony got back to the Compound.

Sam, testing his new wings by flying circuits overhead, saw him arrive and waved from the sky; Tony responded with a mock salute.

On his way to the residential block, he caught sight of Steve and Daisy jogging around the lake; they were far enough away that he couldn’t exactly hear what they were saying to each other, but he still heard Daisy’s laugh—full and bright and real.

Beyond them, he just managed to glimpse some coloured blurs zipping about amongst the trees bordering the far side of the lake. Red and blue, white and black and teal, and—only now and then—a black and red blur: Peter, Gwen, and Miles. They liked to call their races and convoluted games of tag “training” in the hopes of appearing serious; Tony really didn’t care what they called it, he was just glad they were all enjoying their summer vacation.

Tracing his way through the lobby, heading for the elevator, a thought occurred to him: if someone had told him just six years ago that this was where Iron Man would take him, that he’d make a home filled with such crazy, colourful, incredible people, he wouldn’t have imagined anything like this; here on the other side of it, he couldn’t believe his life had once been so bland.

He wasn’t holding himself so stiffly when he finally reached his apartment, but hours of playing businessman had strained his still healing muscles. A dull but deep ache radiated from his core and seemed to settle in his bones; with effort, he could continue ignoring it, but experience warned him it would be worse the next day.

It didn’t escape Natasha’s trained sight. The second he walked in, her head snapped up and her gaze flicked from the hefty folder in her lap to him. After just a mere glimpse, her lips quirked and “I told you so” lit up in brilliant neon in her eyes.

He pointed an exaggeratedly stern finger at her. “Don’t say it!”

She tilted her head and batted her eyelashes. “Okay. Then you say it.”

“No.”

“Then I’m gonna say it.”

“Don’t you d—”

“You should’ve worn the brace.”

He rolled his eyes but a smile ruined the effect. “For the record, you didn’t tell me to wear it today.”

She shrugged and returned her attention to... whatever she was doing. “I’ve said it like a million times already; just pull up a memory and stamp today’s date on it.”

“Nag.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah. I do.” He kicked off his shoes and draped his wrinkled suit jacket over the arm of the couch.

Without looking, Natasha gathered some of the papers splayed out on the couch cushions and patted the now free space.

Tony accepted the invitation, collapsing bonelessly beside her. He took advantage of the respite and tried to relax; he didn’t mean for his eyes to slip closed, but he really wasn’t up to fighting it.

As nice as it was to be back in his own space, with Natasha safe and sound beside him, he got the sense this day wasn’t over just yet. “I’m a little scared to ask: but what is all...” he gestured halfheartedly, his hand hardly rising off the couch, “this?”

“Our next mission. Fury dropped it off just after you left this morning.” She nudged him softly in the side with her elbow before sliding the folder from her lap to his.

With a frown, Tony opened his eyes. “Natasha, I don’t know if you should—“

“I told him.”

“Oh.” He blinked and smoothed out the frown; it came back half-strength. “And... what did he say?”

“That he’ll take care of the heavy lifting.” She tapped the folder. “This looks like it’s more about research and connect-the-dots than chasing bad guys anyway.”

“Yeah, they always start that way.” Reluctantly, he pulled himself out of his slouch and began flipping through the papers. Reports, he supposed; he wasn’t making himself read anything. The thick blocks of words upon words soon gave way to photographs and he slowed down—maybe he could piece it together with just pictures for now.

The first few didn’t immediately connect to any relevant information: shards of metal, charred and jagged; bits of broken glass scattered over asphalt; cars with gashes and slashes and crumpled hoods.

Everything rushed into focus when he came to a photograph of a long, coiled tail of razors—segmented for flexibility and serrated for brutality.

“This is about Whiplash,” he said, his voice somehow quieter than he meant it to be.

“Fury’s been looking into it. He doesn’t think the Maggia was involved.”

“Okay... so who is?”

“He doesn’t know. Our best lead right now is whoever supplied Scarlotti’s new tech.” Natasha picked out a leaf of papers from the spread by her hip. “Here,” she said as she placed it in his grasp, covering the photographs. “This is the report from SHIELD’s engineers. They’ve been examining it and this is what they have so far.”

“I didn’t know he left anything behind.”

“Well, I doubt he meant to; he was just in a hurry to get away.”

“Yeah, Hulk has that effect on people.”

Tony skimmed through the specs, curiosity buying his concentration. With just a glance, he could tell it wasn’t AIM’s handiwork, as he (and everyone else) had initially assumed. The design wasn’t simple, but it was straightforward, not encumbered with all the unnecessary frills AIM loved to add just because they could.

Also, it relied more on hardware than software. It was designed to shred and tear and slash, to make a mess: AIM liked weapons of devastion, such as blasters and bombs, but they thought too highly of their technological prowess to resort to tricking out medieval torture implements.

He scoured the information, the mechanic in him taking over, dismantling and reconstructing, fitting all the bits into place, seeing all the ways to improve it. Some parts struck him as just too familiar, stoking a weatherbeaten sense of indignation as he recognized components of his own invention mingled in with the otherwise unique design.

The report ended too quickly. Turning the last page, expecting to find more, the photograph of the whip lying inert on the road caught him off guard.

Huh.

He hadn’t noticed all that blood before... Was it all his? Had to be. Must’ve been from when it—

He closed the folder; he did it too fast and some papers folded funny and others just fell out altogether. “I’d like to have a look at the tech myself,” he said.

Natasha hummed. “I thought you might.”

“SHIELD engineers are good but... there’s, um... there’s things that they... they miss things.”

“Yeah, I know.” With the grace of her namesake, she moved the folder off his lap and placed it on the coffee table. With slow, purposeful movements, she tended to the papers, neatening and straightening, replacing and reordering, clearing the couch and the table. “How’s Pepper?” she asked, her tone light, even, steadying.

Tony rubbed at his eyes, tried to shift gears and follow along. “She’s... she’s good.”

“And Happy? Still enjoying the security business?”

He attempted a laugh; it sounded strangled. “Must be. HR is flooded with complaints. I didn’t see him today, though.”

“Too busy?”

“No. Pepper said he had a cold.”

“Again?”

“I think he’s just allergic to Socrates.”

He knew what she was doing. It was a trick, in the same way saving someone from drowning by luring them back to land after they’ve unwittingly drifted too far out to sea is a trick. It worked: he was back in the shallows. He wasn’t on the shore yet but at least he could stand.

He appreciated the distract and conquer strategy—really, he did—but...

Leaning forward, he got the weight off his chest so he could take a full breath. He held it, counted, then let it go in a sigh. “I’m sorry, Tasha, it’s just...”

“It’s alright. It’s always a little bumpy getting back into things.”

“But it shouldn’t be. I should be better than this.”

She moved. He braced, expecting a hand on his back or shoulder, but none came; instead, she uncrossed her legs and tucked them underneath her, moving so as to press up against his side. “It came up in the meeting today, didn’t it?” she ventured.

He nodded.

“Let me guess: the stocks dipped.”

“A bit, but the board was more concerned with...” He gestured, stiffly, aimlessly, but it didn’t help him find the words.

“With... how it looked?” Natasha supplied.

An empty laugh slipped out; he instantly wished he could take it back. “You know, it’s funny: when Iron Man takes on alien invasions or monsters that popped right out of fairytales, he looks like a hero; but when he gets into a wrestling match with a mobster who leaves him looking like a soda can someone stepped on, he’s just... reckless.”

In all fairness, it wasn’t an unanimous view; most of the directors and shareholders either liked Iron Man or were indifferent to Tony’s extracurricular activities, comfortable to let him do whatever he wanted so long as he kept it separate from the company. But there were others: ones who didn’t hate Iron Man, per se, but weren’t exactly thrilled with his existence.

Keith Laurel, one of the few board members who had worked with both Howard and Obadiah, had been the most vocal today. “We’re a multi-national tech conglomerate on the forefront of innovation, and we’re picking street fights with a local crime family now? Do you have any idea how that looks?”

Tony had had to physically bite his tongue at that remark. For one thing, calling the Maggia a local crime family was tantamount to calling McDonald’s a family-run diner. And while he couldn’t figure out what he’d done recently to tick them off, he definitely didn’t go and pick that fight.

Pepper had stepped in then and pointed out that Iron Man’s activities didn’t necessarily reflect on Stark Industries because, technically, he didn’t work for them. She addressed it, then, in the very next breath, directed attention to the medical labs in South America and their recent breakthroughs in prosthetic limbs, but Laurel wasn’t having it.

He had fixed his gaze on Tony. “You’re not CEO anymore. That’s a fact. But you still own this company—the company your father left you. The things you do affect his legacy. What would he think?”

It wasn’t a new sentiment. If he had a dollar for every time someone played the “What would your father say?” card on him, his fortune would double. He had heard it so many times throughout his life, parroted and reiterated to the point that, honestly, he’d grown numb to it.

None of it was new: stock drops, unhappy board members, legacies upheld or profaned, attacks on Iron Man, attacks on Tony Stark—he was used to it.

He was used to it, but this time... it didn’t feel the same.

“You aren’t reckless,” Natasha said, cutting through the storm brewing in his head. “I didn’t marry a reckless man, and I swear I would never have a child with one.”

Tony scoffed before he could censor himself. “I didn’t get attacked for no reason. I must’ve done something, I just... I can’t figure it out.”

She brought her hand into his field of vision before touching his chin and coaxing him to turn his head and look at her; the intensity in her eyes was strangely calming. “I don’t know why Whiplash attacked you, but I know you didn’t invite it.”

When her gaze became too much, he closed his eyes, but he didn’t pull away. He bowed his head so that his forehead met hers. It hurt, twisting and leaning to the side like that, but he didn’t care. “I’ll fix this, I promise.”

Her hand moved to cup the back of his head, anchoring him. “We’ll fix it together.”

. . . . .

<<< Previous Chapter

🍁 Thanks for reading! 🍁

[dnangelic]

@kirakiras asked: In her palm sits a little crow figure, rolled omikuji still stuck into its side. And rather than procuring rolled slip of paper to reveal her supposed luck, she stands with quiet gaze on the little bird cradled in her hand. Finger pokes and prods at it with gentle curiosity; as if it were a real live thing some reaction was expected of. She’s a bit obvious that rather than a fortune and a wish she had more interest in procuring the little bird carrying them. She blinks. Turns. Eyes fix on Daisuke as greeting; acknowledgement before scooting in. She leans over to peek at the slip of paper in his hand. “Niwa-san. Did you come for a fortune? Hm, the ‘great’ should already be a given, shouldn’t it?” // just found out fortunes can come with little guys now...

there's no way he looks as nervous as he feels , right ? watching her stare and poke and prod at the little crow as if it might suddenly spring to life and start fluttering around with dark's voice --- a-ah , no , he'd keep that to just his own imagination .

still , he can't help but wonder just what she's really thinking . everything , nothing ? was it just cute , did she like birds when they were separated from flirty , egotistical perverts , or was even a small part of her somehow reminded of the great phantom thief after all ? he can't bear to ask , no matter how much the curiosity tries to tug at and goad him . just because his own thoughts were almost always ( and quite literally , at that , ) preoccupied by dark's presence , it didn't mean that everyone was uncontrollably influenced and enamored , especially not someone as impenetrable as eto-san .

he's still thinking these sorts of thoughts even as she turns towards him . although he practically jumps a little at the illegible intensity of her stare , he's quick to lift a hand and hastily , awkwardly wave at her . ' ... eto-san ! ' and yet this stiff-shoulder greeting turns into a raise of the omikuji high up ; a phenomenally speedy slide away the instant she draws inwards to snoop . ' --- h-huh ?! what ?! '

wasn't it probably bad luck for someone else to lay eyes on your fortune before you yourself even did ?! besides , if his own paper slip had anything from catastrophically bad luck to half luck written on it , what would he have done ?! it was embarrassing ! he couldn't get his hopes up too high ! not while he was still recovering from the very first year he had tried to turn his luck around !

clutching his fortune , only now seeming to realize just how strange he's been acting --- the most he can do at first is lend her a small , weak chuckle and scratch at his cheek . ' g-great , huh ... maybe for misfortune . '

dark might have argued with him . told him not to act so despondent and hopeless , if not bucking the idea of a new year's fortune in the first place ; tradition and necessity be damned . misfortunes shared by merged identities in the future could still be challenged and overcome , and as for those around them ...

' i ... well , i already have lots of things i'm already thankful for . i told myself i'd get one , um , just 'cause ... ' it was tradition . it was entertaining , even if there was nothing more than the suppressed thrill of a gamble , a cruel hope for a decade-old underdog . ' everyone in my family that wanted one had already gotten one . what about you ? are you ... um , superstitious at all , eto-san ?

it's a spontaneous-seeming question , he's sure , but believing in things like luck and gods was a little different from his own reality of magic , after all . ' everyone already knows the trick to tie your bad fortune someplace , but for me ... ' ah , it's corny , and he can't help but fluster a little as he says it . ' my magic trick is sticking to everyone who's important to me . it's not really my fortune i'm here for , i just ... really wanted to pray for everyone's health . ' and maybe he'd keep the little crow as a token of comfort , too .

' --- it's kind of cute , right ? ah , i don't know if you've heard it a lot already , eto-san , but ... happy new year ! since you're already here , i'll be sure to pray for your health , too ! '

[stevesharrlngtons]

a pretty harsh critique:

ok i have made it clear that i have complicated feelings about djats, but i did enjoy the book overall (a like not a love) but watching the show…. holy shit is it bad. an episode and a half in and it feels so disjointed and so bland it’s a hard watch.

we are just skipping from one plot idea to the next without ANY development or depth of the characters. it feels 100% plot driven, with little thought to its characters at all. yes, the series is just starting, but how is a viewer supposed to want to stick around/tune back in when they feel absolutely nothing for the characters? have no one to root for? feel for? without the book, i would be so lost (even with the book i feel lost) im getting whiplash ok

the acting leaves a LOT to be desired (riley excluded) and the way it’s filmed feels embarrassing. why does it feel like a youtube original where you expect to see a starbucks cup pop up in any shot?? X, The Love Witch and even Once Upon A Time In Hollywood proved that you can shoot a film in the 21st century with the feeling, essence and aesthetics of the 60s/70s to immerse your audience in the decade. but this??? I don’t even have the words to tell you how disappointing it is. and what’s with the CW credit sequence and the “last time in daisy jones and the six” huh????????????

nothing feels subtle, nothing feels like an observation could be made. it is ALL show and no tell. it’s all zooming in on the liquor bottle in billy’s hands, it’s all zooming in on graham as karen walks by and him stammering. they have the ability to use the voice overs and the interviews and they are not using them at all. i almost wish they just cut out that portion completely bc they are failing so spectacularly at it.

i want to give it more of a chance but fuck, i didn’t expect it to be this bad and this disappointing. there was definitely potential there, but it seems to have been almost 100% wasted by amazon prime, the script writers and producers.

[desertfangs]

Vamptember Day 13 - Photograph

Prompt: "Photograph" | Armand/Daniel | 1715 Words

Armand and Daniel go back to an old apartment to pick through the boxes before it's demolished. This is 100% self-indulgent fluff.

_______

Armand stood in the hallway of the rundown building. The carpet was torn and moldy and the window at the end of the hall was broken, allowing in the elements. The building had been abandoned, more or less, for years before they’d decided to tear it down. 

Normally, Armand would ignore the notices and simply let whatever had been left in that particular apartment be destroyed. Eternity was too long to hold onto everything and anyway, he hadn’t thought about that particular building in decades. It was simply one of many apartments he’d bought while he lived in Brooklyn with Daniel, a place to store things. He bought them on whims and at random and used only half of them. Daniel had complained about touring apartments for nights on end but he’d enjoyed making up stories for the realtors and exploring different buildings. 

Armand smiled faintly at the memory of it, back when every night had been a new adventure in learning about the modernity of man and the world around them. 

He suddenly reconsidered. Whatever had been left in this apartment was the detritus of another life. There was nothing in there he could need or want. Better to leave it to be crushed with the wrecking ball. Perhaps the Talamasca vultures would come right before the demolition and pick through the contents for anything they thought worthy of their sad little collection. 

He was about to leave when he sensed a presence and turned. 

Daniel stood in the hall looking for all the world like a ghost. For a second, he looked so much like his mortal self from those days that it jarred Armand, though of course he was thinner now, his body ravaged by the alcoholism that had almost killed him, and then renewed by Armand’s blood. His skin was as pale as Armand’s and he stood still, something he’d rarely done when he was human. He wore jeans and a jacket and had his hands in his pockets. 

“Leaving so soon? I thought we had to clear the place out,” Daniel said. 

Armand had not expected him to come. He’d left a message on Daniel’s phone when he’d gotten the notice, mostly on a whim. He’d thought Daniel was in Chicago, or that perhaps he’d gone back to Rio. Daniel rarely kept him abreast of his travels. At any rate, he didn’t think he’d bother to make the trip when he didn’t even answer the call. 

“It’s just junk,” Armand said. 

Daniel shrugged. “Well, I’m here. We might as well take a look.” 

Armand nodded and unlocked the door. It stuck, the wood having swollen in the frame, but he got it open easily enough. The apartment smelled musty and dust motes danced in the air.  

The studio apartment opened into a galley kitchen that led to a giant living area-slash-bedroom. The kitchen was empty, its old yellow stove the only appliance. The countertops were covered in dust. But the main room was full of boxes stacked eight high to the ceiling against every wall. Shorter stacks emanated out, leaving a path in center. 

Daniel came in behind him and whistled. “I guess madness runs in our blood, huh?” 

Armand cut his eyes at him. Daniel often made jokes like that and Armand did not find them funny. “It’s organized.” 

“If you say so,” Daniel said. He walked through the kitchen and pulled a box cutter out of his coat pocket. He went to the first box next to the counter and cut it open. Laughed. Looked over at Armand. He shoved his hand into the box and came out with a fistful of bottle caps. He let them fall back into the box, making little tink, tink noises as they hit each other. “Why the hell did you keep these?” 

Armand had no answer. He’d kept all sorts of things. All of it had felt important at the time, every little bit of Daniel that he could hold onto, back when Daniel was still mortal and Armand was all too aware of the temporary nature of their arrangement. 

Daniel tore into more boxes, pulling out unopened boxes of As Seen on TV gadgets and tools from a hardware store. Then he came to a box of computer disks. He titled the box so Armand could see. “We might want to properly destroy these, just in case.”

“Of course.” He’d filled those disks with writings of all sorts, writings he’d rarely let Daniel read about his thoughts, or sometimes strange little stories that came to him, macabre tales, and dark little poems. 

Daniel brought the box into the kitchen, setting it on the counter. Then he reached over and put his hand on Armand’s shoulder. “You okay?” 

Armand looked him in the eyes, this beautiful boy he’d transformed into a vampire, who’d gone mad and come back, whose mind was now locked against him. That was the cruelest trick of the Dark Gift: that he could no longer read his thoughts. “Fine.” 

Daniel smiled at him. “Good. So how about you help? This will go faster if we both work.” He pulled another box cutter out of his pocket and handed it to Armand. “I was a Boy Scout once. I come prepared.” 

Armand went to the opposite side of the apartment and opened a box that was full of clothes. Mostly denim. He discarded it and opened another. 

“Hey, where are the munchkins?” Daniel asked. 

“At home,” Armand said, shooting Daniel a warning look. 

“Shame. This seems like the sort of thing Benji would love.” 

Armand smiled to himself. Benji would love this but it would come with endless questions, and he’d have stop to explain the contents of every single box. 

Daniel opened another box and laughed again. He pulled out a blender pitcher that still had hardened cement stuck inside it. “This brings back memories. You did some really fucked up things with these.” 

“And Lestat was happy to mock me for it in that book of his.” 

“He wasn’t mocking you,” Daniel said, dropping the blender pitcher back into the box. 

“You don’t need to defend him to me,” Armand said sharply. 

“I’m not defending,” Daniel said. “He was just trying to tell our story.”

“It wasn’t his to tell.” 

Daniel opened his mouth. Then he seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say and went back to work instead. 

Armand stacked a set of opened boxes to one side and pulled out another, slashing it open. Inside were a bunch of sketches and paintings, pieces made by various artists Armand and Daniel had met at parties. He was about to set the box aside when he saw the corner of Polaroid sticking out from beneath some of the papers and pulled it out. He dropped the box and stared at the photo.

In it, Daniel was sitting on the couch in their old apartment. He wore thickly framed glasses, jeans, and an orange polo shirt with a brown and white stripe across the chest, the sort of thing that had been fashionable at the time. He held a cigarette in one hand and was looking directly at the camera, his gaze intense. He was smiling. He looked younger, his cheeks fuller. Armand stared at it. It had been taken been soon after they’d come to New York together. It felt like centuries had past since then, not mere decades. 

He touched the image with a finger, thinking of the young man Daniel had been then. The boy in the photo had no idea what the next years would hold, nor the decades after he was finally given the blood that he so desired. 

At the time, Armand had tried not to let himself think about the future. He’d wanted to live in the moment, to experience everything life had to offer with his mortal companion, and not dwell on the fact that one day it would end.

He turned his gaze to the Daniel in the room with him. He thought he’d known then how it would end. He’d been wrong. 

Daniel must have felt his eyes on him because he looked up curiously. “What’s that?” 

“Just a photograph,” Armand said. 

Daniel crossed the room and stood next to him, so close their shoulders brushed against each other. He grinned. “Man, I look happy there, don’t I?” 

“You didn’t know what you were in for then.” 

Daniel’s smile dimmed. “You make it sound like a bad thing.” He took the photo and studied it before handing it back. 

Armand looked at it again and then glanced up at Daniel, who was watching him with a curious expression. Daniel put his arm around Armand’s back and pulled him into a sideways hug. “You’re in a melancholy mood tonight. Don’t think you think this is kind of fun?” 

“It’s all garbage,” Armand said.

Daniel scoffed. “Sure, but it’s our garbage. We had a good time back then, didn’t we?” 

Armand surveyed the remaining boxes, suddenly uninterested in picking through more of them. “Yes. But we don’t need to rifle through our trash to remember.” He stuck the photograph in his pocket and grabbed Daniel’s arm. “Let’s go back to the house. Louis, Benji, and Sybelle will be happy to see you.” 

Daniel looked dubiously at the stacks of unopened boxes. “If you’re sure.” 

“I am.” Armand tugged on his arm and led Daniel back to the kitchen, where Daniel picked up the box of computer disks and gave one last look around. 

“Do you want to grab the blenders? I bet some of them still work. Benji could have fun with those.” 

“Absolutely not. Imagine the mess.”

“Oh, I don’t have to imagine, Boss. I lived it.” Daniel shook his head, smiling. “We never did manage to get the splatters off the ceiling.” 

Armand smiled back at him and put his hand on Daniel’s cheek, pressing his palm against his cool skin, stroking his face with his thumb. Then he turned, opening the door and ushering Daniel out into the hall. 

Armand left the door open and unlocked. Let whoever wanted to come ransack the remains if they were so inclined. He had everything he needed from that time. 

_____

AO3

I am my own target audience here but sometimes I just need some happy Vampire Daniel/Armand stuff.

[bird-bureau]

1, 4, and 8 for dahlia and 4, 5, and 12 for Dante!

Really sending me the absolute winner and loser of the vampire roulette huh

Dahlia:

1. How long have they been a vampire? Were they always this way, or did someone (or something) turn them?

She's an infant by vampire standards! But at almost 50 in human years (having been a vampire for a bit over half of it), she definitely feels old. Her turning had none of the romance of a lover biting her neck -- she was the victim of a hit and run walking home from work late at night, and a vampire witness intervened, pumping her full of the venom that kept her from true death. It's all a blur between that and her first lucid moment after, which was waking up on the slab at the morgue with most of her organs gone.

4. How does being a vampire affect their interactions and relationships with other people?

She's always been a people person, but it's hard to be vivacious in undeath. She spends more time at home than she'd like dealing with the fallout of being a desiccated corpse. However, she's able to maintain normal relationships even with humans not in the know. For one, she was an early adopter of the internet and loves its (vanishing) anonymity. Her greatest asset, though, is that she used to work in film makeup, specifically in special effects makeup. With enough time and resources, she can go full clickbait "doctors hate her" transformation and look pretty much human when she's going out on the town.

8. How do they feel about their condition as a whole?

She is making the most of a difficult situation, but she's not very happy about it. Often, she feels like the things she could have done with a normal life are rotting at her feet. She has all the time she could want and nothing she wants to spend it on. She doesn't want to be, but she's just so angry about it.

Dante:

4. How does being a vampire affect their interactions and relationships with other people?

It was much harder on him earlier in his life. The first few decades, it was nearly impossible for him to continue his career as a doctor -- more than once, he entered a frenzy state and killed patients and family members in attendance, forcing him to flee town and start over. These days, after centuries of practiced restraint, he is able to have a normal life and career and passes well enough for human. He can even spend small amounts of time in the sun. Lucky him.

5. Has their vampirism cost them friends or forged new bonds?

It cost him everything at the start. Friends, family, career. He was basically chased out of town (and then the next town, and the next). Even with other vampires, his conviction to keep returning to his career at the potential cost of lives has lost him several friends. Things go more smoothly for him now that he's less of a hazard.

12. Do they want a cure?

He started research on a cure over a century ago -- he was determined to find the cure for vampirism. The results have been mixed. In researching, he realized that finding "the cure for vampirism" is a bit like looking for "the cure for cancer" -- there are simply too many variants for a one-size-fits-all approach. And after all this time, even if he found a cure, he's not sure he would want it. He's grown fond of his undeath and having all the time in the world to pursue whatever makes him happy.

[writerbri-archive]

Hey! You always write amazing whump and angst! ☺️☺️ From the violence/death themed prompts, could you do “Don’t you dare die on me!”?

This is from an actors au that I don’t know if I’ll ever fully write but it’s always in the back of my mind so I might. It’s got its share of mature/dark themes, so hopefully I am delivering on the angst you requested.

TW for drugs and overdosing.

~~~

The first time he comes across Evan Buckley, Eddie is in the latest of a series of guest-starring roles. He has four years on the kid and about one tenth of the experience. Eddie’s start came in the form of an agent stopping him on the street during a visit to Shannon’s family about a year ago while Evan began charming the world in commercials before he could even walk.

Eddie’s role is that of a good samaritan who resuscitates Evan’s overdosing character on the street.

He’s not sure what to expect but it’s not the sight of Evan sitting uncomfortably in the chair that’s emblazoned with his name. It’s one of the perks of being a recurring character, while Eddie pretty much leans on whatever piece of the set won’t give beneath his weight while they block the scene. The experience of being on set has long since lost its novelty, so Eddie’s eyes are naturally drawn to the most unfamiliar thing in his vicinity.

Evan Buckley.

The kid looks like he’s about to come out of his skin at any second, his leg bouncing incessantly and his fingers tapping against his knee in a contradictory rhythm. There’s a discarded script on the floor in front of him, looking like it’s gone through the wringer with wrinkled and torn pages that must have been handled again and again.

He looks at everyone who passes with wide eyes, and it almost seems like he’s bracing himself for someone to announce that he’s in the way. His gaze darts to the outskirts of the set every so often and Eddie wonders if he’s imagining the mix of hurt and disappointment that dulls the shine in his eyes when he looks away.

(One day, Buck will tell him that his parents stopped visiting set when he was eight, but that it took over a decade for him to stop looking.) 

When the director calls for them to get ready, Eddie straightens up and barely has time to notice Evan leaps to his feet in the corner of his eye before someone is tugging at his clothes and making sure there’s not a hair out of place. Before he knows it, Eddie is positioned on his mark and meeting those bright blue eyes that he’s used to seeing through a screen.

“Hi,” Eddie says, trying for casual as the crew angles lights and positions extras all around them.

Evan blinks at him for a second before nodding, a half smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey,” he says, shifting in place and shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

Eddie feels a moment of sympathy for him. If it weren’t for the Hollywood of it all, he’d be convinced that this is just another sixteen-year-old boy. It wasn’t too long ago that he was that same age, and he can’t imaging living under the kind of pressure that weighs on this kid’s shoulders on a daily basis.

“I’m Eddie,” he says.

“I know,” Evan responds, his smile growing into something warmer. “You’re gonna save my life, huh?”

Eddie gives a shrug, happy that the kid looks less like he’s coming apart at the seams.

“I’m gonna do my best.”

~~~

Those words come rushing back years later, as he kneels on cold bathroom tile and prays for the first time since his youth.

Later, Eddie will realize the horrible irony of the situation and how it reflects the first time they met.

But right now, it takes everything he has to keep going beyond the ache in his muscles. He manages to maintain an even rhythm with the compressions, even beyond the tears that sting his eyes and wet his cheeks. He doesn’t know how long he’s been doing it, only that he can’t stop.

“Come on,” Eddie chokes out, pleading and desperate. “Come on, Buck!”

He shouts his name, taking a moment to dig his knuckles into Buck’s sternum. Watching closely for any sign of consciousness and letting out a sob when he sees nothing.

“You can’t fucking do this.”

He presses one hand over the other and keeps going. Even when he feels the rib that breaks beneath his palms, he doesn’t dare stop, ignoring the tinny voice of the 911 operator still trying to get his attention through the phone discarded at his side.

“Don’t you do this,” Eddie says, fixing his eyes on Buck’s too-pale face. “Don’t you dare die on me!”

The paramedics should be there soon, but it may not be soon enough. Eddie knows damn well that he is all that stands between Buck and death, and he’s not about to stop fighting.

“Come on!” he yells, as if it’s going to startle Buck enough to make him start breathing on his own again.

Drawing away, Eddie curls his hand into a fist and beats it again Buck’s chest again and again. He knows that he’s leaving countless bruises, but he doesn’t give a damn. He’ll break every rib in Buck’s chest before he gives up.

“Please,” Eddie all but whimpers, pressing a palm flat over his heart and desperately hoping that it’ll start beating on its own. “Please don’t leave me.”

With all of the strength that he has left, Eddie lands one more blow directly over his heart.

A moment passes.

A rattling breath fills the air.

And Eddie breaks.

[eclipsenoir]

May 9. 12:46 AM.

On this day, two decades and a half ago, I’d sprouted from the earth, or I sprung from soil into life. What have you. I’d always been bigger than I should’ve been for my age; born heavy with the chunk to prove it, and wailing with a head full of hair and my tiny fists clenched. Although I wasn’t much of a smiler, I was still a fat, happy baby. My father had told me once, while we flipped through my photo book together, that he thought I might’ve punched him in the face if they’d never stopped my crying after I’d come into the world. I told him that it would’ve been entertaining to see or even witness and he gave me a smile that’d always make his nose scrunch up in a funny way, and pulled at my ear for being so cheeky. I was always cheeky, he told me, and greedy. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being either of those things. But then again, nothing is ever truly certain: as a kid I never thought I’d start smiling for photos, and yet here I am.

Speaking of my father, I’ve taken this entire week off and will be spending it with them, more or less. Apparently my parents have recently been trying to tone down on taking up so much work, especially my mother who’s been more tired lately than she usually was some years back. So I’ll see more of her, thankfully, and we’ll get to play some catch up together and I’ll get to eat more of her home cooked meals than I’ve been having the past year. My grandparents will be coming over for a bit too, so it’ll be some feast. We also need to brush up over my inability to take up a real wife a little bit, this time with my grandmother present–her words, not mine–and I really am dreading having that stupid, helpless conversation again, terribly so. Nothing fruitful every really comes of it save for a few empty promises and my mother’s increased suspicion, likely about either my luck or my sexuality, but I guess I can just continue to bullshit my way out of it until she gives up. Or blows up. I don’t look forward to that either.

Also, on the topic of the women in my life, Sera is here. I was with her last weekend and she’s the bane of my existence and the object of my fury, but I’ve missed her, more than I can stomach to admit and actually tell her. It’s only been a week since, so I feel pathetic for my clinginess. But I feel lonely without her. Very much so, so much so that I feel like I’m stuck in a lethal pool of quicksand called sadness. For that I’m eternally grateful that she’s here, otherwise I don’t know what I would’ve done without her. She’s a sore part of me that I can’t remove. A sort of permanence, concrete in my very existence. Almost vital I’d say, as least as long as we keep coming and going back to each other. Is that bad?

Alas. I’m 26 now. It’s pretty cool that I could make it here and say this today. So it’s a birthday, but is it a happy one? I am incredibly happy I get to see another year, given the phantoms of misfortune that’d always followed me into the new year. I’m happy I have a lot of friends to celebrate it with. Generally happy, though? Sometimes, yeah, fairly. I don’t even remember anymore what it is that would rouse and posses me—what they are, or how it feels to have my feathers ruffled with joy. It just hits me. Like a brutal collision with a truck, which slaps you on bare asphalt and holds you there in the baking of sun. I’m bleeding happiness, and it feels so good. So fucking good. It would keep me awake at night and add a hop or two to my step, sometimes lodge a tune in my throat. I’d hum it everywhere, and think No wonder people become so addicted to this shit. Serotonin is a hell of a drug, huh.

But happiness isn’t meant to be a stagnant emotion after all, so when it ebbs away and I’m left as an empty carcass in comparison to its abundance, I think that’s fair enough. If I were allowed to keep it for too long, I’d just start to itch for another emotion after all. Anyway, I’m grateful. Eternally. Another birthday spent with the people I love most dearly is another birthday to remember, says I.

Happiest halfway to 30 and a day full of champagne and mum’s seaweed soup and cake. And dad’s tipsy blabbering about his current hyper-fixations and my fashion choices (what would the old man know?), and my siblings and Sera, giving me an earth splitting headache as per usual. May it be a really good one!

— T.

[uroborosymphony]

The Red Line.

may, friday 6th. 6:45pm. Kabukicho, Tokyo.

Chasing chimeras, chasing ghosts. The shadows of my past are whispering to my ear, lulling me to sleep. And i dream of fires, I dream of wars, I dream of glory and salvation. For the persecutors to be banished to the limbos, as, us, soldiers and martyres embrace ascencion.   The words, the thoughts - I have desperately tried to scream them yet my prayers have found no listeners. My reality is an infernal loop i am falling into, constantly, repetitively. The snake that eats its own tail. My curse. Searching and searching, running and running, only to go back to square one. And the blood of my own scales dripping out of my fangs as i chew my own flesh out of insanity. I have been telling my story, over and over, until my mind has lost iteself. Ten years later, the closed ears to my tales have remained sealed. The people, they look at me, patronize me like i suffer from delirious dementia, refusing to believe that, i, Lana, was once Cho Ilana, the rightful heiress, destined to a bright future. A mythomaniac, a maniac, that’s the pretty box they like to push me into.

I’m breaking the cycle.

It has been over a month now, that i’m aware the Yakuzas are tied to the tragedy of me and my family. They have been opening new clubs in Seoul and sending henchmen around, intimidation, dissuasion, to win back the underground scene in the city. A mess that is a gold mine to me, an opportunity, a window. One of the victims of these waves of violence managed to get a clue, a single one, a golden one out of one of the henchmen’s pockets : a visit card.

The half destroyed, dry alcohol tainted piece of paper is now stuck between my fingers as i’m toying with it, the sharpness of my black painted nails scratching against it. The visit card lead me to a place called The Red Line, here in Tokyo, Kabukicho. My fingertips are then bringing my cigarette to my lips as I am taking a long drag on it. Inhaling. Exhaling. My entire muscles relaxing from the nicotine kick and relief. My eyes aren’t leaving the building in front of me. I’m standing in front of it, The Red Line, it’s across the street, the cars are running in between me and the closed doors of this hidden empire. The agitation of the streets, the colors of the sky turning to the night are diluting in this atmosphere of frozen contemplation. I can smell the corruption, the decadence, a place that lives off all the sins the human soul can feast on. The booze, the dirty money, the deals, the girls : the usual. It is not my first rodeo in the area, i know what a poisoned eden looks like, and i, as a snake, knows how to hide in the holy trees of it.

“You gonna work here?” Asks a voice near me. “Never seen you before. Boss says a new girl is coming.” A woman, around my age, lighting her own cigarette, resting her lower back against the wall the same way i did. My eyes scan her, every single piece of exposed flesh she has in this tiny dress and these vulgar high heels.

“Do I look like an escort to you?” I answer to the woman, dry and cold. She let out a choked laughter. The type that’s a little playful, a little offended. 

“You look expensive in that lady suit of yours. Like the Boss favorite, the one he’s fucking and gets all the good tables on day one.” She answers with that same sass she doesn’t let go off, yet laced with a certain envy.

I laugh, actually. I was not expecting that answer. I can tell she’s a foreigner by the attitude, the behaviour, the way she shapes her sentences, but not entirely, a hafu  ハーフ . She almost has an accent. She knows I have one too. Despite how perfectly literate my japanese is, my korean tone is heavy on the end of my lines, I do know that. 

“I’m a singer. I heard they are looking for someone to fill the stage on fridays.” I answer, the smoke of my cigarette escaping from my nostrils as i keep my lips pinched after my words. 

“A singer huh?” The other woman asks in a rhetorical way. “Fancy.”

There is silence then. A comfortable one. As my mind is dancing through mirages of the past and future.  A name. A lead. A clan. Is what i am looking from in this place. Whoever owns the Red Line is connected to the mayhem the japanese henchmen are causing in Seoul, and I hope, connected to any single deal that has been conducted between the two countries. The woman by my side must be finding reassurance in my presence, I’m a foreigner girl, staring at the doors of a closed place, just like her. She is one of the escorts i can tell, she dresses like someone who once wanted to be more but ended up here : in designer but tacky. Many souls get lost in big city hoping to find something they never get their hands on. Success. Reputation. Money. Love. Marriage. The capitalistic version of happiness.  She has bruises. The type that she managed to hide with make-up. But instead of masking it with the same foundation color by just spreading it all over her skin, it’s applied in a smart, cautious way. A sutble blend of different tones to hide the black and reds under any single angle you could possibly look at her at. Around her neck, around her wrists, on her temple under her dark hair. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed, but i did. I know what an abused woman looks like, speaks like, especially one who’s so skilled at hidding the damage, it shows it’s not a first. Who did this to her? Perhaps the men she takes care of at the Red Line, perhaps one that treats her like he owns her a little too hard. 

“Who runs the place.” I question, the depth of my voice breaking the soothe of the silence. My fingers are reaching for my trench coat pocket as i pull out some cash i hand to her. She looks at me, with that look, the ‘Cunt’, ‘What a bitch’, ‘Who do you think you are’, eyes. She thinks of me as condescendant, superior. I know. Her hand reaches for the money anyways and she shoves it down her bra.  I’m asking the question to a woman who has nothing to lose. She is at the bottom of the social scale, just like I once was at my lowest.

“The Mishima clan.” She speaks, finishing her sentence with a shrug, taking another hit on the cigarette, chasing the smoke out of her unpainted lips. “Pfft. I would have told you that without the money. It’s no secret. They own all the places here like.” She answers with that tone of hers.

“I know. But we are going to work together. I just want you to know what I can do. Money? I can have as much as I need. Answers? I get them. Freedom? It’s just a matter of time.” 

Her eyes remain on me, pensive. The amount of girls working out of despair or against their will in an area like this one have nothing to lose, everything to gain. I am an outsider for now, she is an insider. If i can represent the slightest piece of support, she can help me out, as long as i’m not a threat nor a walking ticking bomb that could make things worse for her - I am both, for now. I crush the butt of the cigarette against the concrete of the wall. 

The Mishima-clan. The name echoes inside my head as the wind is getting colder and the sky, darker, the motion of my heels down the tarmac carrying me through the streets once again, my hands down my pocket. The Mishimas, owner of the Red Line, perhaps a main character in this enigma i’m trying to solve. I will apply as a singer to the this club. Like that, I will make my way back on the japanese scene. 

[offbeatmusicuk]

Albums Of 2023: 25-1

Part one of this list (numbers 50-26) is here:

The countdown continues:

25.

DJ Rap "Dark Glitter"

Exclusively released as an NFT, not many people got to hear Rap's first full length of new material since 2010. And while I rather hate the release method, I wasn't going to miss out on a new album from Charissa Saverio. And it's a genre jumping affair. Yes, there's plenty of drum & bass as expected, but also some downtempo breaks, house, dubstep, even pop. With some orchestral flourishes, rock riffs, jazzy elements, skittery beats. All good stuff.

24.

Bored Lord "Name It"

Oakland's Bored Lord has dived into the late 80's and early 90s dance scenes for a load of sounds of rave - breaks, drum & bass, house and more - to create an album which is both fresh and incredibly retro.

23.

Therapy? "Hard Cold Fire"

Northern Irish rock legends Therapy? release their 14th full length, and it's arguably their strongest collection in nearly two decades. It doesn't re-invent the wheel, but does what they do, and does it well.

22.

Saint Agnes "BLOODSUCKERS"

The bluesy rock of their debut is replaced by fury, energy and riffs more akin to Rage Aganst The Machine than to The White Stripes. The title track kicks of proceedings, and what a way to begin. One of the tunes of the year, and it is nearly impossible to sit still for the three and a half minutes it pummels your ear drums. It certainly getting the adrenaline pumping. Nothing that follows quite matches its awesomeness, but every track is very worthwhile.

21.

Orbital "Optical Delusion"

Dance legends Orbital bring us their 10th album. Some new classics nestle among the tracklist, among some new sounds for them, and some quirky oddities, but it's all undeniably the work of the Hartnoll brothers.

20.

Skindred "Smile"

The Welsh raggae metal titans prove with their 8th album that you can play the long game in this industry and still keep growing. This was very nearly their first UK number 1 album, and lost out at the last only on streams (it was the biggest selling album of the week), and it was paired with the announcement of their biggest ever headline show at Wembley Arena. Granted 'single' "L.O.V.E (Smile Please)" almost sounds like an attempt to break through to the mainstream, with it's crazy, catchy, pop reggae vibes and uplifting chorus. And it seems to have worked. But older fans need not worry, for there are plenty of crunchy guitars and pounding drums to create much moshpit madness, along with plenty of powerful and melodic vocal turns from Benji Webbe.

19.

Emma Hewitt "Ghost Of The Light"

While probably best known for lending her incredible, angelic vocals to many a trance floor filler, her solo stuff is more dark, electronic pop. Sophisticated, atmospheric and catchy, beautiful hooks aplenty. This album has more 80s synthpop influences than her 2012 debut, but still maintains the ethereal magic.

18.

Delain "Dark Waters"

I'll be honest, when all of the members of Delain, except founder Martijn Westerholt, left the band at the same time, something didn't feel right and I instinctively sided with Charlotte Wessels and co. Charlotte being the vocalist on every one of their previous albums, and, to me, as vital to the band as Martijn (even though there has been a bit of a revolving door of other members). I wasn't even sure I wanted the newly built version of Delain to succeed. But naturally I was curious. And of course, they've produced a brilliant album. Excellently delivered symphonic metal from start to finish, with some stunning melodies. If you liked them before, you'll like them now.

17.

Coach Party "Killjoy"

Brilliant debut album from the Isle Of Wight indie rockers. The way they skip between ethereal melodic numbers and spiky, punky rockers is quite reminiscent of Wolf Alice, but there are some chirpier and moodier efforts on here too. Fab stuff.

16.

Duncan Forbes "Return Of The Strobelight Kid"

One half of 90s progressive house pioneers Spooky, Duncan Forbes delivers his debut solo album. The beats range from 2-Step, to house, to techno, to old school breakbeats, over absorbing widescreen soundscapes.

15.

Superlove "follow:noise"

Second album from this noise-pop trio. Jaunty, upbeat, catchy rock songs, with slightly off-kilter, unexpected song construction, some electronic moments, and plenty of absolutely huge, chunky riffs.

14.

Turtle "Landmass"

An ode to the Scottish countryside with which Turtle surrounds himself, full of glorious beatless ambience, to mellow breakbeat, pumping four to the floor, haunting samples and string sections that will bring you to tears. A beautiful album to chill out to and get lost in. One of the rare occasions I recommend the digital version of an album, as the vinyl oddly omits some of the best tracks.

13.

Nicholson "Carpe Diem"

Hard trance legend Carl Nicholson, unleashes what is apparently his final trance artist album, and it's a fabulous journey through the genre. Uplifting, euphoric, hard, and acid led, with some huge goosebump moments.

12.

Public Service Broadcasting "This New Noise"

Initially recorded live at the Royal Albert Hall with the BBC Symphony Orchestra and Jules Buckley for the 2022 BBC Proms, and newly remixed for the album release (oddly there is a version with crowd noise and a version without, the latter feeling like a studio album), it's an enthralling, interesting ode to radio for the centenary of the BBC. And while PSB's instrumentation and choice of samples is excellent, it is the orchestra that lifts this to the epic heights it reaches.

11.

RAM "Wanderlust"

There is a run of 5 tracks in the middle of this album, that is absolute peak, modern, euphoric trance. Huge leads, stunning vocal melodies and performances, wonderful atmospheres and pounding beats. The other half of the album isn't bad at all, either. I recommend searching out the mixed version of the album (sadly this isn't the version on the CD). The unmixed version is all edits and the tracks don't get to breathe properly. Sometimes there isn't a huge difference in the track length, but it makes all the difference in the album flow. But as an example, the magnificent "Echoes" with Roxanne Emery is over twice as long.

10.

Black Honey "A Fistful Of Peaches"

The first and second Black Honey albums just missed out on the Offbeat Top 10's of their years (11 & 12 respectively in 2018 & 2021), and their third here has just, very deservedly, made it in. Their songcraft keeps getting stronger, and they keep subtly mixing up their styles. There are some true indie-rock classics here.

9.

Trance Wax "Open Up The Night"

The second album from Belfast-based Trance Wax (known as Gary to his mum) is another fantastic affair for lovers of the genre. The tracks here cover much of the varied spectrum of trance, plus a bit of breaks, drum & bass and house thrown in for good measure. Classics aplenty.

8.

Hot Milk "A Call To The Void"

Are Hot Milk a rock band with a penchant for a catchy pop hook, or a pop band with a knack for a chunky guitar riff. I'd say yes to both. Either way, the tracks here both provide singalong earworms, and plenty of moshpit fuel, and along the way some nifty electronic production, and even some goosebump inducing orchestration.

7.

Ad Infinitum "Chapter III - Downfall"

The Swiss symphonic metal quartet fronted by the magnificent Melissa Bonny were honing their craft over their first 2 rather good albums, but with this, their third, they have hit their stride. It is fantastic. The melodies, riffs and hooks are all on point. All killer, no filler.

6.

DMA's "How Many Dreams?"

Britpop influenced indie (jangly sing along anthems, string laden slow cuts), with a healthy dose of electronic atmospheres and pumping beats, combined with huge choruses, evokes a charming, warm euphoria.

5.

anamē "Beautiful World"

A gorgeous album of progressive house soundscapes, with some breakbeat wonders and a few trance influences in there too. Add to that some incredible guest vocals from Lydmor, Bien and more, and you have a beautiful album to float away with.

4.

Within Temptation "Bleed Out"

After a couple of slightly disappointing albums (when compared to their earlier work), Within Temptation make a staggering return to form on their 8th long player. Their heaviest album since their debut, including some incredible djent style riffs (no gentle ballads on this one), but there is no shortage of their trademark epicness, symphonic stylings and huge choruses. Not to mention the incredible voice of Sharon den Adel front and centre as always. Up there with the best they've ever done.

3.

Enter Shikari "A Kiss For The Whole World"

An incredible run of consistantly brilliant albums (to me their debut was good, interesting and showed a lot of potential, every one since has been brilliant), and with their 7th, Shikari have possibly produced their most accessible one to date (evidenced by it being their first UK number 1?). But that doesn't mean it's not 100% an Enter Shikari album, with it's constant flow, yet genre hopping all over the place. One of the most exciting, original and special bands in the world right now.

2.

Poppy "Zig"

It is almost impossible to classify Poppy as an artist, such is the variety of styles she has released in her decade long career. You can mostly classify each project though, and she has released albums and EPs of bubblegum pop, electro pop, instrumental ambient, metal, industrial, punk, 90's style alternative rock & grunge, but now with "Zig" she has delivered her masterpiece (so far). It is mostly dark electronic music but with plenty of pop leanings and catchy hooks, elements of industrial, trip-hop, drum & bass, rock & metal. Yes, the songwriting is excellent, interesting and full of ear worms. Yes, Poppy's vocals are on point, both light and seductive in turns. But the crucial part of the album for me is the phenominal production by Ali Payami. So many incredible noises and sounds that engulf, captivate and excite.

I love lots of new music, but it's quite rare that an album and artist causes the excitement and interest that lots of music did when I was a teen. This year, there were two. And yes, Poppy was very much considered for the number 1 spot. She possibly would have been in many other years. But.....

1.

Conquer Divide "Slow Burn"

The fact that there is too much screaming for my taste, or a couple of brief uses of that omnipotent 2010's pop vocal effect that I'd always question the use of, has not stopped this otherwise gargantuan album rising to the top of the pile and eclipsing the majority of the competition. Describing it as a mix of hard rock and metalcore, just doesn't do it justice to quite how epic it sounds. It soars! Magnificent guitar work from Izzy Johnson and primary songwriter Kristen Sturgis, and rhythmic brilliance from Janel Duarte on bass and Sam Landa on drums, and some excellent production and elctronic touches, all backing for Janel's afforementioned screams, and the incredible singing and clean vocals from Kia Castillo. What a voice. What melodies she delivers, what goosebumps occur.

Aside from my niggly complaints at the start, I have only one other negative to say towards this album, and it's nothing to do with what is present, rather what is missing. Comback singles "Chemicals" and "Messy" were utterly fantastic tracks that definitely deserved to be on this album, they were the ones that got me excited for this album (my thoughts on their previous album were positive, but nowhere near this positive) and their presence would have made this album even better!

In the 8 years between their self titled debut album and this, their 2nd, Conquer Divide have morphed from a solid and enjoyable metalcore band, to one of the most impressive and exciting bands on the planet. With the potential to be even greater! In the meantime I sit wondering how this record, with it's huge "why are they not hits?" anthems "The INVISIBLE", "Paralyzed" & "N E W H E A V E N", hasn't already got them headlining arenas across the globe.

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Playlists:

Spotify 50-1 (though missing number 25 as DJ Rap's album is not on Spotify)

YouTube 50-1 (though number 25 is only a short clip as DJ Rap's Dark Glitter is not on YouTube). These are different tracks to the Spotify one.

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLSWMYBJKcPo0pslrvNoeTMS-kTaAkhEXD