#like chapter two was pointless if the end goal was just to get it over as quickly as possibly just to go back to the group

[solarwynd]

giving the members just a year to fine tune their individual craft now seems so gimmicky in retrospect. and I know some members didn’t have a choice with that age cap for that new law, but even with that, there’s absolutely no satisfaction from this chapter even outside everything that hybe has pulled because their debuts were stacked ontop of each other with no room to breathe. it really didn’t feel like an opportunity to find themselves, more like an extended break where they just put out solo albums because they needed to.

[totaldramafan-lauri]

Make Use Of Me (chapter 1, preview)

Dec. 7 EDIT: ONCE MORE, WITH BRAVERY THIS TIME. No more chickening out. You can read this thing FOR REAL now. Sorry for being weird, and now....sorry if this wasn't worth it. XD

O-OK...here goes....

First thing's first: I am not expecting a lotta people to read this. I'm not asking people to read this. At this point, I'm making this mostly as a passion project, and if anyone enjoys it, it'll be a really cool bonus. My writing style isn't gonna be for everyone, and the characters I write aren't the most....popular characters in the CRK X Reader community, and I imagine this isn't really something a lotta fans'll be demanding more of.

This is LONG. This one chapter is 56 pages long. I am a VERY wordy writer,

So......why'm I posting this preview? Well....partially as an interest gauge for people who WOULD wanna read it, but...mostly as a motivator. As something to remind myself of whenever I get lazy. After all....I can't quit after I made the first chapter public, right? By doing that, I put myself out there...And, hey, I even tagged it, so, if by the off chance, someone did read it, I'm basically promising them more eventually.....

But, again, I'm not forcing anyone to read this.

Not only is it long, but.....This first chapter is probably my least-favorite thing I've ever written. By posting this chapter by itself, I'm testing to see if it does its job of making people wanna read the rest, cuz....right now, I'm not so sure how well it succeeds at that.....

This is the boring part of the story. It's a bunch of setup, and me jumping through hoop after hoop after hoop to just get everything started. I know setup is important and all, but....I'm already a very wordy writer, so....oof....There is some interesting stuff that happens, but it takes a while to get there.

I-I....kinda hate it, actually. The only reason I didn't scrap it is that I didn't realize I hated it until I was about halfway through it and the "good part" hadn't started yet. And I still spent a month writing the thing, so....I finished it.

I'm tagging this...as an experiment. If you wanna read this, go ahead. W-well, read my tags first, THEN go ahead. XD

All I can really say in this chapter's defense is that....I do try my best to salvage it. It's just setup, but I TRIED to make it interesting. And everything that seems like it didn't go anywhere, will later. This isn't the whole story, it's just the beginning of what's gonna be a BIG story. Anything that seems weird in this chapter, gets explored in the other chapters. This does set up a bunch of stuff that becomes important later (The friend character shows up later, the Colosseum becomes relevant later). This chapter is boring, but I tried not to make any of it pointless.

For the future: I'm aiming for five chapters. Chapters 2 and 3 will be a series of smaller vignettes that take place over the course of a few years, chapter 4 will be the climax, and chapter 5 will be something of an epilogue. After that, there will be two endings to choose from (which will make sense when we get there).

This probably won't be my favorite thing I've ever written, but it will be the most ambitious thing I've ever, and probably will ever, write. I haven't written something like this before, and it's all to flesh out this story and make it believable.

Right now, I.....I want to finish this. I'll probably still be writing this in February at the rate I'm going, but...at this point, I've put too much into it to give up on it. However, I'm STILL not completely ruling out the idea of my motivation dying before then. It COULD happen. So, what I'm planning to do is...setting a short-term goal of finishing chapter 3. After I do that, I'll post the first three chapters on AO3 together, and work on the rest. That way, even if I don't finish it, I'll at least have it over half done, and chapter 3 will end on a somewhat high note.

So, yyyyeah....Not a lotta people will read this preview. Overly wordy writing style + boring setup part of story + 56 pages long + assumed lack of interest for X Readers of this character (At least, I haven't SEEN many simps for her, m-maybe I'm wrong, I might be, I-I haven't checked any tags cuz I've been nervous, b-but it doesn't make my writing any better. In that case, this is my first time writing her so I'm trying super hard to do her justice >//////<)

I-if you wanna read this, and see if this first chapter does a good job of making you wanna read the better chapters, then...Go ahead.....

Some notes:

-This is still not the final draft. It's finalized enough for me to share, but I'm still not considering it finished. Even tho I'm working on chapter 3 right now, I STILL go back and edit this, even very recently. So, chances are, even if the story is finalized, small details and sentences are still subject to change. I know for a fact that there are still SOME placeholder bits in here that will change after I get some stuff cleared up. Recently, I even considered chopping off an entire section to make it shorter. I decided not to, but hey, it could still happen. I don't wanna waste anyone's time. The first chapter of a story, even if it's boring, is still very important, and I wanna make sure it's the best version of itself.

(A-and yes, this means that I've finished chapter 2 as well. The reason I'm not sharing it is that, unlike chapter 1, it was finished VERY recently, so I might still need to give myself time to edit it. From what I have, tho, I do like it a LOT more than chapter 1. There are some parts of chapter 2 that I'm legit proud of.)

-Even tho this first chapter is completely clean, I-I should mention that....this fic is for adults. The full version, at least. Chapters 3 and 4 are gonna contain some light N/S/F/W moments (the "fade to black" variety, so nothing explicit) and there'll be other slightly racey comments here and there. Just a heads-up. I'm gonna be uncomfy with minors reading this.

Th-that's all? I-I think that's all.......O-OK, so......h-here goes..... E-enjoy....

[g5mlp]

imo, what do you think G5 does better than G4, and vice versa

G4 started on a very strong foundation and was the result of a coherent vision being executed with a minimum of corporate meddling. It also was given a lot of time to fully develop its world, and the show's production wasn't transferred to a completely different creative team at any point. It's hard to beat that.

G5 was developed first and foremost with the intention of producing a good story for a good movie that could perform well in theaters, and creating the rest of the franchise seems to have been kind of secondary to that (who cares about the consequences?). Obviously, it didn't get to be released in theaters, but the movie is still probably the strongest part of G5 so far. I haven't watched the G4 movie yet but I think most people who've watched both consider the G5 movie to be better.

G4 benefits a lot from its main characters. Twilight is a know-it-all and she basically allows the show to introduce whatever random advanced magic they want, which is pretty convenient. Pinkie gets to break the fourth wall. All of them have strong unique personalities and are larger than life, and it's great fodder for episodes that explore their flaws and how they handle new or difficult situations. G5 doesn't benefit nearly as much from this kind of energy.

On the other hand, G5's main characters are less likely to get into an argument with each other or get annoyed by each other. They're chill and generally seem more like real people than over-the-top cartoon characters. I think the conflict in early episodes of Friendship Is Magic was for me a bit frustrating to sit through at times, so G5 generally having less intense character conflicts is not necessarily a downside for me.

Some of Make Your Mark's character portrayals are confusing to me. In particular, Sunny's ultimate ambition was achieved in A New Generation and she wasn't given any meaningful goals or motivation to replace that, and Zipp's detective cosplay is shown without any hint of irony or any lampshading, as though she were actually doing a good job. I think Zipp will end up being hired by Hitch by the end of Chapter 6, but they could have picked a better way to get there, like if they properly showed her learning how to be a detective instead of just having her bring out her pointless magnifying glass or recording voice memos. I don't think G4 had these kinds of issues, and it was generally clear what the characters' motivations and desires were.

G4 has better writing, pacing and humor, especially compared to Make Your Mark. There are a number of scenes in the latter where the plot doesn't progress and the characters accomplish nothing.

I liked "Dear Princess Celestia". It seems to have been generally a good way to make sure that each episode actually had a meaningful moral. Make Your Mark is a bit messy on this front, as are some later G4 episodes. I think in some cases Make Your Mark attempted to have two characters independently realize the same moral, but it didn't seem very justified or meaningful.

Make Your Mark's big ambitious idea seems to have been to put Opaline and Misty into basically every episode, even though Opaline stays in the castle and can usually only interact with Misty. It works, and the portrayal of Misty is very interesting and not something G4 was able to do, but there are a few episodes where it's just an unnecessary distraction that doesn't meaningfully progress the plot.

I think it was probably a mistake for them to have two concurrently running shows that needed to be coordinated together, even if it was necessary in order to allow MLP to have some sort of presence outside of Netflix. The need to avoid continuity issues produced weird results like Sparky not appearing in Tell Your Tale until September 2022 even though he was introduced in Make Your Mark in May 2022. Tell Your Tale does demonstrate you can tell a good story in 5 minutes, but it seems to be held back by having to be secondary to Make Your Mark. They don't seem to introduce new recurring locations, for instance, and there are still a bunch of continuity issues in spite of the efforts to avoid creating them. Having concurrently airing shows on YouTube and on Discovery Family worked in G4 because the Equestria Girls shorts were literally in an alternate universe and couldn't really affect the Friendship Is Magic episodes.

G4's music has a certain charm to it, or at least the well-remembered songs do. Sure, it's Daniel Ingram using the same instruments over and over (aside from the orchestral arrangements in seasons 8 and 9), but he didn't otherwise restrict himself to a particular genre or style in his songwriting. The music of Tell Your Tale and Make Your Mark is consistent in terms of production quality, but maybe too consistent. All of it is made to sound like it could have been on the radio in the last 10 years, and some of the songs sound a little too much like they were precisely modeled on, you know, "I Gotta Feeling", "All I Want For Christmas Is You" or "Uptown Funk". A New Generation's music is easily more memorable, but it's harder to compare since it only has a few songs and they're so qualitatively different from everything before and after.

G4 tends to miss the mark when it tries to incorporate allegories for social issues, and it doesn't help that (at least in season 1) they made Pinkie sing about the respective situations. A New Generation does it quite well, but the rest of G5 basically doesn't bring up those themes again (aside from Make Your Mark Chapter 1, and the less said about it the better).

A New Generation's 3D animation is beautiful, but the way they got Atomic Cartoons to use Boulder Media's leftovers was clearly not very good. If Hasbro had kept the animation in-house they might well have avoided some of the silly production problems that Make Your Mark ended up with. The show being 3D also evidently massively restricted what locations they could explore and what non-pony species could be shown, and it was probably pretty expensive too. I think it's probably for the best that Make Your Mark isn't going to be the main show in 2024. Friendship Is Magic's animation did not suffer from this kind of weird inherent logistical flaw. It was simple and not detailed but looked fine, and was appropriate for the resources that they had to produce the show.

I know some people still hate how Tell Your Tale looks but it doesn't seem to be something that Hasbro was ever concerned about, oddly enough, given that the show looks exactly the way that it was internally pitched within Boulder Media in 2019 (even though they didn't end up making the show themselves). I personally don't mind it, although it looked a little weird to me at first. It's nice that they tried something different and gave the ponies stylized and varied body shapes, which G4 didn't have much of aside from, like, Bulk Biceps.

G5's first-party toys generally seem to look better and more show-accurate than G4's, but G4 seems to have had a lot more variety and just generally more stuff in the toy line.

The G5 tie-in video games generally seem to be better and more fleshed out than most of the G4 ones (aside from My Little Pony World, in which nothing of importance happens).

Overall, I think G4 would win in a fight. G5 is only two years old, though, so maybe if we wait a few more years it will be a more even match. Or not.

This post represents my own opinions and not necessarily those of the other admins of this blog. I may be biased or wrong and there may be gaps in my understanding. ~overcast

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite, Chapter 1

Here's the beginning of the new fic. Very different from Interpersonal, it is a period piece, and I have researched it to hell and back (Lord knows why I didn't pick a period in history I already knew a lot about), so hopefully it's mostly accurate. No Onceler in this chapter, but this has to be here to set things up. Also, I'm working on getting a master list set up, hopefully by next weekend.

“Tighter, Nellie. This is going to be her grand entrance into society, she needs to be seen.” You take in a sharp breath as the already near-suffocating corset is pulled even tighter as per your mother’s firm instructions. You don’t bother trying to argue with her. You’d learned from past fruitless attempts that it was pointless.

“Stop fidgeting so much,” was her next admonishment, this one directed at you. You did your best to stay still–dress fitting was nothing new to you–but all too often your frayed nerves got the best of you and caused frequent trembles.

This wasn’t just any dress fitting for you. This was the fitting for your debutante, your formal introduction to the high society of New York. Of course, you’d been surrounded in it your whole life, but always protected, never left to fend for yourself. Now, you were to be thrown to the sharks, and had to pray you had the education necessary to survive.

And of course, the most important part of your debutante was that you were going to be introduced to society as a viable marriage option. And, according to your mother, your whole life has been leading up to making a good marriage.

She wasn’t entirely wrong. While there were parts of the world that were starting to see that marriage and childbearing was not the ultimate goal for a woman, it was not so in your circle. And of course, your mother wasn’t excited for your marriage for you. No, she was pushing it for her own survival.

You sigh through a grimace as Nellie tightens the last few strings of your corset. You really couldn’t blame your mother for pushing this on you, even though you selfishly wanted to. It wasn’t just her survival that hinged on it; yours did as well.

Still, you couldn’t help but resent the fact that the burden to keep the two of you afloat fell solely on your shoulders. Every appointment to get you ready for your debutante, every dance lesson, and especially everytime your mother made you recite the “rules” for the ball in the coming week that would serve as the vehicle for your debutante, made you want to scream and rip your own lovely, painstakingly-manicured hair out from the roots.

And there was no back-up option. As Mother was quick to remind you if you voiced even a hint of dissent, you were the one and only card the two of you had left to play. According to her, a lovely young girl with a good name could attract anyone she so chose, as long as she kept her charms about her. That was exactly the role she expected of you.

So she spent money you were sure you didn’t have in an effort to get you noticed. She made it clear that she fully expected you to end your first season engaged at the very least, and kept dropping increasingly less-subtle hints that this was the last chance you had to keep your family’s name and legacy in New York’s good graces…

Nellie finally finishes with your corset, breaking you momentarily from your melancholy for a whole new type of misery. You cautiously take in a breath as deep as you’re able as your mother is busy instructing Nellie on the correct way to handle your dress. To your dismay, Nellie did far too good a job at tying the corset; your breaths can’t loosen it even an inch, and inhales you can take are far too shallow for your liking.

But then Nellie comes over with the dress, and you have to hold yourself together and lift your arms as she places the delicate material over you, and then she and your mother immediately begin inspecting it for any flaws. As they fuss over the details, you glance at yourself in the mirror and sigh. You hate the pure white you’re in. You’d seen one dress with just a hint of light blue feathers on it that would have done wonders for your complexion, but Mother had deemed it far too scandalous. Women at their debutante wore white, and only white. To wear any other color was to suggest one wasn’t a maiden, and that wouldn’t fall in line with your mother’s master plan.

Get introduced into society. Catch the eye of some rich man and get engaged and married in quick fashion. And suddenly, all of your problems would be solved. If only it were that simple and not have so many hidden rules and regulations in between the lines.

“Darling, what gloves were you thinking?” your mother asks as she finally decides your dress is passable. Before you can voice your own opinion, she gives hers. “The ones with the pearls at the top would be simply lovely.”

“I was thinking that as well.” You absolutely weren’t–you actually fancied an ivory pair with lace just so you could have something that wasn’t pure white–but you’d learned long ago that agreeing with your mother is far easier than trying to change her mind about anything. Besides, it would take an act of God to convince her that ivory would be acceptable.

She hands you her preferred gloves, and you slide them over your hands and arms. “Well, I think that besides the hair, this will be what we go with,” she declares, though she’s still scrutinizing you for the most minute flaw. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t attract the attention of most men.”

You can’t help but notice the fact that she simply says ‘men’ instead of ‘young men’ like she used to. That meant widower’s twice or even three times your age were probably acceptable options to her as long as they had enough wealth and a respectable name. It takes all of your control to suppress a shudder. Your worst nightmare was being forced to marry some fifty-year-old man in a year’s time. He’d probably have children of his own older than you at that point.

But if your mother thought men of any age were appropriate, then it meant your family’s financial situation was even more dire than you originally thought. This really was the last ditch effort you had to restore yourselves.

Well, restore yourselves to the life you were accustomed to. So many people were still living less fortunate lives than you, and you recognized that. But to even suggest to your mother that either one of you should start selling things, or worse, get a job, would destroy her pride. There would be no way to hide the money situation if you did either of those two things, and slowly but surely, you would both be shunned from society. She couldn’t handle that, and you hadn’t been brave enough to broach the topic with her just yet.

Turning away from these unpleasant thoughts, you instead turn to look at yourself in the mirror. You can’t exactly say you’re thrilled with the sight that greets you. All the white makes you look younger than you are, which isn’t conducive for being seen as a marriage option for the men of New York. Your hair at the moment didn’t exactly help matters in terms of looking your age, but you weren’t exactly thrilled about that coming change, either. At present, your hair hung in long curls down your back. While contributing to your youthful appearance, you didn’t like the idea of putting it up whenever you went out, but that was one of society’s rules. From your debutante forward, your unbound hair was a gift for your future husband.

As usual, though, your mother doesn’t share your opinion. “You look a vision, my dove,” she croons. “Well, I think that about does it for today. Nellie, come get it off. Keep it safe for the ball. And have it steamed beforehand.”

“Of course, milady,” Nellie murmurs before going to help you out of your entrapment of a dress, which thankfully, you know would be a good deal quicker than getting it on in the first place. 

As she works, Mother pierces you with a meaningful stare. “You remember what we talked about in terms of how you are to behave, correct?” How could you forget? She’d drilled it into you for the past six months. You simply nod to try and avoid another verbal repetition, but the rules flash across your mind just the same.

There was to be no talking about topics you were actually interested in, like women’s suffrage or the growing political turmoil in Europe. Music and art were acceptable, but only if men brought up the subject first, and there was to be no intentional disagreements. You were to accept a dance with any eligible man who asked, but excuse yourself quickly if he wasn’t up to your mother’s standards for a suitable husband.

And what would disqualify someone from your overwhelming list of potential future husbands? There was only one thing, and it was your mother’s most important rule: Never associate with New Money for longer than socially acceptable.

To your mother, the worst thing someone could be in society was New Money. Her greatest fear was that your only marriage proposal would be from someone who was classified as New Money. She honestly might rather take the two of you being destitute over you marrying into New Money. It was anyone’s guess at this point, and you weren’t confident on which way she would go. It could very well change with her mood each day.

As soon as the garment was off your body, your mother had more rules. Of course she did. “Well, early to bed with you. You’ve been far too pale lately, we need to change that. I don’t want to have to use too much cosmetic on you for the ball. Nellie, draw a bath will you? Bed after that.” She beams at you before leaving you to follow Nellie to a bath.

She means well. You know that, deep down, she just wants to save you from a life on the streets, and this was the only solution she knew of. But you also know she loves her comfort, and her motivation was out of self-preservation as much as your own protection. And though she didn’t know it, you found the rules and regulation of her precious New York society to be just as suffocating as the tightest corset.

As you sink into the mercifully warm bath Nellie has prepared for you, your thoughts turn again to an unknown future husband. You know full well your mother will agree to a proposal from the richest suitor with the most respected name, without giving a second thought to their character. That wasn’t a consideration given to her, and it still wasn’t a common practice among the upper-class, so you know your actual feelings about someone won’t be a factor in your marriage. You’d be lucky to get engaged to someone you liked. You knew it was a fool’s hope to believe you’d actually be in love by the time of your wedding.

And then there was the other factor, the one that scared you more than even marrying a stranger: being forced to bear his children. Women died in childbirth frequently, even with new drugs that claimed to help with the pain, and the infant mortality rate was even higher. That was something you knew all too well. Your mother had had several pregnancies both before and after you, all of which had resulted in either a miscarriage or stillbirth. You had been the only healthy child.

Well, the only healthy legitimate child. Perhaps due to your mother’s inability to produce an heir to his liking, your father had a number of extramarital affairs. You didn’t know if you had any half siblings as a result of those affairs, but it was certainly a possibility. And of course, because it happened to her, your mother told you it was likely to happen to you, too. You were supposed to pretend you didn’t know about it.

That was one task you weren’t sure you’d be able to manage if it did come to pass. Unless you ended up married to a truly horrendous man, you didn’t want him to suffer the same fate as your father, who’d died from a venereal disease he’d contracted from one of his affairs. If your own husband was doing the same, you might not be able to hold your tongue.

“Miss? You’ve been so melancholy today, one might’ve thought a funeral was impending,” Nellie comments, once again pulling you from your doldrums.

“I’m scared, Nellie,” you sigh. Though employed as a maid to your family, she was the closest thing you had to a friend and confidante, and you trusted her to keep your silence from your mother. “This is unknown. And while I recognize the privilege my name has given me, this is the price I pay for it. The burden of upper-class women is no easy one. I think I should find a funeral far easier than my own debutante, for then I would at least know what to expect.”

“Hush now with those morbid thoughts,” Nellie scolds, though she manages to sound much more affectionate than your mother. “You’ll be the brightest young star at the ball, and have any number of young gentlemen interested. Surely one of them is bound to catch your fancy? Now let’s get you washed and out of the water before you start to prune.” You allow her to help you finish your bath and step out of the water and into your night things before returning to your room, where Nellie started running a comb through your hair to detangle it.

There was nothing that could be done for you. Your father left you with nothing but piles of debt, and while the old family fortune had seen you through a few years, it was depleted now. Your marriage truly was the last hope you had to keep yourself and your mother off the streets, penniless. With no man to care for them, women were vulnerable, and that was simply the truth of the world. 

So as much as you detested it, you would play your part. It was the only way to keep you alive.

[linkspooky]

The Todorokis and the Shimuras...

The Shimura family is the set up for how we are supposed to judge the Todorokis. They were the original broken house that fell apart. Everything in Shigaraki’s flashback, informs Dabi’s flashback later. We see the same abusive dynamics repeating again and again, and yet nobody learning from them. @logicalbookthief wrote almost a week ago and it turned out to be near clairyvoyant to this weak’s chapter. 

Interesting that Dabi, Shigaraki and Toga all internalized the idea they’re “bad” or “not good (enough)” as children. Interesting how rather than discouraging this idea, the adults around them reinforce that they don’t deserve the care a “good” or “perfect” child would be entitled to, by seeing their pain and doing nothing to help.

Shigaraki and Dabi are established as foils precisely because, they ar both children who, literally no matter what in their household, kept trying to be good heroes. However, every adult around them treated them like they were the problem, that they were at fault for what went wrong in the household, no matter how hard they struggled to be good they were labeled as “bad children.” They’re the scapegoats of their household, and as they grow into adults they become the scapegoats of society. “Do you really want to be a hero?” is asked to both Shigaraki and Dabi, they can’t be seen as good

Because it’s easier to divide between good children and bad children, good victims and bad victims, then for the adults to actually try to fix their mistakes. That would mean admitting that they might be the problem too. In order to enforce this, they even lift up other children as “good children” creating golden childs, and because they didn’t react as strongly to the abuse then it puts Tenko and Toya as the ones to blame for not trying to be good enough. It’s Toya’s fault he became a villain, unlike Shoto who tried to be the hero of his family despite all of his abuse. Toya must have never really wanted to be a hero in the first place.

1. Tenko and Toya were good boys

If Tenko and Toya were not forced to carry the blame for how their household went wrong. If one actually looked at them as children, it’s easy to notice what good children they were, actually.

When Kotaro punishes Tenko for playing hero again he assumes he was just not listening to his rule, and trying to cause trouble. However, when Nao asks him why he was doing it, we learn his motivation, Tenko didn’t want two bullied kids to be left out.

Tenko is five, so he doesn’t really have like a developed personality yet, but a lot of the positive qualities Shigaraki displays as an adult are all their. 

Tenko always follows his own dream, no matter how much the adults around him try to discourage him. His desire to be a hero is that strong. He has the same quality that Deku is constantly praised for. 

Tenko is also, extremely emotionally intelligent. He realizes that his father is the one in the wrong for always picking on him, and that his parents are siding with his father and not him by reassuring him of his father’s good intentions. Your father has a reason for always forbidding you to be a hero. Your father means well. Everyone puts, Kotaro’s good intentions, and Kotaro’s well being over Tenko’s. It’s Tenko’s fault for provoking him, it’s Tenkos’s fault for not giving up on his dream of being a hero. 

It’s interesting how Tenko and Toya almost come from seemingly opposite households. Tenko comes from a friendly household where he has an extremely close relationship with his sister, where his grandparents are almost always comforting him and doing fun things with him, and yet he still feels smothered by it all because nobody wants to tell Kotaro off, so his emotional needs are neglected. Tenko spends a lot of his time with his family, Toya spends time mostly isolated from his mother and father and yet, they both feel rejected fundamentally from the household dynamic.

It’s because no matter what at the end of the day they are the scapgoat for their household, it doesn’t matter what Tenko and Toya’s actual emotions and intentions are, because they’re perceived as thebad ones. We as the audience see Tenko’s sensitivity, his care for others, his desire to be a hero, but his family labels him as a troublemaker for... having the same dream every other five year old kid his age as. Tenko and Toya aren’t really allowed to make mistakes, or be wrong about things like normal kisd would because they’re not really normal kids, they’re “the problem child” or the “problem” of the household.

It’s not just that Tenko was abused, it was that he was abused in front of everybody, and not a single person tried to help.

He could have stopped if anybody in his family did anything but watch, but in that moment they didn’t. Of course it’s hard to stand up to an abuser, that’s only human, but not only did they leave Tenko to cry alone afterwards, they also created the atmosphere where Kotaro was constantly apologized for, and Tenko was constnatly blamed, which eventually led up to this.

Tenko is not a bad child, Tenko is five. The story repeats for Toya, I don’t think the adults around him realized what an amazing child Toya was. 

He’s just as hard working as any other kid at UA. Isn’t that the motto? Plus Ultra? Always put the effort in and be willing to break yourself to be the best. That’s what Bakugo is taught, that’s what Shoto is taught later on. They always have to be willing to push themselves to their limits and surpass it.

Yet, for doing what any other kid did, Toya is punished. It’s not his father’s fault, it’s Toya’s, because Toya just can’t give up. Literally nevermind his fact that Enji taught him to think this way, that literally every other kid his age is taught to push themselves to be a hero, no it’s just something wrong with Toya. Toya’s the one who won’t give up, and there’s nothing Enji can do to make him give up.

Let’s ignore the fact that Enji is also. you know, a liar. Having more kids to replace Toya isn’t for Toya’s sake, it’s for the sake of Enji’s dream. Enji doesn’t do what’s best for Toya’s welll being like ever, he gives up on Toya because Toya won’t surpass all might so it’s pointless, he continues making kids until he gets one with the quirk he wants, because, that’s what his goal is. Enji’s goal was never to have a family or be a father, it was to get an heir with an ideal quirk.

Yet, Enji is given the benefit of the doubt that he’s doing this for Toya’s sake, and Toya isn’t. Toya is just the proble child causing disruption in the household. It’s Toya who won’t give up on the training. 

Except once again, by seeing Toya as the bad child they’re missing out on what a good child Toya is. Look how hard he tries, look how he doesn’t give up, even when everyone around him tells him his dream is impossible he keeps on struggling agaist impossible odds. Is it wrong for a disabled person to want to run a marathon? Is it wrong for a person in a wheelchair to want to play basketball? Yes, Toya’s quirk may have gotten in the way of him being a hero, but there were ways Enji could have accomodated his disability, supervised him, taught him how to become a hero without hurting himself.

Except, Enji was never ever interested in any of those things. Enji didn’t care about Toya’s dream. Enji didn’t even care about Toya besides the fact that Toya could be made to carry his own dream.

Toya’s extremely hardworking, dedicated, and also intelligent as well. When he was a kid he was capable of comprehending that it was wrong of him to attack Shoto. He realized that in the household he was being abused. A thirteen year old was even capable of understanding that Enji SHOULDN’T be able to get away with what he’s doing. 

Like everyone goes on and on about what Toya says about his sister and his mother this chapter, but no one mentioned the fact that  Toya was right. Toya had the correct political take. An abuser should not be allowed to keep his job as a hero like this if he’s going to treat his family this way. Just like a hollywood producer who abuses women shouldn’t be allowed to keep their job if they’re using it to take advantage of others.

Toya confronts his mother for the fact that she’s failing him as a parent as well. That’s not Toya being misogynist towards Rei, he’s telling her the truth and holding her accountable. Yes, Rei is also a victim, but Toya is thirteen he doesn’t understand that. All he understands is that he’s being neglected by both parents. I mean, look at how Rei sees Toya. Look at how the scene is framed visually. This is Rei’s flashback of Toya it seems like.

She paints him like an incrediblly disturbed child.  As if Toya is the disturbance in the household. As if he’s the bad one. As if he’s the one causing the problem. As if, if he just gave up his dream of being a hero then everything would be better.

Ignoring the fact that, Toya would still be an abused child even if he didn’t react the way he did. If Toya was quiet. If Toya shut up. He’d still have grown up with zero parenting at all. Enji still would have gone on to abuse Shoto. Look at Toya’s reaction in his eyes. Look at the way his pupils shake. He’s being told that if he just gave up his dream of being a hero, the household will be happier, but he knows that’s not true. Toya knows the problem in the household is Enji. If Toya gave up  his dream of being a hero, he’d still be a deeply unhappy individual, he’d just be suffering more quietly. The household would still be an abusive one. Toya in the end, still won’t be parented properly, because, Rei and Enji don’t see Toya as a kid.

Literally all Enji had to do was lift up a finger. All he had to do was walk up to the mountain and talk to him, and he couldn’t even be bothered to do that. Toya was trying so hard to be good, to meet his parents standards, and yet he never would because his parents standards were impossible to meet in the first place. 

“Well, gosh I didn’t know what to say to him it would have been hard.” Yeah, I bet it was hard when he LITERALLY BURNED ALIVE. 

It’s not just the one incident of this though. Enji and Rei both frame it as an oopsie daisy. If only he had been stopped on that one day. And not like, the five continuous years of ignoring him that built up before that point. The fact that he was never really taught how to handle his emotions in a healthy way, because neither of his parents treated him as a child.

However, the narrative of the scapeogat and the good child still remains. Despite the fact that Toya and Tenko were children trying so hard to be good, and all they needed was someone to tell them that. 

When all they wanted was for people to see the good in their own actions, to see how much they were trying, struggling, to be good, because they are the scapegoat they will always be the villain of the family. 

I think it’s amazing that Toya is trying to be good even now. Toya, unlike Enji who only ever cared about the number one spot, is interested in creating a world where heroes are actually taken to task and treated as heroes. Shigaraki cares about people who were similiarly rejected to him, and offers them a helping hand. 

Shigaraki and Dabi are capable of so much good. They still care about the world. They’re still trying to create a world better to others than it was to them. Shigaraki’s goal even shifts from empty destruction, to just, I want to give a world to my allies where they can be free.

Instead of seeing them as victims, they divide victims into good and bad. Shoto is the hero of the family because look how good he turned out even though he went through the same thing Dabi did. 

Is Rei wrong for focusing first on stopping Dabi rom hurting innocent people rather than focusing on getting him the help he needs.

Well, you think Rei would know. That people who come from abusive households. People who are constantly abused. Can lash out and abuse completely innocent people. I’t almost like that’s exactly what she did to Shoto, blaming him and burning him instead for what Enji did.  And it’s almost like Rei didn’t start to improve until she received outside medical help. 

Heroes pretend to protect society, while turning a blind eye to those who they can’t save, who are most in need of their help. They blame bad victims, and uplift good victims to use an example against the bad victims, well why couldn’t Toya have turned out a good child like Shoto.

Man.

It’s almost like. Shoto didn’t burn to death. Because Enji couldn’t be bothered to walk up to a mountain. It’s like letting a child starve to death and then saying “Well, why didn’t this child learn how to cook?” 

They divide the good and the bad and throw the bad out. Well, isn’t it a tragedy that Toya became Dabi. Isn’t it just a tragedy that that child couldn’t be saved. It’s not the five years of neglect, it’s the one day on the mountain that was the turning point for that.

It looks like on the surface that Toya’s family is admitting what went wrong, but they’re really kind of not. Toya doesn’t need to be fought as a villain. Toya doesn’t ned to be stopped. Labeling bad victims as villains and putting them down with violence literally never helps, because that’s thementality that created them in the first place. It was Toya’s behavior that needed to be stopped, he was the thing in the Todoroki household, that made everything else go wrong. If only Toya had not died, then Enji wouldn’t have abused Shoto so hard EXCEPT WE ALREADY KNOW THAT WAS ENJI’S INTENTIONS ALL ALONG FROM THE START. If Toya had lived Enji would have kept on doing whatever he wanted with Shoto, because no one in that house was going to hold him accountable. 

Even now, Enji gets the unconditional support that Toya deserved as a child, that he needs now, just because he happens to be a hero. Certain people are labeled as heroes, certain people are labeled as villain. Good victims are saved and given the support they need, bad victims are violently put down. 

Even Natsuo says this, that he should have just told Toya to stop complaining about the family. 

But aren’t the things the villains saying you know right? That Enji should not be allowed to keep his job. That Enji abused his whole family. Wht would have been different if Natsuo and Toya had their talks? Toya would still be a severely abused child who carried that abuse into adulthood, but he wouldn’t be making a fuss about it? He wouldn’t be loud about it?

It’s suppression over recognizing the victim’s pain. It’s blaming the victims without looking at the cause. The Todoroki family set up Shoto as the hero responsible for saving the whole family because he is the good victim, and as a indirectly, they imply that Toya is the villain in need of stopping.

Once again I return to both the Todorokis and the Tenkos. By refusing to see the good in their children, to see that Tenko and Toya were just children who wanted and tred their best to be heroes and were unfairly punished for it, they ultimately suffocate both children. By labeling them as deviants who need to be stopped rather than victims who they abused, they just, keep suffocating them.

Which is why no matter how much Toya or Tenko may love their families, no matter how much they may sympathize and love their mothers, they still feel denied, suffocated by the whole family. Because their whole family fails to see their good intentions, fails to see who they are as children. They can’t see how much they genuinely wanted to be a hero, and they can’t see how much they were suffering as well, because they’re not good children they’ve alraedy been labeled as bad ones. 

That’s why they ask over and voer again, do you still want to be a hero?

When all they needed to be told was it was possible for them to be a hero. When that was all they needed to hear, they were rejected instead. That’s why they can’t go back either, because they know after all this time their family still doesn’t understand. They’ll be rejected all over again. 

And the scapegoat will remain a scapegoat forever. 

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language, nudity (but, like, for art), and violence Warnings: Unhealthy dynamics, including violence between the shipped pair, leaning heavily into the "enemies" part of "enemies to friends to lovers" Summary: Local vampire discusses art, depictions of certain anatomy, and enjoys the company of her feral soulmate for 4.5 minutes. Then it goes to shit (as things tend to do). 0-60 Real goddamn quick. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly

4: Portraits For Ghosts

“Am I really supposed to just… stay here? Did she honestly think that I, of all people, would behave? The universe gave me two good hands, and by God, I intend to make that someone else’s problem,” you mutter to yourself as you get dressed. It’s not that you necessarily had anything in mind, rather that you hated the idea of waiting around for who knows how long for Cassandra to return. Especially considering what she had done prior to leaving. Sure, you had laughed, but that hadn’t meant much in the end. At this point, you hadn’t even been out of the dungeon for a full day yet, and the memories of what happened there were fresh in your mind. Nightmares, too, even if you had pushed them aside to deal with Cassandra’s. Why did I bother? You wonder, frowning. There was hardly any point to comforting a monster, no matter the way they trembled.

Or at least that’s the lie you sold yourself.

Soon enough, a knock at the door brings you out of your head. Daphne, maybe, you think, remembering the maiden from yesterday. When you open the door, however, you’re met with an unfamiliar woman. She’s a few years your senior, at the very least, and appears surprised to see you. In her hands is a very enticing tray of food.

“Lady Cassandra wanted me to bring this to you. I am… I am glad to see you are feeling better already,” she says, voice shaking. What was with these maidens and assuming you were anything like your soulmate? Though that last part did catch your interest. Something told you that she wasn’t at all referring to your time in the dungeon. If you had learned anything from Daphne, it was that the best way to get information was to be indirect. So you graciously accepted the food, before speaking, dodging your way around your ignorance.

“Yes, it’s amazing what a bit of meditating can do for the soul- and body, that is,” you start, watching closely for any veiled reactions. Even within the first few words you can tell that this stranger wasn’t expecting you to be pleasant. “Out of curiosity, what did my Lady say about my condition? There are, uh, a few details that I hope she did not share. I’m sure you understand.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, the maiden is nodding, appearing eager to satisfy you. Maybe a hint of fear can be useful, after all.

“No worries, Lady Cassandra did well to respect your privacy, and we would not dare question her further. She simply explained, to her family, that you were dealing with a migraine. I only heard this because I was helping serve breakfast,” she explained, smiling softly. You’re quick to nod, mimicking her expression for maximum empathy. “Do you require anything else? I am here to serve, you must only ask.” Ah, perfect. Would she have offered this even if you hadn’t attempted to be charming? Probably, but your politeness certainly didn't hurt.

“Well, there is one thing… as long as it’s no trouble.”

---------------------------

It had been a risk, asking the servant to take you to a room you weren’t sure existed, but one that had paid off brilliantly. Even if said room was nothing like you had anticipated. Who would have thought that Cassandra, you think, would be an artist? What’s far less surprising is the fact that the studio (or ‘study’, as you had called it) is a disorganized disaster. Discarded papers lie scattered around an overflowing trash can, a cabinet with an attached tool rack is missing pieces, and in one corner there are literally random shards of broken glass lying about. What is this, performance art? Part of you feels tempted to clean up the mess, if only to occupy your time. Instead, you decide to examine some of the pieces within the room. Maybe somehow they’d tell you something noteworthy about your soulmate.

First, you move to your left, where a workbench houses strange sculptures. For the most part they’re abstract, jagged edges contrasting with gentle curves, but there is one you think you understand. It’s very clearly a bust… of someone’s ‘bust’. Guess that solves the age old question of ‘boobs or ass’, you think, stifling a giggle. Moving on, you shift your attention to the exposed section of the cabinet. One row is dedicated to small vials, each labeled with a concerning ‘blood’, despite the fact that it’s clearly not refrigerated. Still, you have heard of artists painting with blood before, but you seem to recall them mixing it with something else. Perhaps Cassandra had done the same? Though you did wonder if she had any difficulty resisting the urge to drink the blood, at least prior to mixing it.

Shrugging, you continue to the other side of the studio, squatting to get a closer look at the broken glass. As expected, there’s no discernable pattern or purpose. Huh, you think, wonder why she doesn’t clean up. Maybe she’s waiting for a servant to do it? Guessing her reasoning was rather difficult, especially considering your lack of context, such as how long the mess had been here. Deciding that this was a pointless distraction, you move on to the only other thing of note in the room: An easel, in the center, with a canvas nearly as tall as yourself. So far, there’s little on it other than pencil lines, a sketch marking where to paint certain details. Only the (start of) the background has been colored. Understandably, it’s hard to make out what exactly the finished project would end up representing. Based on what you know of Cassandra and her family, however, you infer that this- with four figures, one larger than the others, protective- is a painting of the castle residents.

“Family means something to you, hmm?... I hope that mine does not miss me much, for I will never see them again,” you say to yourself, instinctively reaching out towards the art. Before you can touch it, or think better of it, the door to the studio is flying open. In storms Cassandra, fists clenched at her sides. As soon as she sees you, she’s rushing forward, pulling you away from the easel. “Hello, darling. Glad to see me feeling better, yes?” You teased, smiling wide at her. Feeling a bit emboldened by your earlier success, you go a step further, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I swear to fuck, if you touched any of my stuff-” Cassandra starts to say, intentionally ignoring the kiss, even though her cheeks get flush at the contact.

“Nope, not a single thing. Not even the broken glass. Nice touch, by the way, makes the whole space feel a helluva lot cozier,” you interject. For a few moments she holds you by your shirt collar, staring you in the eyes as if determining whether or not to believe you. Somehow, some way, she declares you innocent, releasing you with an irritated sigh. After pretending to dust yourself off, you return your attention to the central canvas. “Do you do a lot of art of your family? I passed by several pieces on my way here, though they were certainly in a different style.” Another pause, with Cassandra waiting for you to spring a verbal trap.

“Some of those are mother’s work,” she answers, tentatively, eying you closely. When you merely nod in reply, expecting her to elaborate, she starts to relax, little by little. “I doubt you passed any of mine. Mother tends to keep those closer to her quarters, or near the main entrance.” Interesting, you think, why hasn’t she addressed my original question?

“It sounds like she’s very proud of you,” you muse, still facing away from your soulmate. There’s a slight shakiness to your voice, as your mind starts to dwell on memories of your own family. Perhaps noticing this, Cassandra takes a few steps closer, one hand hovering over your shoulder, not quite sure if you needed (or perhaps deserved) any comfort. In this moment, you feel far more vulnerable than you had the day before. Taking a deep breath, you try to center yourself, before perfectly ruining whatever trust you had just established with Cassandra. “Something tells me she doesn’t know about the titty sculpture though, right? Can’t quite imagine that one being displayed where everyone can see it.”

To your immense surprise, Cassandra gives you a blank stare.

“You… you really don’t know anything about my mother, do you?” She says, after several awkward seconds. It feels strange to think that she had been furious, merely a handful of minutes ago. “If you actually behave for a while, I can show you some of her favorite pieces around the castle. Then maybe you’ll understand.” Intrigued, you debate how exactly to respond. On one hand, you did want to see the art, but on the other hand… misbehaving was your goal of the day.

“Sounds like a nice date to me. Why not start the tour right now?” You suggest, hoping to meet your ‘politeness quota’ earlier rather than later. Still, it is in your very nature to be chaotic, and you find yourself giving Cassandra an affectionate shoulder touch. It’s not at all genuine, but the two of you blush nonetheless. How could you not, when your blood was bound together, hearts made to race in sync?

“Don’t get friendly with me,” Cassandra stammers, unadjusted to the way her pulse pounded. “This isn’t a date. We’re just- it doesn’t matter, actually. As long as it means getting you out of my studio, I don’t care.” With that said, she takes your hand in her own, pulling you towards the exit. If she has any feelings about the soft touch, she hides them well… unlike yourself. Cheeks flushed, you’re half tempted to yank yourself out of her grip, hating the way your heart skips a few beats. Would I still feel this way if I didn’t know we were soulmates? You wonder, biting your lower lip to prevent any unwanted comments from slipping out. Soon enough you’d have art aplenty to distract yourself with. Hopefully.

---------------------------

“My God, you were not kidding. I don’t- I can’t even think of anything clever to say,” you chime, staring dumbfounded at the several statuettes of naked women. They seemed to fulfill some other purpose, one you couldn’t parse at the moment, but you could hardly think about the details right now. “I mean, good for your mother, for sticking to a theme, I suppose,” you continue, tripping over your own tongue, uncharacteristically quiet. Clearly amused by your flustered display, Cassandra lets out a hearty laugh.

“Good to know some things can shut you up. I’ll have to keep this in mind for next time you bother me,” she teases, light-heartedly. Her words only fluster you more, though they quickly give you room to counter, much to your joy.

“Is that so? Planning on carrying around a busty bust for the rest of your life, or thinking of going the more au naturel route?” You asked, briefly sticking your tongue out at Cassandra. It takes her a moment to understand what you’re getting at, but as soon as she does she’s smacking your arm with an offended huff. Despite her irritation, the blow is relatively soft, and you swear you can see her fighting to hide a smile. “Starting to go soft on me, are you? I hardly even felt that one.”

“So you’d prefer I hit you harder? And to think you called me kinky,” Cassandra fires back, without a hint of hesitation. Now both of you are laughing, softly, like old friends sharing fond memories. It’s… weirdly nice. A warmth fills your chest, even as you try to remind yourself that you shouldn’t be happy right now. Damn it, you think, suddenly frowning, hands clenching. We shouldn’t be having fun banter, back and forth like a real couple. Not when I’ve still got wounds from her hands on my skin. Instinctively you reach up to your face, thumb running over the marks Cassandra’s nails had left behind. The touch stings, bad, no matter how gentle you try to be. Noticing your shift in expression, your soulmate inches closer. “If your wounds are bothering you, I can have one of the servants get more ointment or whatever it is we have around. I don’t want you to-... There’s no reason for you to suffer more than you need to, besides, I don’t want you complaining all day.” Of course she couldn’t bring herself to imply that she cared. Of course. It wasn’t like the two of you were actually capable of being soft for each other, obviously. All of your confusion melts down, boiled by the warmth in your chest, turning to a familiar, albeit painful, rage.

“Right, right! Because you care so fucking much, yeah? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I-” you jab a finger towards her chest, accusatory- “talking to you? Why am I pretending you're not the one who did this to me? You’re the fucking reason my face hurts, my shoulder hurts, my brain-... I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened down there. I can’t get those goddamn images out of my head, every time I close my eyes, every time I look at you. I…” You trail off, chest heaving a little, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra’s standing tall, unflinching, but there’s a noticeable regret in her expression.

“What. Are. You… going to do about it?” She asks, through clenched teeth, fighting back the full force of her emotions. You can’t tell what exactly she’s feeling, but you know that you want her to show you. Every part of you is itching for a fist fight, regardless of how stupid you know the idea is.

“Depends, dickwad, on whether or not these statuettes are properly secured,” you snap, already moving, fully abandoning all impulse control. By the time your hand grips the first sculpture, Cassandra has put you in a headlock, forcefully tugging you backwards. Panic sets in, making you try to jam your elbows into her stomach. Before long both of you are tumbling to the floor, bodies already aching, limbs flailing wildly in an attempt to hit a target, any target. In the end the air is knocked from your lungs as your head smacks against the ground. “Shit, shit, shit,” you grumble, coughing, finally processing just how much of a dumbass you were. It’s clear that at least one of the previous day’s wounds has reopened, and you feel something wet and sticky on your shirt.

“Finished, asshole?” Cassandra wheezes, sounding dazed, roughly pulling you up by your shirt collar. You nod, refusing to meet her gaze. Then she’s sighing in relief, letting you lean on her for support, holding you surprisingly close, considering the circumstances. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Again…”

[hillnerd]

For the headcanon ask game - Romione + rain?

For the headcanon ask meme <-feel free to send a couple and a prompt- i'll either write a short blurb of headcanon or write a drabble my headcanon is that Hermione loves rainy days and Ron doesn't- she wins him over to them eventually:

RAIN

Hermione had always loved the rain. None of the other children in her class did. They'd moan and wail when they had to stay inside during playtime. As they all mourned the loss of their beloved tag, Hermione would squirm in delight.

While everyone else would suffer through checkers and building blocks, adventures and deserted islands waterfalled into the room with every drop of rain. Why deal with getting actual dirt under your nails, when you can imagine walking on beaches. Why deal with lines for the swingset and being elbowed off the climbing frame she could barely manage to stay on for more than a few seconds, when there were chapters of friends to spend her hour with.

-------------------------

Rainy days were absolutely, without a doubt, miserable! That's what they were. On a sunny day Ron’s brothers would let him come along and maybe even hang out a bit. He might just be target practice for an apple, but at least he was on a broom, and at least he was having something akin to a nice time with them.

Instead he was locked in, roped into chores, and no one would play him chess anymore. He'd just finished helping his mum mucking out some of the junk from under the sink when he felt his leg get crushed and he let out a string of curses.

“Get your legs out the way!” Fred hissed, giving him a light kick for good measure.

Utterly miserable.

-------------------------

Hermione wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck as a gust of rain-loaded wind made her umbrella quite pointless. The Quidditch Pitch was so misty she had no idea how the players were able to avoid colliding.

“Damn this weather is shit!”

A warm cloak was draped around her shoulder and she hurriedly leaned into Ron’s side.

“You shouldn’t curse.” She did her best to school her smile into a formidable frown of disapproval.

Ron laughed and shook his head. Droplets from his hair flicked onto the last dry bit of her face.

“Y’know, we’ve been friends for two years. You should probably get over my cursing. I’m not going to stop.”

“It’s impolite!”

“Worse things to be than impolite, aren’t there? I could be an arse like Malfoy.”

“And that’s the scale you’re grading yourself on? ‘Not as bad as Malfoy?’”

“Don’t be jealous of my lofty goals,” he said, putting his nose high in the air before squinting. “I hope Harry catches the Snitch soon. My bum’s going dead from the cold. Know anything that could warm it up?”

Hermione tucked her head behind her hair as heat radiated through her.

“There’s a hot-air-charm.”

“Oh yeah! Blow some hot air on me!”

“I don’t know it yet… I’ve only seen it.”

“Same.”

“And warming charms aren’t until fourth year.”

“Bit shit, that. It’s getting colder by the second out here. We should all know a good warming charm. Plus we live in a castle in Scotland! It’s bloody cold!”

“Ron!” she said, giving him a small elbow in the side.

“Sorry! I’ll try not to curse so much, I swea—”

“No! What’s that over there?”

A swathe of darkness rushed the field, undulating like a dark ink spill across the Quidditch field.

“Oh no…” Ron moaned. “Dementors!”

He gave another string of curses as they rushed towards the field.

Despite the cold, misery and terror encroaching, a bit of warmth kept the Dementors from fully affecting her as they had on the Hogwarts Express. It was Ron’s large hand holding hers all the way to the field.

She loved rainy days.

-------------------------

The wet squelch of his shoes echoing off stone hallways was the only sound left in the castle. Ron was alone, which was all for the better. He’d always loved Quidditch, but now it felt like a scimitar ready to come down and end him. At this point he’d welcome a good beheading— at least then he wouldn’t feel so bleeding miserable.

His sodden robes left tiny droplets, and he’d wrung out one giant puddle, in the halls. If Filch caught him, he’d probably give him a good dressing down, but Ron didn’t care. He deserved one.

How could Quidditch abilities have passed him by so thoroughly? He thought he’d been a good Keeper at home. He always got stuck in the position, but over time he grew to like it quite a lot. Not anymore.

His robes thwarted against the portrait whole as he drug himself through to an empty Common Room. Not wanting to face his dormmates he went for a seat by the fire, but found Hermione. She sat in one of the larger plush chairs, her little legs curled up under her in a way that would make his long limbs go numb in under a minute. All around her were parchment and books. She was working on a Charms assignment he knew was not due for another three weeks. She looked up from the work and gave a warm smile. Despite himself, he smiled back.

“It’s miserable enough with all the rain. Why compound it with Charms?” he asked.

“I wanted to wait for you. I don’t like the idea of you practicing in a storm like this. Especially by yourself! It’s not worth it.”

“Well I can’t quit,” he said, feeling mulish again and collapsing into the opposite chair with a great heave.

“I wasn’t suggesting you quit. Just maybe wait for nights where there isn’t a maelstrom?”

“Ah, but then there’d be loads of other people wanting to practice, and then they’d all see how I suck eggs.”

“I’ve seen you fly and you don’t ‘suck eggs,’” she said, finishing her sentence with a flourish of her quill.

“There’s a whole song about it.”

“That song…” she growled, casting a charm on her paper to dry the ink.. “Malfoy’s the one who sucks eggs! He’s a little monster and I’m a bit in shock the professors have done absolutely nothing to stop him.”

“Why would they?” he said with a shrug.

“Because it’s a monstrous display of bullying? Because it’s targeting a student and making the whole school absolutely toxic? It’s wrong? It’s harmful? Take your pick!”

Ron straightened in his seat as she pointed her wand at him. Suddenly he was hit with the most satisfying warming charm, followed by a water wicking spell.

“You’re good at Keeping! I’ve seen you do it every summer up against the twins, Ginny, and even Charlie. But you’re no good to anyone if you get struck by lightning, fall from your broom, or catch pneumonia from being out in this weather! And what are you smiling at?” she asked, brows furrowed enough to make that cute little line appear between them.

“You.”

“You should take what I’m saying seriously!”

“Fine, I won’t fly in this weather alone.”

“Well who will accompany you?”

He hesitated a moment then replied, “You, if you’ll come.”

“I can. As long as I’m ahead on my revising.”

“Then you can always come, as you’re always ahead,” he said putting his feet up on her arm rest.

“I also meant it about the Keeping. I think you’re good.”

“Yeah, well… Quidditch isn’t your strong suit.” She shoved his feet off the chair and he gave a chuckle. “But, I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Despite wanting to be so ahead in her studies, Ron noticed how she ignored her parchment the rest of the evening for him. For a rainy evening, it was quite nice.

[teawaffles]

Forbidden Games: Chapter 4

Alan led the way as the two men proceeded down the corridor to another room. While he walked alone in front, the pair noticed the footsteps of several people following them from behind.

They seemed to be travelling to the back of the building, and apart from the people who were currently moving, there was no sign of life. Apparently, ‘normal’ participants could only play in that large hall from before.

“It’s gotten quite chilly, hasn’t it? As I recall, Mr Holmes, you’re not fond of the cold. Are you alright?” William murmured, his shoulders shaking slightly.

Sherlock himself wasn’t particularly sensitive to the cold, but he kept his expression static as he pondered the intention behind that statement.

In the next moment, William twitched the corner of his mouth upwards in a gesture that only Sherlock would understand. Recognising this, Sherlock understood everything, and promptly played along.

“That’s right. It does seem chilly. ——Liam, could you lend me your coat?”

“No problem, here you go.”

“Thanks.”

William held out the coat he had been carrying under his arm. Sherlock took it and immediately put it on. Then, he straightened the coat as he carefully checked how it felt on him.

“If you’re feeling cold, may I suggest we have a warm drink in one of these rooms before proceeding?”

Alan posed the question with a seemingly concerned tone. It appeared that he had taken William’s words at face value.

“No worries. Anyway, I’m also excited to see what kind of game you have for us. It’s almost like the shivers before a battle.”

At Sherlock’s words, Alan nodded happily.

“Is that the case? As the one introducing you to it, I’m pleased to hear that.”

At last, they reached their destination. Alan quietly opened the door and bid the duo enter. The two men shared a look, and went in silently.

The room was dimly lit, and roughly a quarter the size of the hall they were previously in. In the centre was a finely crafted round table, and surrounding it was a group of gentlemen standing in silence, staring at the new entrants.

It was an ominous sight, as if it were a secret ritual. The men’s expressions were unanimously mild, but there was also a keen sense of malice hidden underneath. Even so, having witnessed countless bloody battles and come out standing, William and Sherlock remained unperturbed amidst the disquieting atmosphere.

Sherlock looked at a corner of the room, and flashed a big grin.

“Yo, fancy meeting you here.”

Standing there was the noble’s son whom Sherlock had been tasked to find. Just like the other gentlemen, he was dressed sharply. Yet he lacked a trace of the dignity befitting a noble, instead glancing around his surroundings in sheer terror.

Having observed the young man’s appearance, William murmured a question to Sherlock.

“Is he the young man you were searching for?”

“Yep. It looks like he’s alive for now, but judging from his behaviour, it’s not hard to imagine how he was treated by these guys.”

After deducing the situation, they heard the click of a lock behind them.

Turning around, they saw Alan standing with his back to the door, a smile plastered on his face.

“As expected, you’re quick on the uptake. I sincerely admire your excellent deductive abilities.”

Sherlock snorted at his feigned courtesy.

“What’re you talking about? You’re the one who brought us here.”

“I thought it’d be pointless to keep this place a secret once you’d sniffed it out. Anyway, I reckoned I’d make sure to give him a proper welcome too.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Still, what reason could you possibly have for locking up some noble brat? Are all these guys your accomplices too?”

Alan made a show of being astonished.

“We don’t do such perverse things as locking people up. All we pursue is the pure delight of a game, and the comrades gathered here today share in this goal. It is only when pleasure is kept secret that it ascends to a higher realm.”

“——So just like what you did to us earlier, you invited this man here, coerced him into playing some ‘thrilling game’ which he lost, then locked him in this room until he pays off his debt. Is that right?”

“…………”

William’s harsh words stripped away the veneer of Alan’s so-called lofty pleasures, revealing them to be but deceitful tricks. The man raised no retort, and Sherlock clicked his tongue.

“So, are you holding this noble’s son hostage for ransom? Or are you thinking of threatening him so that he’ll make arrangements for you when he inherits his estate? In any case, deceiving and threatening kids makes you no different from a stingy crook.”

Having been bluntly maligned, Alan finally shook his head in sadness.

“It’s utterly regrettable to be misunderstood in such a way. This man consented to play the game of his own free will. However, because he refused to pay up despite his defeat, I’ve had to keep persuading him ardently like this.”

“Persuasion…… so you say,” William retorted.

Having taught students of the same age, he did not hide his displeasure.

Then Sherlock pressed on, openly revealing his irritation.

“Well? Our goal here’s to bring him home safely, but as for you, you’re not going to let things go that easily, are you?”

Alan held out both arms, as if to express his admiration.

“Both of you have been a big help advancing the conversation so smoothly. But there’s no need to be afraid. We have no intention of committing barbaric acts. As I conveyed from the start, all I want to do is play a game with you, with all my heart and soul.”

“Damn you, if this was really just a game then there’d be no need to bet.”

“Doesn’t the risk of defeat just add to the excitement?”

“……Only your ability to make sophisms is first-class, huh.”

They seemed to be getting nowhere trading arguments with this man. Sherlock sighed, as if rendered speechless.

Taking over from the exhausted detective, William spoke up.

“In that case, would you release this man if we win your game?”

Alan nodded in enthusiasm.

“Precisely, since our motto is that all’s fair and square when it comes to games.”

However, Sherlock nudged William with his elbow.

“Liam, you don’t have to go out of your way to play along with them. If you leave it to me, I’ll beat these wimps to a pulp in seconds.”

Hearing Sherlock’s statement, Alan took a step back.

“Ooh, how frightening. In that case……”

He raised his hand. Taking that as a signal, one of Alan’s accomplices brandished a knife and held it to the young noble’s throat. Unable to even make a sound, the young man went white with shock.

“We have no choice but to respond appropriately.”

Alan’s friendly smile had morphed into a brutal one. Having seen the gentleman reveal his true nature, William finally looked at him with disgust.

“In other words, no matter how much we struggle to avoid it, we’ll be drawn into a game…… and although it wouldn’t be outright impossible, it would be difficult to call it ‘fair and square’.”

“This is all simply because we love games,” Alan said brazenly, with no regard for the hostility directed at him.

At that instant, the pair decided to crush this man.

“——Excellent.”

Sherlock spoke up. Even though it wasn’t said particularly loudly, his statement rang out across the room.

William continued in an exceedingly polite tone.

“The extent to which you wish to play games, that I have understood completely. Therefore, regardless of the outcome, I hope you will not regret your decision.”

“……Ooh.”

The pressure exerted by the pair’s fighting spirit had started to make Alan’s entire body tense up.

“I’m glad to hear that you’re in the mood now. By the way, what would you both like to wager on this match?”

At his question, the pair looked at each other.

“We demand that this man be set free. As for the price of our defeat…… Well, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Anything I want?” Alan doubted.

Immediately, William chimed in.

“Then it would be the same for me. In the event that we lose, be it money, my position as a noble, or the fruits of my academic research, please feel free to lay claim to any of them.”

Alan’s eye twitched at their careless manner of speaking.

“……I don’t suppose you both take me for a fool?” he uttered, in a deeply uncomfortable tone.

“That would be outrageous. It’s simply because I have conviction.”

“When Liam and I team up, no one can stand up to us.”

They were outnumbered in the enemy’s hideout. On top of that, the enemy had taken a hostage.

But even though it would seem to anyone that they were at a disadvantage, the duo’s voices were filled with confidence. Any listener would soon realise that it was not an act of bravado. The two of them had complete trust that their intellectual capacity and force of will far exceeded that of these petty villains.

“…………”

Having been struck head-on by William and Sherlock’s unshakeable conviction, an intense, hot hatred welled up in the pit of Alan’s stomach.

——In the past, Alan had been an influential noble with a vast plot of land in the vicinity of Durham. However, he had fallen into economic ruin with the Industrial Revolution and the current of the times. Simply put, he had begun to walk the path of his downfall.

He’d blindly believed his days of prosperity would continue for all eternity. Watching them fade away, Alan had sunk into the depths of despair, and desperately sought a way to assuage this sense of defeat.

To that end, he became absorbed in games. Whenever he and his opponent had agreed upon the rules and engaged in an earnest match, with him coming out the victor, Alan found that those indescribable highs were finally able to satisfy him.

Having grown aware of his appetite, upon finding out that there was a club established with the purpose of playing ‘games’, Alan immediately sought out his old friends in the nobility to gain admission. He then gathered like-minded people from within the club. Among the club members, he then would pick a target, covertly invite them to a game, and use brute force to achieve victory after victory.

Day after day they would rob nobles of their rights, with demands for payment which were unmistakably threats. His accomplices appeared to be satisfied by the profits, but Alan was different. He wanted to look down upon his opponent and use any means necessary to make them surrender.

Therefore, even now, as he held a noble’s son as a hostage, Alan refused to negotiate. He only desired to win the game. No matter what absurd sequence of events was taking place.

However, these young men were different. Even in the midst of danger, they were calm and composed, with no expectation at all that they would be defeated.

Faced with a type of person he had never met up till now, Alan not only remembered what it felt like to be irritated, but also chuckled inwardly to himself: it would surely be a pleasant experience to tear them down.

Once again, he put on a boastful smirk.

“If that’s the case, then I’ll be the one to decide the price of your defeat.”

“Fine by me. Well then, what game shall we play?”

[accioecho]

Tkem novel 18

Chapter 4 - Facing a fate full of sorrow

After meeting up with Yeong, Tae-Eul went straight back home to change. Right as she was hanging her coat, her movement halted, gaze stopping on the other piece of clothing in her dresser.

It was the coat she was wearing that day, that fateful day when she had traveled to the Kingdom of Corea. Stepping closer, she carefully stretched her hand inside the coat pocket. She took out the piece of photography she had made sure to hide from Gon. It was the polaroid shot she took when she visited the Royal Palace grounds. It was her first time wearing such a garment, and she could see herself smiling brightly. She couldn’t quite remember what she had found so funny and interesting. 

Grabbing the picture, Tae-Eul walked over to her desk and sat down. Then she reached into the drawer and pulled out a 100,000 Won bill from the Kingdom. She stared at the drawing of Gon dressed in his royal robes, his kind expression and dashing looks forever etched onto the bank note. 

The King of a nation. 

For a long while, she had thought that these pieces of paper were a promotional flyer of some sort. With a slight smile, Tae-Eul folded the bill in half and placed it next to her picture. An improvised couple shot. 

“… We didn’t take any photos together.”

They didn’t make any promises as to when they would meet each other again which made Tae-Eul miss Gon even more. He was navigating through worlds of unknowns, and she would only feel safe if he were next to her, where she could see him with her own two eyes. 

There was no way of contacting him, she couldn’t even know if he was okay or not. A wave of sadness took over her as she realized she didn’t even have a real picture of the two of them together.

At least she had this. 

It was funny in a way, and beautiful too. This made up couple shot that soothed her loneliness. 

Yet another night without Gon by her side. 

————

How many times did she visit this place again? Tae-Eul was now all too familiar with the dark forest, the night breeze flowing through the trees, leaves rustling. She gave a mirthless laugh. 

Right here, in the middle of the thick bamboo forest, used to stand two tall pillars. A gate that led her to Gon’s universe. That day felt like forever ago. Their goodbyes felt like a distant past as well.

So this was what it was like to be waiting for someone. 

They had decided to break free of their fate, to gather up their courage and stand up to whatever awaited them. But it was so hard. Her mind was filled with worry and each passing second felt like an eternity.

She missed him. 

This unbearable longing led her here. But it was pointless. There was no way she would see the stone pillars tonight. 

They were supposed to be like any other couple, talking on the phone and deciding where to meet. Holding hands, joking and talking about nonsensical things. She didn’t understand how they ended up having to put their lives on the line and fighting fate. Just thinking about it brought tears to her eyes. 

“Let’s go. Let’s just go.” Tae-Eul mumbled dejectedly.  

As she finally mustered the will to leave, a flash caught her attention. Surprised by the sudden brightness, Tae-Eul turned on her heels, gaze shifting towards the source of the light. 

There, in the middle of the path, was a vivid balloon floating mid-air. Just like what she saw… in between the two universes. 

Far into the distance, she could hear the sounds of a horse galloping. Soon after, Gon appeared atop Maximus, racing towards her without stopping. 

A lot of unexplainable things had happened since she met Gon, but she didn’t think she felt this happy before. She stopped in her tracks, eyes round in consternation, lips slightly parted. 

Gon seemed to be as surprised as her, his shocked expression obvious. 

“Hey.”

“Are you really here? Are you finally here? Did you just get here?” Tae-Eul made her way towards  him, steps quickening as she approached him. 

Gon stepped down his horse and immediately crushed Tae-Eul in a tight embrace. 

Holding each other as if it wasn’t enough, pressing into each other to make up for all the time they couldn’t spend together… Their embrace echoed the longing they felt until then. 

“Have you been waiting here?”

“Are you really here?” Tae-Eul asked again, stifling a sob.

Gon pulled her closer. He didn’t want to let her go, but it wasn’t time yet. Leaning down, he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“Not yet. Not entirely. I missed you. I missed you so much, I felt like dying. So I came here just to hear your voice and leave.” He whispered against her ear. His heart slowed to a steady rhythm, his body gradually relaxing as he breathed in her scent. 

How much did he run? He couldn’t remember how much time he spent in between the two worlds, dashing through the endless road with Maximus. Alone. Day in and day out, mind focused on one goal until he only wanted to hear Tae-Eul’s voice again.  

“My voice?”

“I was going to call you from that pay phone over there.” Gon fished out a few coins from his pocket. This was all the change he had left from his first stay in the Republic. 

Tae-Eul felt her throat close up and hot tears streamed down her face.

Gon’s heart clenched painfully at the sound of her choppy breathing. He hated to see her cry, hated to hear her uncontrollable sobs. Her head was bent down, face still buried in his chest. Gon’s large hands cupped her face and gently urged her to look up. 

“Please show me your face, hm? I… don’t have much time.” His voice shook at the thought of leaving again. 

But tradition was tradition, and he had to go back to the Kingdom, had to go back in time for the royal ceremony. The Palace and everyone else awaited him before New Year’s Eve. 

He had thought that hearing her voice would be enough. But never once had he thought that fate would bring her to him by sheer coincidence, that he would get to have her in his arms again, revel in the warmth of her embrace. 

Keeping his head down, Gon held his gaze on her. She looked exhausted. 

A wave of bitter sadness overcame him at the idea of parting ways again when they didn’t even get to enjoy their reunion. He wished more than anything to stay here with her. 

He didn’t want the only words to come out of his mouth to be about time running out. He didn’t want to tell her he had to leave, that he didn’t know when he would see her again. 

Tae-Eul was right. He was a terrible boyfriend. 

Gon moved impossibly closer and quietly kissed her tear-stained face.

Tae-Eul continued to grasp onto him, knuckles clenching on his coat.  

A gust of wind rippled through the dense bamboo path, the leaves rustling, humming a lonesome melody in the silence of the night. 

[haleigh-sloth]

Why is everyone blaming the editor for the few latest chapters writing? He became horikoshi's editor last year in september and the manga's writing was fine until the nagant fight, everyone shitting on him because he used to be the editor for samurai 8 but the manga got canceld because kishimoto was given too much freedom it's not the editor's fault. I honestly don't understand why everyone hating on him for no reason.

I don't know this editor or anything about him, so I don't feel compelled to defend him. And I don't know anything about Samurai 8 either. So I can't comment there. But trust me he's not getting hate for no reason.

Just because he took over in September doesn't mean that's when he started influencing the writing. I highly doubt Horikoshi did not already have most of the war arc finished up before it was published, especially the Touya reveal chapters.

The quality of the manga really started to decline after the Todoroki chapters and the chapter where the "beginning of the end" started--so Chapter 306. All of that seemed to fit pretty fine, it seemed like something he didn't decide to do last minute. It felt like he had it planned.

And as much of a mess as the Todoroki chapters were--I wouldn't blame it on editing. I blame those on Horikoshi deciding to make Endeavor more redeemable by trying to retcon way too late into the game--and the screwing up of the timeline could have been an honest mistake. I'm thinking it was because he said he's fixing it in the volume release which means he still wants us to go off of the original timeline--Touya dying after Rei was hospitalized. I'm assuming it's the author's exhaustion mixed with trying to fix Endeavor too late. But I digress...

As for this editor's influence:

Have you noticed that the story is putting an unreasonable amount of focus on Hawks and Endeavor? Have you noticed that Hawks and Endeavor are two of the most popular characters in the franchise, and that there's a movie coming out where they are a huge focus of it? And have you noticed that Hawks and Endeavor getting this much focus on the manga is seriously ruining the story quality and the plot progression? But pleasing some readers who--in my opinion--don't care about the story quality but only care about their character getting screen time? (Oh and don't even get me started on that ONE random Shindo chapter because of that character poll.)

It's because they should NOT be getting this much focus. They are not playing the part in the plot they should be playing. Hawks was dead-set onto the path for a heroic death. He kinda still is--but it's now up in the air if Hori will follow through on that. He killed Twice and was shown to be immensely in the wrong for it, but now the story is pretending it never happened. The story is handing EVERYTHING to him--excusing him of things he shouldn't be excused for. And I'm going to boldly GUESS that this is in order to keep readers from getting angry over Hawks's character falling deeper into the cracks--for now. He still may--and he should because this lack of attention paid to what he did is seriously ruining his character for me. And throwing Hawks in to save Lady Nagant after she exploded, it's just pointless screen time for him. His character would be better if he was given substance and shown to react to the world he is in instead of being written to just follow Endeavor unquestionably with no reserve about it and have the story just BACK THAT UP. He deserves better writing and he's not getting it.

Hawks and Endeavor being the focus of the plot has done NOTHING to move the story forward. HOW has it?? Midoriya's quirks could have been discovered with literally any other characters being focused on alongside him. All this going back and forth between Midoriya and them two has literally put the story at a stand-still between the main character moving forward, and the pro-heroes just defeating little side villains in the streets. NOTHING significant has happened or moved anything forward in ten chapters.

I can't honestly say for sure it's fan-influenced. But Hawks and Endeavor are getting their own movie right around the time that this shit in the manga is happening. It just FEELS like advertisement for these two characters. And while Horikoshi has had shitty arcs before (JTA I'm lookin at you) I haven't really seen him straight up ruin his story for the sake of two characters.

Hawks and Endeavor have effectively eaten Shouto's arc for now. We should be seeing Shouto battle is internal struggles about his villain brother. Not Hawks and Endeavor ignore the fact that Endeavor just confessed to the world he beat his wife and children and not mention his son ONCE since the hospital chapters. It doesn't make any sense. The story FEELS like it is literally on hold in order to promote these two characters and that is definitely editor's influence. On top of that--the style that the story is being told in now. All these flashbacks, all these cliff hangers that get really really old after a while---I'm sorry but with the timing of the editor taking over, and the quality of the chapters falling into the toilet I have no choice but to blame the editor. If I blame Horikoshi alone then I'm basically saying I have no faith in the rest of the story and I should just stop reading now. And I don't want to believe that. I don't believe that.

Issues as a writer aside--Horikoshi has been telling a good story and he's been doing what he wants for the most part. Saving his villains, challenging the status quo, calling out real life issues in the story through allegories. He's been doing it, but this ridiculous bullshit that is happening RIGHT NOW I'm going to blame on the editor and hope to GOD that Horikoshi starts doing what he originally wanted to do with his story in the next arc. I think he will. I'm not worried about it, but that doesn't mean I can't bitch about what's going on now, because Hawks and Endeavor are literally RUINING the story for me personally right now and have been for several weeks and I'm betting money it's this editor's decisions.

I'm not saying the story is doomed for having this editor. I'm saying that right now it feels like a bunch of advertisement for these two particular characters to make the audience happy before getting back to what really needs to be written. I have no doubt that it is going to shift back into normalcy where it's focusing on Bakugo, Shouto, Ochaco, and Midoriya working toward their goals of saving their villains. But honestly what is this focus on two of the most annoyingly popular characters doing for the endgame of the story? Nothing.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

Hey, i didnt forget about my BJ Deetz au! i wrote two new chapters of it, even! im really hype to finally finish this mug off, i hope all the build up has been worth it.

He falls for a long, long time. Maybe days. Maybe forever. Time doesn’t really hold much sway here, after all. A minute in the land of the dead is a month, an hour, a year passed from the real world, or sometimes, if you’re really unlucky, the entire thing will flow backwards, and you’ll end up coming out of the Netherworld and back to your house ten years before you even died. He heard of a case like that, once, a girl who died and haunted herself by accident, becoming the ghost that had tormented her for years- He lands, hard, and it knocks the thought out of him. Knocks every thought out of him, actually, because he lays there for who knows how long, just groaning and disoriented.

He takes his time sitting up, because it’s not like he’s got anything better to do. Everything hurts, and he cradles his head in his hands for a long moment, drained and dead tired. Finally, he looks up. He hadn’t expected to see the door still open, not really. Still, it not being there anymore.. It hurts, and carries a note of finality. They pushed him through, and then probably slammed it, and smudged the chalk off the wall, for good measure. He can’t even be angry over it. He would have done the same thing.

He sits there, staring up at the nothing, and he realizes he’s blown his last chance.

They’ll never remember him. All he is to them is a demon, and he can’t even pretend to be anything else, anymore. Not after that stunt. There’s a deep, burning feeling in his gut… He recognizes it as shame. He attacked his family. He tried to kill Charles, and he would have tried to kill Lydia, given the chance. His final, most damaging tantrum, and he turned it on the only people who matter. He stays there, folded in a ball, sitting by himself in the gloom, for hours, going over it again and again in his mind, every detail memorized. The way they cowered, the way they begged, the way he snarled and gnashed his teeth and pounced. The guilt he feels gnawing at him fades away into nothing. Nothing matters, anymore. He’s got no goal, nothing to get back up and try again for, because it’s all gone. Robotically, he stands, and turns. In the distance he can see that building he’d run from with Emily, before. Juno’s office is there, and maybe she’ll be in a good mood, after seeing the state of him, bloody and beaten down. He starts the long walk back to where he belongs.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````

The air in the room is tense, and awkward. Lydia takes a deep, shaking breath, and tries to calm herself, squeezes at her arm, hard, aggravating the cuts. The pain is grounding. Charles’ eyes are boring into her as she does so, though, and she sees when something behind them clicks- the way she’s been carrying herself, lately. Her quiet, withdrawn behavior. What BJ had said about the roof. Suddenly he looks ten years older. She sees the way his shoulders slump. “Lydia,” his voice is soft, but she can’t bring herself to maintain eye contact with him. It hurts too much. She tries to focus on the floor, instead, but she catches sight of the blood on her hands again, and bile rises in her throat. There’s no safe place to look- Cold hands wrap her in a hug that makes her shiver. Adam’s got his arms around her. “You’re alright,” he says softly, and she’s able to accept the comfort from him, but not the platitude. “No, I’m not,” she rubs at her eyes again, smearing makeup, trying not to cry. Her tears are pointless right now, anyway. “Adam, you remember him now, don’t you?” Adam sighs, removes his glasses, and pinches at the bridge of his nose. “I.. I do. But I don’t remember him being like.. This.” BJ’s biggest secret has been spilled, and he’s not here to try and clean up the mess of it. So it falls on her. That’s alright. She can fix this. She’s going to fix this. “Has he always been,” Barbara searches for the kindest possible descriptor. “Different?” she tries. “The entire time we’ve known him?” There’s a very real fear in her tone. Lydia can almost picture the panicked face of her brother. He never wanted either of them to know. “He’s always been a monster,” Kevin says, unhelpfully, and both Lydia and Charles react to that. “Why don’t you shut up, jackass?” “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Otho, Kevin.. Whatever your name is!” Things are on the cusp of devolving into argument, and it’s Delia that breaks through the bickering. Specifically, the frantic ringing of her triangle, as she holds it over her head. The entire group stops, and stares at her, and she huffs a long tuft of red hair out of her face. “This is not the time to argue! Now. Why don’t we lay things out, as plainly as possible?” She suggests, and looks to Charles. “Please, for all of us confused, who exactly was that stranger, and how do you know him, and what is he?” “His name is BJ,” Charles straightens up, address Delia. “He’s my son. He’s a demon.” “His name is Betelgeuse,” Kevin says, looking now vaguely bored. “He’s been in the care of the Deetz family for many years. He’s the reason my father was murdered.” “I recognize you!” Adam snaps his fingers, and Kevin looks pleased. “You’ve seen me on TV, no doubt,” he says, in time for Barbara to point at him. “You and BJ used to date! Back in high school!”

The guru’s expression darkens. “We did not.”

“You’re the reason your father was murdered,” Lydia jabs an accusatory finger at Kevin, unbothered by the sputtering noise he makes, or the glare he shoots her. “You tried to trap him and use him. What happened after wasn’t his fault.” “Oh lord, I thought that whole fiasco was tied to BJ,” Charles puts his head in his hands. “We were too nervous to ever ask him, though…” “Please,” Delia wrings her hands. “Back to the central point? What do you mean, he’s your son? You told me Lydia was an only child. Where’s he been, all this time? Why did you never mention him?” “He was cursed,” Lydia says, running out of patience. This is taking too long, it isn’t getting them anywhere, and BJ’s back in the Netherworld, alone and hurting and needing his family. It’s not the time for this confusing, circular talk. “BJ’s a demon, but he’s my big brother!” she tells them. “He’s always been one, he’s just been hiding it from everyone outside the family because he didn’t want to be treated differently. He’s not a bad person, and he’s not evil and he’s not a monster- He was alone, and scared, and no one could remember him, no one could save him, and then I let him down, I stabbed him when he needed me, and fought with him, and called him a monster, and now I’m done talking about this!” She reaches forward, grabs at Barbara’s arm, and drags her to the wall, where the chalk door to the otherside is closed. “Knock! Open it!” Barbara’s brow is knit together with worry. “Lydia, we should talk this through-” “Stop! Enough talking!” Lydia feels her temper flare, out of control, and the fat, angry tears that finally spill down her cheeks are a sign of failure. “Enough standing still, doing nothing! Enough leaving each other behind! You open that door, or I’m jumping off the roof, coming back, and opening it myself!”

Barbara looks ready to cry herself, over that. “You think I don’t want him back?” she sniffles. “I’m confused, and scared, but that doesn’t change that I love him, Lydia. But if you go in there alone, you might never come out. We shouldn’t just rush in, we need a plan, we need to know what we’re doing, not throw ourselves into danger just because we’re upset with ourselves! If you go and get hurt, or god forbid, die, who does that help? What does that solve?” “If I die, I’ll be with mom and BJ,” Lydia says. “It’s not like there’s anything else here worth hanging around for!” “Lydia.” Delia’s hand is heavy on her shoulder, and focusing past the tears, past the life coach, she can see her father, watching her, mouth slightly parted in a wordless expression of pain. Adam’s at his side, a hand to Charles’ back, softly speaking to him, though the words he’s saying seem lost on both Deetzes. There’s a long, unbroken moment where her father is staring at her, from across the living room. Two pairs of dark eyes, watching the other, considering, deciding. “Barbara,” her father says. “Please open the door.”

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By the time he arrives at the office, another few hours have passed. Maybe he could have teleported, but he’s a bit too tired to go pulling any tricks, honestly. He pushes through the rotating doors, and finds himself in the waiting room. The dead around him react, moving out of his way, or cowering in their seats, but he ignores them, moves past them, and to the door to the left of Maria’s window, to wander the back offices until he can find Juno’s door. He doesn’t register someone calling him until he feels a hand on his arm, and he’s spun around. Maria is grasping at his face. “What happened to you?” she frets, gentle hands touching at his hair and at the big, ugly bloodstain on his front. He’s not sure if the hole Lydia and Charles stabbed into him has even healed yet. Not like it matters. “I dunno,” he tells her, emotionless, not really processing her question. Maria says something else, but it’s hard to focus on her, so he just doesn’t. He pulls himself out of her arms, turns, and goes through the door. Juno’s door appears for him faster than he would have thought. Usually it would be hours of wandering.. Maybe it has been. He’s so out of it, he’s not really sure how long he’s been walking. The smell of cigarettes hits his nose, and he follows it to her door, and pushes it open. Juno’s sitting at her desk, and she looks up at him when he comes in, her amber eyes showing the barest hint of confusion. “Lawrence.” “Mom.” It’s the first time he’s called her that since Emily became his mother. She seems to notice, and tilts her head, if only slightly, eyes taking in his disheveled appearance. He moves to stand in front of her desk. “I’m ready to work,” he says. She blinks. “I know how to file, so. Give me somethin’ to do, an’ I’ll do it,” he tells her. “I’ll sit here quietly, an’ I’ll be good. I’ll work really hard, an’ I won’t screw it up. Gimme a job to do, mom, an’ I’ll make you proud of me.” She rises, looking, for the first time in his memory, amused. “You look like shit.” “I know. Sorry.” It’s not the response she expects, but she seems to enjoy it. Juno comes around to the front of her desk, and peers up at him. At some point he grew enough to be taller than her.. It doesn’t make her less terrifying. “Things didn’t work out with your breathers?” she cooes, voice dripping honey and deceit. He knows that tone. Of course he does. It’s just that there’s not anything she can do to him, anymore. He’s numb. And he doesn’t even try to lie to her. “Yeah. I didn’t really belong with them, anyway.” “No,” she agrees, patting his face. “Your hair looks like it’s finally behaving itself. Though the white ages you, a bit.” He’s never had white hair before, but he can’t muster the energy to care. “I can shave it, if it bothers you.” Juno grabs him by the hair, suddenly, yanks him down, and he moves with the motion, offering her no resistance. She used to grab him like this when he was little- it used to hurt, and scare him purple, and he’d cry and beg for her to let go. Now he just stares up at her. She scowls down at him. “A calm, complacent Lawrence. Never thought I’d see the day.” She releases her grip on him, and he straightens, slowly, as she moves back to her desk. The room elongates, suddenly, to accommodate for a second desk and chair. A stack of boxes, bursting with paperwork, appear, and fall heavily onto the surface of it. “Sit down. Be quiet. Get to work,” her tone is a warning. “Yes, mom.” He sits down. He’s quiet. He gets to work. Read the rest of this chapter, and the next one, over on AO3

[asleepinawell]

Been having a lot of Thoughts about the nier series recently and the larger themes of both games and wanted to jot them down and toss them into the void of the internet.

Massive spoilers for nier automata follow, including for ending e. Do not read this if you ever intend to play nier automata. There are spoilers for nier replicant as well, though not for ending e.

One of the biggest themes both nier games tackle is the tragedy of an uncaring universe. Bad things happen to good people, people who think they're good and doing the right thing find out they were actually committing atrocities, the very idea that there's 'good' and 'bad' people is dissected and rejected. At the end of the day, the universe doesn't give a shit about any of us and none of it matters. Enjoy your existential despair!

In nier replicant, the main character starts off as an optimistic young boy who wants to save, not only his sister, but the entire world. After the time skip, nier is a young man whose optimism has (partially) been tarnished and whose goal has narrowed down to just saving his sister. As you move through each route you understand more and more how tragic the world is and how, despite your best intentions, you are only adding to the tragedy of the world. The original 4 endings of nier replicant are all tragic in some way. Ending D has a glimmer of hope in it in the form of nier being able to save kainé at the cost of his own existence, but it's a bittersweet ending and the world is ultimately doomed anyway.

Which brings us to nier automata. Even more so than replicant, automata hammers home the meaningless of everything, the uncaring universe, tragedy both avoidable and unavoidable. The main characters are locked in an endless loop of violence and despair. The worst that could happen, does, again and again. It thrives off the type of tragedy porn I usually hate.

Except....

Except it doesn't. If endings a and b are the opening statement, endings c and d are the facts and body of the essay, but then there's ending e, the concluding paragraph which takes everything we've been told and gives you the chance to draw your own conclusion from it.

Route e starts after you've gotten both ending c and d and is no longer about the characters in the game at all. Route e is about you, the player, and what you believe. It says "we've given you a story of complete despair, we've shown you the universe is unfair and doesn't give a fuck about you, we've shown you things that end in tragedy. despite all of this, do you still believe it's worth fighting for the hope of something better?"

And then it asks you to prove it.

Route e is the ending every fan has asked for when they've said "I'll fight the creators to give my favs a happy ending." Today is your lucky day!

Route e is the ending credits of the game, except that the ending credits have turned into a bullet hell mini game. In fighting the actual credits themselves, you are fighting the game devs. You are saying fuck you I don't believe that everything is pointless. Fighting for better is always worth it. The meaning that we imbue in life is important to us and that matters.

The bullet hell of the end credits starts out fairly simple and gets harder and harder as you go, lasting something like 15 minutes total, which is a brutally long time to be playing something that requires split second timing and 100% of your focus. It's meant to feel insurmountable, just like the challenges the characters in the game faced (the larger plot challenges, not the combat). You will likely die a lot and check points are few and far between.

But there's more to it than that. The first time you die, a prompt comes up:

And then when you die again:

Except now, there’s a message on the screen. A message that appears to be from another player, somewhere in the world.

And again:

(this one really fucked me up, but that’s for a different post).

And then finally:

(thank you user MR-YE-1996)

When you accept the rescue offer, you go back to the bullet hell again, but now you have a wall of other players around your weak little avatar, shielding you from harm. The music, which has been a single vocal track up until now, gains an entire chorus of voices to represent the army of actual players who’ve shown up to save you (and there’s a lot I could say about the use of the (exquisitely good) music in the nier games, and especially about the difference in lyrical themes between ashes of dreams and weight of the world). Every time a bullet hits one of the players surrounding you, there’s a message saying that user’s data has been lost. Users from all over the world are sacrificing themselves to help you. It’s a very nice, heart-warming moment that you still don’t understand the full impact of quite yet.

After you beat the credits, you’re rewarded by a final cutscene. The android protagonists have been reconstructed and will receive a second chance at life. The narration at this point talks about how life exists within the spiral of life and death we are all trapped in. One of the two pods talking points out that even though the androids are being given a second chance at life, there’s a possibility that things will go just as poorly once again. And the other pod agrees, but adds: “However, the possibility of a different future also exists.”

And then the scene ends with this quote: “A future is not given to you. It is something you must take for yourself.”

And this is really the final conclusion of the game. There is no inherent meaning in the universe, so the meaning we give our lives is the most meaningful thing. (And the ‘you’ here isn’t necessarily an individual either. It can be, or it can be humanity as a whole, or even one group). And you, the player, thought that it was worth fighting to give these characters a second chance, and other players out there in the world thought it was worth helping you to do so.

It’s such a wonderfully beautiful piece of meta interpretation posing as a game ending, and also a departure from the final conclusion of previous Yoko Taro games. It feels like a much more mature and nuanced interpretation of the world than the ending of replicant was (I won’t comment on the new ending e of replicant just yet since it didn’t come out that long ago). (Also, for the record, I love nier replicant and the characters in it with my entire heart. This post is not bashing it).

But the game has one more surprise in store for you. After the cutscene ends, you’re given one last choice. The game asks if you have any interest in helping other players the way you were helped. And if you say yes, you’re told that the only way you can do this is to sacrifice all your save data.

I think that sacrifice hits differently for different people. Some people genuinely won’t mind that at all. As someone who probably still has save data from games I played 20 years ago, it felt like a gut punch. To me, save data represents all the time and emotion and energy I’ve put into a game. Games are so deeply important to me in so many ways and have been since my childhood when they were one of the few ways I could escape from a lot of terrible shit going on in my life. (There’s a reason my blog title is what it is). I could talk a lot more about that point, but I’ll leave it by saying that when I saw what the game was asking of me it felt like someone had knocked my legs out from under me.

For more practical players, it also is locking you out of chapter select, the best way to go back and get all the things you missed and grab the achievements/trophies you still need.

The game will point out that you’ll get nothing in return for this (not a lie, there’s no secret reward), that you will likely never know if or who you helped, that you won’t be thanked, that the person you help could be someone you intensely dislike, etc. And with all of this comes the realization that all those people who came to help you in the credits had already done this. Those people whose data was sacrificed to help you get to the final cutscene had already sacrificed their save data to help you.

We’ve now gone from a world where everything is meaningless, to a world where other real actual human beings out there have sacrificed something that represented hours of their time and a varying amount of emotional investment without any hope of reward to help a stranger see a message of hope.

When I was younger, I was more drawn to dark, hopeless stories. Stories about how dark and meaningless the world was. The world was a terrible place then too. 9/11 happened when I was in highschool (an incident that influenced yoko taro’s creation of nier replicant and had a huge impact on me at the time), the pointless wars that happened after and the recession and a million other things seemed to infuse everything with hopelessness. In that world, stories about everything being meaningless and hopeless felt correct. They felt validating. Yes, everything really does suck that much!

That sort of story lost its appeal for me later on. Pointless and horrible things continued to happen, and still continue to happen. The world events of the last few years have been an unnerving reliving of those earlier years, except even worse. The cycles of tragedy are still there with no end in sight. I’m exhausted from all of it. It really does feel hopeless a lot.

But stories that stop at that point no longer appeal to me. Stories like nier automata--stories that say yes, things are terrible, but there’s always hope, you can create your own meaning, it is always worth it to fight for better even if you fail, your life is worthwhile simply for existing--those stories are the ones I think we all need more than anything.

[buzzykrueger]

The double loss of a childhood - a not-so-brief analysis through Gon and Kite

WARNING: MAJOR CHIMERA ANT ARC SPOILERS //

. 

.

First of all, this is kinda messy because I was writing and power went off </3. I wouldn’t even call it a meta, more of a psychological analysis. 

It's so complex the way Togashi works through symbolisms. Gon and Killua had to let go of their childhood and childish behaviors. Had to make challenging choices. While two of the few grown ups who cared about them and gave proper attention to their relationship, are the perfect imagery of children: new Kite and Bisky.

These two are the greatest and overall positive influences within Gon and Killua lives in terms of adult Hunters, always looking out for the boys. Both of them are experienced, opposing the appearance of a child.

The irony is that, while Bisky and post-CAA Kite look like children (Kite is a child now, to be honest), Gon and Killua are, actually, real children facing painful and forced coming of age, enduring conflicts that even adults can fail to cope with properly - and this has been acknowledged by Knov and Shoot, also two experienced Hunters that got mesmerized by how those two kids could still fight, despite everything they saw and been through. 

Anyways, Gon and Killua got their emotional development and their lack of experience put under extreme conditions, forcing them to break their dynamic without proper thinking, basically facing the war, the complexity of morals and relationships like adults.

That said, I’ll won’t be deeply working some points that I’m assuming you are all familiar with, like Gon’s reaction because Kite has been the fuel of his search for approval and being valued, or like how difficult it is for Gon not to handle things alone. 

First of all, Kite is indeed Gon’s fuel for his journey. For the first time, someone cared to tell him the truth about Ging, and made him feel a little bit important. Noticed. Someone stayed by his side, for a short moment, and gave him a reason.

And if you take into account that he died two times before Gon’s eyes, it makes everything more shocking for the kid.

“Huh, what do you mean?”

Pitou has killed the physical adult Kite, but the rebirth itself “killed” the father figure imagery that Gon saw in Kite. Resembling now a girl of similar age as Gon's, Kite can not be kept as a replacement for the mentor and father Gon didn't have. And this is a heavy loss, because it took Gon’s goal away from him.

It's also a very smart and symbolic way to end this desperate journey around the urge of becoming deserving of proud, especially from Kite, the one who gave his life a purpose. Because Gon has stated, back in chapter 7, that “Kite seemed to be prouder of him (Ging) than he was of himself”, so he wants to walk the same steps as his biological father to make someone proud of him the same way. He can't project his goals around others anymore - and like the Koala Man said, the heart must be fed, or you’ll end up doing the same things again and never getting satisfied with the outcome. What you seek must be found in yourself.

But what Kite sees, in this chapter called Repentance (337) is that Gon is probably not ready for the amount of reflection waiting for him. Kite then sees no good in weighting his shoulders any more. The moment where he asks Gon “sorry about what?” is important, because it’s where Kite and the readers get to understand that Gon needs a break before realizing it.

Kite, then, avoid this subject. Gon is not ready.

Instead of throwing the truth about what was the real issue here, Kite first gives Gon craved the most: he praises him for being able to defeat a stronger enemy that Kite himself could not. 

The boy’s reaction, though, it’s not what we would’ve expect from Gon.

Gon shows no trace of excitement over the fact he has accomplished his first goal - he was able to impress Kite. But, why is this so important? Because this is a breaking point for his journey. Gon doesn’t feel like he cares about this anymore. If Kite is not the same, he shouldn’t be either. If being approved doesn’t mean the same, meeting Ging is pointless. His past self has died, alongside with Kite  - figuratively and directly speaking.

The troubled boy acknowledges that "if it wasn't for Killua (name separated from the rest ‘cause he has his special spot) and everybody else, I wouldn't be here". This means a lot for Gon’s development and grief, because the moments where he feels he’s messed up or must redeem himself, he doesn’t mind getting hurt or overcoming fear in order to handle “his mess” all alone. If he proves himself and protect the ones he loves, he will do it. But he needed help, and this is something he doesn’t feel proud of. 

That’s when Kite shifts the engine once more. 

It’s useless to make Gon feel better addressing old desires. Like Kite himself, Gon also got a second chance. They are both letting go from their past. 

With a sweet tone, Kite breaks the cycle of the strong father figure: it's the same for him. Kite, the major inspiration for Gon, says that he didn't make it alone, too - and that doesn't make him less strong. He can’t be this parental figure anymore, maybe he didn’t even know he was. The only thing he knows, is that there are different types of strength. They are not weak for having friends and needing help.

With this, Kite closes the curtains. A strong and admirable Hunter, that wasn’t any less powerful for needing help. Gon shouldn’t be ashamed of this kind of strength: the power of making others wanting to be with him. Something that could not coexist with following Ging steps - Gon must belong to himself and separate him from others’ expectations.

That’s the final act of the mentor Kite, where he dies as a projection. Funny is, this moment with Kite holds some good parallels with the next chapter, where Killua and Gon part ways. Though I don’t think they’ve meant 100% the same, there are some hints that Killua also kept the soil fertile for Gon - but this is yet to be addressed in a future post.

Back to the story, Kite’s not a parent, not even an grown man anymore. He pushes Gon forward to meet Ging, because that’s the one thing that will end this cycle, definitively. No one to look up to, to pursue admiration from, and getting blind from fear of being weak and left behind. He must face change. This desire to be approved even if it costs his life has reached an end. This part of his journey must be accomplished - and left behind.

Gon can now center his journey around developing his self-esteem, thoughts on himself after knowing his own worth. He has a lot to make up for with Killua, but he had been forgiven. The soil is fertile once again, the seed of self forgiveness can grow. He can come up with a goal that centers around love with proper growth and responsibility, without others having to make up for self-esteem he lacks. He’s a traumatized child, that probably never put much thought on how lonely and scared he felt before he acted, and his coping mechanisms mimics his lack of experience.

He can now be free of the thought that, if he sacrifices this "undeserving being" he is on his mind, people will choose not to leave. Because giving up on his life wasn’t the right way to let them feel safe around him. They’ve left anyway. Everyone thanked him and look like they’re not mad, and he has found his father, but why things still look... unsatisfying? What meaning Ging even holds for him, still?

Losing his first goal is like losing his past self, and his childhood. Gon can’t walk backwards, though he comes back to Whale Island, things are not the same anymore, just like him. Losing the imagery and the person Kite is a twist of cycle, losing the urge of meeting Ging is cutting ties with this past self and this mad search for his own value in wrong sources, and now he has to understand what he wants and can do the way he is.

He must figure it out on his own, how he can grow from this and how to fix things before he finds a new goal. He has found something more important than the thing he was once hunting. Or better saying, someone. Someone that should’ve, yes, shared his feelings instead of creating distance - but he knows this certain someone left him with a smile because he cared. Killua will never overbear him, but can’t be the one to analyze everything for him anymore.

Gon has been forced to slow down and think, because in loneliness, there’s no one to impress. There, is where his identity will be found.

When you care about yourself, you learn how to take care of others. True, changing hurts. Losing childhood hurts. Losing strong beliefs and having to reconstruct yourself is a process. Bereaving children mostly don’t get proper attention because their anger, isolation and dismissive attitudes are often scolded than embraced, because they’re expected to endure loss like adults.

The dead don’t come back to life. Last minute, saved by the most important person in his life. But changing is the only inevitable thing while living. Kite was that important, but he must go away from the responsibility Gon has, unconsciously, put him through. Now, his journey consists of a blank page, waiting to be written once again with this new self, in order to learn how to fix his relationship with the one he loves the most. Killua wasn’t planned to exist in Gon’s life. They didn’t expect to run into each other, but as soon as they did, they’ve slowly changed their goals. Things seem off right now, but there is no room for replacements or masks. 

Gon might have not noticed, but his goal wasn’t the same already. Meeting Ging brings not the same feeling anymore, especially because Killua was the first thing running Gon’s mind when thinking about this meeting, a major indicative that Killua was, already, his top priority over his father - and maybe he never put a second thought on that, the way Gon is single-minded.

But now there is room for a lot of thinking, and there’s something we must remember, an optimistic hint that I’m saving its analysis for the separation meta:

“Gon is not the type to break a promise twice”, Killua has once said. 

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (9)

       jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: none, just the frustration of knowing that their plan to fake-date is 100% going to fail

words: 5.2k

  chapter nine

That Sunday night, Jungkook picked you up from your dormitory, having no idea that you’d just had a breakdown over what to wear when going to visit the parents of your childhood-best-friend-turned-fake-boyfriend.

You walked out of the building trying to look like you did this every night and Jungkook – who had a breakdown as soon as he saw the way you looked and realized that speaking was most likely going to be a problem for him tonight – tried to act like this wasn’t anything unusual, either.

“You look really good,” he told you politely – like a fake-boyfriend was supposed to – and even opened the passenger door of his car for you.

“You don’t have to do that,” you told him as he helped you inside even though you were perfectly capable of climbing into a car yourself – you’d opted out of heels and a dress out of fear of looking too formal, so your outfit wasn’t an obstacle. “We’re not actually dating.”

“I’m just helping you get into a car,” Jungkook said nonchalantly but he thanked God you didn’t feel how clammy his hands were. “That’s what friends do.”

You snorted. “Right. Okay.”

“Don’t overthink this,” he added before closing your door and jogging around the front of the car to the driver’s side. He climbed in and his eyes settled on you right away. “I… thank you. I didn’t get to say that before.”

You exhaled slowly. “Thank me after. We don’t even know if this is going to work.”

“What do you mean? How could it not?” he asked, truly thinking that his plan was fool-proof. He saw the doubt in your eyes, though, and felt the need to reassure you with a scoff and a lie, “I’m not going to catch feelings and blow the whole thing, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“Famous last words,” you told him with a serious look—that was more of a glance, really, because any talk about feelings made your head spin.

Jungkook only snickered at this. “I mean it. I’m very determined.”

“T-that’s not it, though,” you said then. “That’s not the part I’m, uh, worried about.”

“Well, tell me, then,” he encouraged. “Let’s get the doubts out of the way before we do this.”

“What if your parents don’t believe us?” you asked, turning your head towards him but not daring to raise your eyes above his waist. Which wasn’t that good of an idea as you came to learn as soon as your eyes captured the glistening buckle of his belt and his white dress shirt tucked inside of his pants. It’s been a while since you’d seen him dressed in something that wasn’t all-black and ripped.

“Why wouldn’t they?” he asked. “We’ve lied to them before, remember?”

“Yeah but that was, like, lying about not eating all the ice cream in the fridge. Kid stuff,” you said. “Now you’re straight-up going to fool your parents into thinking you’re dating someone.”

His features morphed in offense but, of course, you didn’t see that – his belt looked completely unfazed.

“And that’s so hard to believe, isn’t it?” Jungkook asked.

His voice gave away his emotions and you raised your eyes, somewhat surprised to learn that your words may have been insulting.

“I didn’t mean it like—” you started to say but found it pointless all of a sudden and changed the direction, “well, actually, I don’t know. I don’t know how many relationships you’ve been in for the past however-many-years that it’s been since we’ve last talked.”

You knew very well how many years it’s been and he knew you knew. Calling you out wasn’t something he even considered, however, because there were far more important matters to clear up now.

“Do you want an approximate number,” he asked, his face stoic now, “or should I break it all down in detail?”

You pursed your lips involuntarily, looking away again as your fingers toyed with the edge of your handbag. “Approximate is fine. But that’s not the point—”

“Zero,” he said. “I’ve never dated.”

Your eyes shot to his. “No. That’s—alright, no. Let’s establish something first, okay? Honesty is important if we’re doing this. We’re already going to be lying to our parents so let’s not lie to each other.”

“I’m not lying to you. I’ve seriously never dated.”

You didn’t believe that for a single second. “You’ve never been on one date?”

“Well, I went on that date with your cousin when we were nine,” he said, “but she threw a rock at me after I held her hand, and I don’t remember how it ended. Does that count?”

You snorted, unable to help yourself. “I remember that. Everyone thought she gave you a concussion.”

“Yeah. So, I just decided to stop dating from then on.”

“Be serious,” you warned.

“I am serious,” he insisted. “Well, not about that part, but I really didn’t date. Relationships are a lot of work, you need time for that. Dedication. Maturity.”

“The three things you don’t have.”

“Exactly,” he grinned, his ego too big to allow this little bruise to sting.

“Alright, well, if that’s really true—”

“It is.”

“—then your parents are definitely going to have a hard time believing you’re in a serious relationship. They’ll see right though this,” you said and he looked away, thinking. “I mean, the day before your car accident you were enjoying your single life, and now you’re in a serious relationship all of a sudden?”

“We’ll tell them we’ve been dating since before the accident,” he said. “My mom saw you at the hospital when you came to visit me, so it all adds up.”

You swallowed. “Okay. Let’s say we do that. But still – you’ve never been in a serious relationship before. Why would they believe that you’ve changed your mind? Maybe they’ll think you’re mocking them by bringing some random girl over—”

“You’re not a random girl, though,” he disagreed. “You’re you. That’s why they have to believe us.”

“I don’t—but why does it have to be me? Because we were friends once upon a time?”

“Well… yeah,” Jungkook said, not finding a better way to tell you that, even if you hadn’t been friends before, he wouldn’t have wanted to do this with anyone else. “Because of that.”

Exhaling and releasing some of your doubts, you closed your eyes. “I don’t know…”

He sighed, knowing that your uncertainty was going to suffocate you before the night was over but not knowing how to ease it. The truth was, he wasn’t absolutely sure what awaited you two in the future, but he really did believe that the dinner tonight was going to be a success.

“Look,” he started, “I get where you’re coming from, really. I do. And, if I did this with someone else, then my parents would definitely kick us both to the curb as soon as we showed up at their house. It wouldn’t make sense, like you said,” he paused, accidentally adding a dramatic flair to his speech, “but it’s you. Y-you… you make sense. Even if I’ve never dated before, dating you would make sense.”

If you would have been capable of any rational thought at that moment, you would've probably given in and admitted that he did have a point. The two of you had grown up together, it wouldn’t be so hard to believe that you eventually found your way back to each other and started a relationship. However, you were most positively not in your right mind as every organ inside of you was suddenly shutting down and making it very hard to sit still and not suffocate, so you chose not to say anything.

“Hmm,” you only managed, afraid to open your mouth in case you’d sound like a cat giving birth.

Dating you would make sense. Dating you would make sense. Dating you would—

“So, can we go now?” Jungkook asked after checking the time on the dashboard of the car. “We’ve been sitting here for over ten minutes, talking about this. I’m afraid I’ll lose all of my cold appeal if we keep going.”

Startled to hear that, you started to say, “it hasn’t been ten minutes…” only to check the clock and learn that, “oh, wow, it has.”

“Yes,” he said. “Time sure flies when you’re overthinking things.”

You glared at him – earning an endearing grin from him in return – and shook your head.

“Fine, let’s go,” you said then. “You’re the one who suggested clearing all doubts anyway.”

“Well, did it work?” he asked, starting his car.

“Not really,” you admitted. It actually made it worse since your heart seemed to have started to beat in many different places all throughout your body, no longer content with just your chest. “But it will be fine. If your parents don’t immediately kick me out of the house, of course.”

“They won’t. Don’t worry.”

“I’m trying not to,” you said. “But on top of everything else, I’m also naturally anxious when it comes to dinners with adults.”

He gave you a confused look. “You’re an adult.”

“No, but you know what I mean,” you groaned. “Parents are a different kind of adults.”

“Okay,” he chuckled, not trying to mock you because he really did understand. Then, in a yet another attempt to make you feel better, he awarded you with his million-dollar smile that he must have stolen from Prince Charming himself as he said, “if it helps, I’ll hold your hand through it. And I promise the dinner will go by smoothly.”

Jungkook started to keep his promise of holding your hand as soon as you stepped out of the car outside of his parents’ house. You didn’t say anything – choosing to give him a grateful smile instead – and followed him to the front porch.

In the few seconds that it took for his mother to open the door of this larger-than-necessary mansion, your heart dropped to your stomach several times and, if Jungkook hadn’t been squeezing your hand every now and then, you probably would have bolted and returned back to campus. What you were about to do was insane—

But there was no time to reconsider because, all of a sudden, Jungkook’s mother was in front of you, her pleasant smile turning into a surprised one as soon as she spotted you next to her son.

“Oh! Hi!” she said to you, turning to Jungkook with wide eyes, “I wasn’t aware you were going to—”

“Yeah, I wanted us to come together tonight,” Jungkook said and lifted your intertwined hands until it attracted his mother’s attention. She seemed even more surprised now. “I’d say I’d introduce you but you know each other, of course.”

“I—we do, of course. It’s always a pleasure to see you,” his mother pulled you into a hug – while Jungkook kept on holding your hand – never once making it seem like you weren’t welcome here. “Well, come inside, both of you! I was just setting up the table.”

She did make her surprise obvious as her eyes remained glued to your hands but, in her defense, she played her shock off very casually as she ushered you both into the dining room.

“Your father will be down shortly,” she told Jungkook. “I’ll go get the plates.”

“Could I help?” you offered. It came naturally – just like shaking her head came naturally for Jungkook’s mother.

“Not at all, love, you two get comfortable,” she said. “Dinner will be ready in a moment.”

His mother walked back towards the kitchen, leaving you and Jungkook alone but, with an involuntary glance over her shoulder – because she truly couldn’t help her surprise – she still managed witness the two of you continue your act as Jungkook pulled back your chair, helping you into it.

She smiled after catching this brief moment and went to check the oven, hoping that her husband – who was already climbing down the stairs – wasn’t going to make this dinner awkward.

You had to admit, Jungkook’s father didn’t react to you being here in the way you’d expected.

“What a wonderful surprise,” was the first thing he said once he saw you. You stood up to say hello but he was quick to dismiss you with a homely smile, “no, no, sit, sit! We’re about to have dinner.”

It was a funny sort of miracle how neither of his parents seemed to find the courage to outright ask what you were doing here. You had a feeling they didn’t want to offend you by asking – you did help them locate their son when he momentarily went off the grid last Sunday – but you and Jungkook couldn’t build his reputation as a trustworthy son without making the—fake—status of your relationship clear.

“I hope it’s okay that we came together,” Jungkook said when his mother brought the main course to the table.

“Of course!” she said, playing the role of a flawless hostess. “There’s plenty of food for all. And it’s nice to see you two here together again.”

You swallowed with a nervous glance at the boy next to you – who was clutching your hand under the table – but Jungkook never lost his composure. He seemed to have really planned this out. Or maybe he was just good at improvising.

“Yeah, we, um… we’ve been talking for a while now,” he said. Your stomach clenched uncomfortably but you hoped no one noticed you cringe. “Not in the way we used to, though.”

“No?” his mother took a seat next to his father, opposite the two of you. “Well, I suppose that makes sense, it’s been a while, after all. You’re all grown up now.”

Still no question to clarify the state of your relationship. Jungkook could feel himself start to grow agitated. But perhaps he should have seen this coming – his parents’ way of dealing with unexpected problems was pretending that they weren’t problems at all.

“We are grown up,” Jungkook said, throwing his father a sideways glance – which he ignored by not even lifting his head from the still-empty plate in front of him – and then looking back at his mother. “Which is why, I felt like it was important to let you know that we are back together now. Really, together this time.”

That got his father to raise his eyes. “Hm?”

“Yeah, we’re—we caught up with each other and decided to give a relationship a try,” he said, lying with relative ease even under his father’s stern gaze. You sure were glad both of his parents had their eyes glued to him and didn’t catch the unpleasant expression on your face. “We’ve been dating for a while now.”

“That is great news, my love!” his mother exclaimed and you weren’t sure which one of you she was addressing as she looked at you both. You barely had enough time to put on your best smile before, a moment later, her eyes returned to you again, “oh! Were the two of you already together when you came to see him the hospital?”

“I—” you looked at Jungkook for help. “We—”

“Yes,” he said with a warning squeeze of your hand under the table.

“Yes!” you repeated. “Yes, we were. I just—I didn’t think it was the right time to announce our relationship, you know? Since we were at the hospital, and all.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” his mother nodded, understanding. “Well, regardless, I’m very glad you decided to tell us tonight. A toast?”

She lifted her glass of wine – how typical of the Jeon household to turn every surprising turn of events into something to celebrate – and the rest of you followed.

The dinner went by surprisingly smoothly after that – just like Jungkook had told you it would – and, thanks to your past, his parents never made you two go through the story of “how you two met.” Instead, they asked you how you were doing at school and what you planned to do in the future. They seemed impressed to hear about your achievements – and even more impressed to hear about your ambitions – and Jungkook couldn’t help the proud smile on his face because he knew his parents were going to fall in love with you all over again.

“I must say, I was surprised when you two showed up together tonight,” his mother told you once your plates were clear, gracefully holding her third glass of wine in her hand. This woman could get blind-drunk and still remain one of the most elegant people you’ve ever met. “But I really shouldn’t have been, should I? It’s been a long time coming.”

“It really has,” his father agreed. You couldn’t decipher his tone and weren’t quite sure if there was supposed to be a hidden meaning behind his words.

His gaze was so intense, however, that you feared it was going to penetrate your mind and catch you in a lie. Lowering your eyes, you smiled and chose to sit here quietly because that reduced your chances of saying the wrong thing and ruining this.

“We’re glad to welcome you back into our family, though,” Jungkook’s mother added. “I always felt like we were missing something by the table at our Sunday night dinners.”

“Well, our son was what was missing most of the time,” his father interjected and you could feel the jolt that went through Jungkook’s body as his hold on your hand tightened. “But it seems like we’ll see a lot more of you now, yes?”

“Yes,” Jungkook said and then cleared his throat. He thought he sounded like a child every time he spoke to his father. “You know I’m trying to be more responsible.”

“That’s good,” his father said. “I hope this motivation isn’t short-lived.”

You couldn’t help your curiosity as you lifted your gaze to look at the man who’d fathered the boy next to you because, more and more, it was starting to sound like he was talking to a random neighborhood kid who’d misbehaved instead of his own child.

And yet, the look in Jungkook’s father’s eyes was warm. He wished well. He may have acted like he was thinking of the future of his company but, really, he seemed to have been genuinely worried about his son. He’s always been worried about Jungkook but the way he chose to express this worry – by neglecting instead of nurturing, by scolding instead of helping – wasn’t the most effective and his mother had been the one who tried to make up for it.

Just like right now, as she coughed coolly, diverting your attention from his father and giving her son a supportive smile.

“I’m sure it’s not,” she said. “He’s got a determined face. He’s not giving up.”

“I’m not,” Jungkook confirmed and looked at you with such care in his eyes that, for a moment, you forgot that this was all an act. “She’s helping me remain motivated.”

“Well, good,” his father said – and, for what seemed like the first time in his life, Jungkook didn’t immediately turn his head in the direction of his voice, choosing to look at you for a moment longer instead – as he straightened in his chair. “Don’t lose her.”

“Don’t worry,” Jungkook said, following the request you’d made in the car – he was going to be lying to his parents, but he was going to be honest with you, “I won’t.”

Even though the dinner turned out to be unexpectedly bearable and even pleasant, you still hoped you’d get to leave as soon as your plates were empty but Jungkook’s mother proved that she wasn’t just treating you nicely because you were a guest in her house – she was treating you nicely because she genuinely loved having you around again. So, instead of letting you leave, she insisted on serving dessert and then, much to your and Jungkook’s horror, taking the old photo-albums out.

You were certain that these pictures were going to trigger some sort of long-suppressed traumas as you and Jungkook stared at each other with wide eyes, alarms going off in both of your heads.

“Oh, this is a good one!” his mother said, coming back with a pale yellow album. “It’s from when you two were toddlers, so you probably don’t even remember these.”

“We might remember the pictures,” Jungkook pointed out carefully, not wanting to hurt her feelings, “we’ve seen them before.”

“Well, I should hope you did. Pictures were made to be looked at,” she said in an oddly profound way and then patted the couch on each side of herself, indicating for you and him to sit. “I know you two kids must have plans of your own, so I’m not going to bring the entirety of our photo library out. But, bear with me here, okay? It’s been so long since I’ve had you both in the same room.”

You swallowed thickly, realizing now that, in your suffering over your lost friendship with Jungkook, you hadn’t even considered the pain your fall-out brought upon your families who treated you both like you were their children.

“We, um—we have time for one photo-album,” you said and his mother’s face lit up. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen the pictures anyway.”

And it really has as you found yourself struggling to remember the context of the pictures – even though you had heard the stories about your early years so many times before – as Jungkook’s mother flipped through them, chuckling and cooing at how cute you looked when you were getting your diaper changed. Or how ridiculously easy it was to get you or Jungkook to stop screaming for no reason and photograph you.

“We just had to put you both in the same crib,” his mother said. “Ever since you were born, you were both fussy babies. You’d eat, you’d rest, you’d interact, and you would still keep crying. But your mom and I figured out a solution one night when we were tired. We moved Jungkook to your crib and the crying stopped almost immediately.”

You recalled hearing about this now that she mentioned it, but the story seemed to gain a new meaning now.

“We weren’t sure what would happen if we did this,” she continued, flipping to a new page where several pictures of you and Jungkook laying next to each other in the crib were taken, “but you seemed to calm down around each other. So, whenever we would come over to your house or vice versa, we’d leave you two to yourselves and, us, adults, would actually be able to have a night-in like in the old days.”

“And you weren’t afraid we would get into a fight when left alone?” Jungkook asked, always one to wreck a sweet moment as he mimicked tiny baby fists and the boxing fight he had in mind.

His mother laughed, shaking her head.

“You’d never. You didn’t even cry when you had to share toys with each other. It surprised us, actually,” she said and then she looked at you with the same warm gaze that Jungkook possessed, “your mom and I thought that this was because we had been best friends for years before you two were born, you know? We kept joking how our kids were naturally made to be best friends as well.”

You smiled but, once again, it was Jungkook who made a comment, “huh. Who knew friendships were hereditary.”

“No, no, I think there was something more than just an inherited friendship,” his mother disagreed with a soft shake of her head, “you two couldn’t even talk – you could scarcely sit unsupported – and yet you shared this calming effect on each other. There seemed to be this connection between you from the very beginning. It was almost bizarre at times,” she looked at you again as she continued, “one time, you dropped your favorite plushie through the gap in the crib and it landed on the floor. Jungkook, sitting on my lap as your mother and I talked in the kitchen, started to cry. Just like that. Completely out of the blue.”

“Maybe he heard me crying over the lost toy?” you suggested.

“No, that’s just the thing – you weren’t crying. He was,” she said. “But he couldn’t have known that you dropped the toy because your room wasn’t visible from where we were sitting. It was like he could somehow feel your distress. It was most peculiar and yet so sweet. It charmed everyone’s hearts whenever we told them. They, of course, thought we were exaggerating this, but—”

“I can see why they’d think that,” Jungkook interjected with a smile for his mother – as a response to the glare she gave him after he’d said this.

“—but that’s what happened,” she finished. “You two always had a special bond. It’s what brought you back together after so long, I think.”

She continued to flip through the pictures but she didn’t share any more stories. And, when you looked up at her face, you were surprised to see tears in her eyes. Unsure what to say, you waited for Jungkook to notice that you were looking at her – and he did, almost right away – and then allowed him to take control of the situation.

He didn’t know what the right thing to say was, either – asking why she was tearing up seemed impolite somehow, even if she was his mother – and, to be honest, he feared that she might have expressed her joy about your relationship if he asked her anything right now, and that would have made him feel guilty because he was, technically, faking it all.

So, placing his hand on his mother’s and, consequently, stopping her from opening the next page, he said softly, “this has been really nice, mom. But it’s getting late. We should probably get going.”

Sniffling, she looked up at the clock on the opposite wall of the room and then nodded, chuckling in a useless attempt to hide her teary eyes.

“Of course,” she said. “I was a bit much, wasn’t I?”

“Not at all,” you cut in quickly. “I’ve always loved your stories.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook echoed. “But we better get going before you reveal anything else about our childhoods and we learn that we’re long-lost X-Men with telepathic abilities.”

This got his mother to laugh finally.

“Oh, shut it,” she said with a good-natured smile. “I was just saying how you two are special.”

“Thanks for that, mom,” he said, kissing her temple. “But, still, we have to get going.”

“Thank you very much for dinner,” you said as his mother stood up to walk you to the door. “It was lovely.”

“Having you here was lovely as well,” she replied, giving you a hug – this time, without Jungkook holding your hand and pulling you back – and then, whispering in your ear so her son wouldn’t hear, she said, “thank you for taking care of him.”

And, meaning every word, you whispered back, “it’s my pleasure.”

When Jungkook stopped the car outside of your dormitory, neither of you was sure what to do next.

The story of a mysterious but powerful connection that his mother had told you still echoed in your head and it was this story that prompted you to say the first thing that popped into your mind, all so you wouldn’t have to wallow in the silence of the car and make yourself suffer, thinking about your possible destiny to be close to each other.

“Hey,” you said, “I didn’t get to ask before. Why does your whole car smell like strawberries?”

“Oh,” he seemed relieved to hear you speak, “that’s strawberries and mint,” he clarified and pulled a plastic bottle of Orbit chewing gum from the glove compartment, “it’s my favorite gum. Want one?”

“Ah. No, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, popping a few pieces of gum into his mouth. Suddenly, you regretted not taking one as well just to have something to do because the sight of his jaw moving was near hypnotizing. “So. Same time next week?”

You laughed, glad that the exit out of this unusual situation turned out to be far less awkward than you’d expected -- there was no guide-book on how to end fake-dates, after all.

It must have been the aforementioned connection doing its magic again.

“Sure,” you said, opening the door of the car. “See you then.”

“See you until then,” he corrected, leaning down so he’d be able to see you as you stepped out of the car and paused, peering inside. “We have class together and I’m an exemplary student now, remember?”

“Oh, right,” you played along. “Well, I’ll catch you at our Marketing test then.”

Jungkook was putting the chewing gum back into the glove department but he did a double-take after you said that. “We have—you’re fucking with me, right?”

“No,” you resisted the urge to grin. “The professor told us last week.”

He was confused. “Where was I?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Getting drunk? Starting fights? Crashing your car into—”

“Alright, got it,” he cut you off. “Can I meet you before the test? So we can compare notes?”

You scoffed. “Lots of good that’ll do me when you didn’t attend a single class this semester.”

“I’m a charity case,” he tried. “You’ll feel very fulfilled after having helped me.”

You weren’t sure if it was your natural inability to say no to him or his sparkling eyes that got you to roll your eyes and abandon any form of protesting you may have resolved to if you’d been talking to someone else.

“Fine,” you said. “See you before the test.”

Jungkook smiled, very pleased with himself. “Thank you again.”

“For the test?”

He looked down before answering, not wanting to spent the rest of the night thanking you for everything you’d ever done for him, but also not being able to find the words that would express his gratitude properly because, no, he wasn’t thanking you just for the test. Or just for tonight.

“For being my friend,” he ended up saying. “I couldn’t have asked someone else to do this.”

Your chest seemed to expand to fit all the butterflies, and, because you didn’t know how to deal with so many fluttering wings inside of you, you ended up replying teasingly, “why not? I think Taehyung would have done wonders fake-dating you.”

Jungkook snorted, shaking his head. “He might have. But I’d still rather do this with you. So, thank you.”

That was twice he’d thanked you now. If he’d have done it again, your chest would have most likely exploded.

“Anytime,” you said, your gaze lingering on his as you took this moment in. “That’s what friends are for, apparently, right?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he replied with an awkward chuckle. “Turns out, I don’t have a lot of them.”

“Well,” you said, not sure if saying this would make the situation better and yet not being able to not say it, “you have me.”

The thoughts in his head all stopped running and left his heart in charge of processing your words.

“R-right...” he said weakly and you gave him one last smile and a wave, and then finally closed the door of his car before walking away to your dormitory.

Jungkook watched you go, his head empty but his chest full. His breath hitching but his eyes alive. His body numb but his blood pumping.

He had you. He had you. He had you.

keep reading | masterlist

[alienheartattack]

Oooh fic game 😍 #5, #6 and #9 ??

5: Share a snippet that you’re proud of from an upcoming fic/chapter.

I have a couple of WIPs that I've abandoned because the ideas are too complex and I've been trying to finish this pegging scene in my novel for, no joke, two months now. I posted the cottagecore idea a while back so here's my abandoned Hizuru fic, where Levi and Mikasa move there separately post-canon. They don't know the other one is there but they both have extensive contacts with Kiyomi, who manipulates them both in order to get them together. She ends up tricking them into getting married sight unseen and unwittingly participating in a very unique marriage ritual that results in them fucking like coked-out rabbits. (Kiyomi's goal is that they produce a bunch of Ackerman children, who will be trained as elite supersoldiers for Hizuru. Levi and Mikasa are horrified when they figure that out.)

The sunset blazed on the horizon as the steam liner pulled into the port at Shimamoto, casting a rich orange glow over the traditional peaked roofs of Hizuru, and for the first time in his forty-one years, Levi Ackerman fell in love. His breath caught in his throat, stopping dead at the sight of the most majestic landscape he'd ever seen, rugged coast giving way to lush green hills and, beyond that, the misty rise of the largest mountain he'd ever seen, capped with pure white snow like a painting.

“This is Hizuru,” came a voice next to him. “Or at least what remains of it.” Kiyomi Azumabito set her hands on the ship's railing, the sleeves of her primrose kimono fluttering in the East Sea wind. “The land of the rising sun.”

“I see what you call it that,” he murmured. “It's beautiful. I've never seen any place like it.”

“Sounds like someone who's already been seduced by our beautiful land.”

He scowled at Kiyomi's phrasing, imagining himself digging a little hole in the ground to literally fuck the land of Hizuru. The mental image of him pumping away, his bare ass in the air as he thrusted into the dirt, made him snort out a laugh.

“What's so funny?” she asked.

“Just remembered a joke someone told me,” he lied. “It's pretty vulgar. You probably don't want to hear it.”

“Oh. No, I don't.” That was one of the things he remembered from their preparatory meetings for the trip: not to speak of bathroom humor in mixed company, though the topics men discussed amongst themselves were their business. “No woman wants to hear you talking about shit,” she’d told him.

6: What are some topics you will never write about?

I feel like noncon is an obvious one, but even then I don't mind including it if the plot requires it (see below), I just wouldn't write a graphic rape scene. I also won't write any fics involving self-injury: I don't know how common it is nowadays but there was definitely a phase in my fandom life where people were writing a lot of angst fics that were basically just scenes of their fave character cutting themselves or preparing to kill themselves, and I find that stuff both gratuitous and pointless, as well as romanticizing SI. I get that people who self-injure might be writing it as a coping mechanism, but I've personally never read a fic like that that made a larger point about mental illness or whatever.

9: Are there any fics you’d love to see but don’t want to write yourself? What are they?

I would love to see an epic post-canon fic where Mikasa decides to move to Hizuru and claim the throne that is her birthright. This idea is slightly different plot-wise and way more fucked up than the Hizuru AU above, which focuses more on Mikasa trying to navigate this new society rather than trying to rule it. I wanted to write all of the intrigue and political machinations and war that followed Mikasa's rise to power but I was having trouble keeping everything IC (I don't think Mikasa would want to rule Hizuru, for one), the story would have been mostly OCs, and a lot of the subplots I imagined were extremely fucking dark — Levi being kidnapped for Ackerman supersoldier reasons as above except he's kept as a prisoner and sexually abused, Mikasa forcing Kiyomi to cut off some of her own fingers as a show of loyalty in order to avoid death by torture for orchestrating Levi's abuse, that kind of shit — so I abandoned the idea.

Ask me some fic-related questions!

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Sixteen | Dummy! (Part 3 of 3)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Dinner is about as awkward as waving back at someone you think's waving at you, only to then realize they're actually waving at someone else.

Frisk stares at your guest from beginning to end, only looking back to their bowl when they’re done with it. They grab a piece of bread and soak up what little soup remains at the bottom and say, “You’re not a bad cook", after. They take a bite off the bread; the rest of it disappears in three more. “Is this ren's way of testing whether you'll be a good boyfriend or not?”

Sans swallows hard and coughs once to recover as he sets his spoon down. “Well, uh… Somethin’ like that, I guess.” He casts a subtle glance at you, his gaze asking for help.

“We’re not dating,” you intervene. You take some soup, but end up throwing it back in the bowl when your hand shakes, too tense to continue eating. “You and Jerry just so happened to walk in at the wrong moment, making it look like something else.”

Frisk frowns, and a dull expression reaches their eyes. “I can tell you’re lying, ren. You’re bad at it.” Their gaze moves back towards Sans, who’s now finished with his bowl and trying to move away from the conversation. “What about you, then? Why’re you chickening out if you still wanna date (Y/N)?” They furrow their eyebrows and glare at the monster. “Why are you-“

“That’s enough, honey.” You stand up and face down at them. “This isn’t his fau-“

“So then, it’s yours?” Their voice breaks as they're the one to rise next; their hands thump over the table and their frown quivers as they attempt not to show any weakness. “He… He flirted with you, so that means he’s also responsible for it!”

“I said that’s enough, Frisk (L/N),” you snap, crossing your arms. “I’m okay with talking about this with you, but not during dinner. And even less when we have a guest over.” You plan to pick up the dishes, though the skeleton beats you to it, excusing himself off to the kitchen. “I’m not dating him, and that's final. That only happened ‘cause we kind of like each other. But I refuse to date anyone until you’re all grown up.”

“You’ll be old by then,” they whine, flailing their arms. “Grandparents can’t date!”

“Yes, they can.” You go along with the ridiculousness of the conversation, too caught up in it to fully assess their words. “And ten more years won’t make me a grandparent! I’m still young.”

Frisk huffs and switches for sign language, saying, “That still doesn’t mean you have to live like this.” They grimace, eyes wetting as they sniffle once. “I like seeing you happy… But right now, this just makes me feel like I'm bothering you.”

Your anger falls with that last sentence; panic replaces it.

In a haste, you try approaching their side, though they run off to their room just as you’re ready to bring them in for a hug. Their steps are quick and the door shuts with a subtle bang, their composure still showing through. You stay in place as their words replay on your mind over and over, gloom arriving. Dismissing them is an impossible feat; your mind continues to subject your thoughts into negativity, restraining you from acting quickly.

If you’d been doing a poor job at raising them this whole time, then what had been the point of it all?

Needing a distraction, you head to the kitchen and join Sans by the sink, no words spoken between you.

He washes the dishes while you dry and store them away, keeping up a rhythmic pace until only the pot’s left. Your gaze focuses on his arms, jacket’s sleeves lifted all the way up to his elbows, revealing the oddity of who you were growing attracted to. His shirt's a bit loose by the neck, presenting you with his collarbones as you spare a peek under it. You're still adapting to the strangeness of having someone look so similar to a human skeleton, yet so different all the same. He could breathe, laugh, move, talk... and even kiss based on first-hand experience. His skull wasn't entirely solid, allowing him to blink, eat, and drink -- besides from what you were thinking of whenever you stared at his face and down at his teeth. You tell yourself it’s wrong to be befriending him, and even worse finding any attraction in him. You’re not sure how to interpret his words from earlier ago, and just what it meant to see him break down like he had.

He’d revealed he disliked who he used to be, but did he remember having said it?

From your experience, moments like those were hard to keep clear.

“Do you… remember what you said to me, Sans?”

His hands stop what they’re doing, one grabbing the knob -- ready to open the faucet -- and the other holding the pot, now coated in suds. He looks up at you, saying, “I cried, didn’t I? Don’t really remember word-for-word, but I know I meant what I said.”

You take a breather before responding with, “Even the part about hating who you used to be?”

Sans turns the knob, letting water pour down. “Yeah.” He nods, heaving out a sigh. “The more I look back and reflect on who I used to be, the more I understand why you don’t trust me.” The pot’s close to overflowing, though he doesn’t notice. You step in and place your hand over his, closing the faucet. Unaddressed tension remains as you stare down at his hand, yet you refuse to let it show, repelled by the idea of taking advantage of his vulnerability. You don’t want to engage in anything like your stay at the hotel again until you sorted out your mind and its jumble of thoughts, nor do you wish to romanticize his self-hatred by fulfilling your wants. “...I, uh, I get it now. And I promise I’ll stop flirtin' now that I know it.”

The monster pulls his hand away and takes the pot with both, emptying the soapy water down the drain. He does it little by little, preventing a flood in the sink. “Did Jerry say something about this?” you ask, taking the pot when he gives it to you. You hang the current towel and take a dryer, cleaner one from the rack. Then, you continue, finishing with the job. “He looked at you weird.”

He chuckles and meets with your eyes. “Maybe ‘cause I was all over you for a second there?”

You glare at him, lips doing the opposite by tugging into a grin, one you try to fight back. “Cut the sarcasm.” You jab his waist, smile growing. “You know what I mean."

“Let him think what he wants to think. I knew you before I knew him, and you guys haven’t been together for years. You’re your own person, and so’s him. If he doesn’t want to keep being friends, then that’s fine with me.”

You glance over to the time on the wall clock, seeing it’s already seven. With the frequent rain, the monster was forced to store his motorcycle away while it cleared out some more, and -- to make up for it -- his brother was now the one to either lend him his car, or take him where he needed to be. In short, letting him go back home would mean calling Papyrus two hours right before his sleep schedule. Either that, or it was sending Sans all alone off to the nearest bus stop.

You settle on neither, saying, "Want to stay over? It's late, and I've got a guest bedroom you can use."

He snickers and replies with, "Worried 'bout me?" When he notices, his grin falls, and he quickly makes up for it by adding, "Sorry. Doing that's pretty much a reflex now."

You smile and swat his shoulder, keeping your hand there. "...I don't really mind you flirting that way. I like it better than when you're straight-up obvious about it."

"Like the Mx. Serif thing?"

"Exactly." You shift on your feet, remembering one of his older comments. "That, and the ones you used to make about my... appearance."

"So you want me to be less invasive," he says, nodding. "Got it." He tries not to look down, a slight tense present in his grin. "I apologize if I ever made ya uncomfortable. I'm surprised you didn't just whack me over the head back then. Feels like I deserved it sometimes."

"Violence is not the answer." You pause, face regaining seriousness. "...Unless you cross borders you shouldn't be crossing."

"Kinda like what happened on the couch today?"

"No." You feel your throat ache the longer you talk with him, still too awkward to relax around him. "...I wanted it back then."

Sans washes his hands and gives you space to do the same. Then, he brings his sleeves down and waits until you're done washing up to accompany you to the living room. "Touch-starved?" he jokes, though you're far from taking it that way.

Seven years.

Not that you were completely, utterly desperate for a relationship, but good company was still good company. You could still use the warmth of someone else, even if it was purely platonic or familiar -- like a tight hug, or just someone else to have around the house. Wanting to depend less on Jerry's support and more on your own funds, you proposed to yourself working extra hours for as long as it was necessary. The rest of your day was either used up in chores or in spending more time with Frisk. It's only now that the monsters help you out with your child and their growth that you have additional time to do stuff like this.

"...Yes," you reply, looking away. "But that can wait."

You excuse yourself and head over to the fridge, needing some water to cure the sudden soreness to your throat; that, and you didn't really want to keep tangling yourself up in that mess.

When you've just about drank more than half a gallon, you stop and take in a deep breath, bringing yourself back to calm.

Regardless of what Frisk and Sans himself had said about living for yourself every so often, you had your set of goals already planned out. Speed-running through a relationship wasn't one, and even less considering the subject's past. You needed to know him and his intentions better before throwing yourself into it -- more than usual.

Two years of pointless arguments between you and Jerry had been enough to last you a lifetime; one of them was even more than pointless, considering you divorced by your first year. You never understood the point of submitting a child to the sight of continuous arguments if you could just find a way to stop becoming involved in what was causing that. You didn't want Frisk to feel like the root of all your problems, nor did you wish to make them feel as if they had to redeem themselves for something that wasn't even their fault to begin with. It was difficult to comprehend the thought-process behind calling out how many finances were spent on them, unless they were being a spoiled brat about it. Guilting them over the good things they had and belittling their troubles through constant comparison wasn't what you wanted, either.

But did it all have to be done by you limiting your own life and enjoyments?

Sans's advice and Frisk's words get to you, these you try to brush off for the moment being.

Fixing your situation with the monsters was more important than that.

"Ren?" a familiar voice calls out, stopping your speeding train of thought. "Is Sans staying over tonight?"

Your body freezes up, face doing the opposite.

Out of all the people you could’ve chosen to be attracted to, it had to be a person whose existence you were barely aware of until a few months ago, who you would've sworn was a contradiction to science as you knew it, and whose flirting techniques were about as low quality as a school lunch's ‘pizza’ Friday. “Yes,” you say, drinking another glass. You’ve already drank more than enough, but stress makes you want more. “It would be rude to send him home with how late it is.”

“You just want him to stay longer, don’t you?”

“That’s none of your concern, dear.”

You serve them a glass of milk, kiss their cheek, and shoo them off to bed, slumping against the fridge when they’re gone. The sound of the television being turned on follows when their footsteps grow faint, and you can hear them exchange a few words with the skeleton, though none of these you can get to understand clearly, standing so far away. “That’s their favourite movie!” is the only sentence you can decipher from them, words exclaimed. “Have fun!” They run off, footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Finally left with Sans again, you return to the living room to see him resting on the same side you’d been pinned to on the couch. You try not to remember, yet your mind proves to be cruel as it reminds you over the subtle warmth of his hands, the scent of your soap on him, and him being so close to take initiative by being the one to almost kiss you on the lips. You’d been the one to do that the first time you kissed him on the cheek back at Mettaton's hotel, though you tell yourself it was nothing special. It was mostly the heat of the moment that had caused you both to take it easy, after all. Today was an entirely different story. Compared to your approach, his was a much more complex and slow building one, waiting for you to better process his intentions and reciprocate his actions with far more sincerity compared to your stay at the hotel.

In short, you wanted to kiss him, but for real this time.

“You doin' okay?” Sans asks, seeing you arrive; he scoots further away, a simple gesture for you to sit down and join him.

“I’m... I'm okay,” you reply, nodding. “But are you really gonna watch that?” You point with your eyes at the television, your favourite movie still playing. “It’s a little lame.”

“Don’t lie.” He grins and hangs an arm behind the couch again when you settle next to him. “I’m pretty sure the kid said it’s your favourite.”

“Out of that particular genre, yes.” You stare at the screen, displaying a scene not too fitting for your situation, yet not completely out of touch either. It gives space for you to talk with him, no awkward romance scenes happening at the moment, and no loud, action-packed scenarios occurring either. Without a word, you move closer to him, letting his arm wrap around your shoulders as he brings you nearer, face resting against his chest. “Have you watched it before?”

“Today’s my first,” he says, hand lowering to your waist. He does nothing else, giving space for you to cozy up next to him the way you best deemed fit. “Feelin’ better now? You can stay for s’long as ya need.”

Aware the monster's referencing your no short of embarrassing confession from before, you shift to a straighter position, meet his irises, and glare up at him. Rather than throwing a remark back at the skeleton, you figure it’s now best to kill him with kindness. You take his cheekbone, smile, and stroke his face, smiling to better accomplish your payback.

When he looks at you -- far too earnest and warm for your liking -- you flinch and have a sudden, unconscious change of plans.

“You’re enough, you know that?” you comment, words practically slipping from your mouth. “Maybe I don’t fully understand what happened at the Underground, but... But I'd say you’ve shown you care enough to improve things you don’t like about yourself. And you've also been pretty blunt and honest with me so far, so there’s that, too.” You kiss his cheekbone, ending on a note far more wholehearted than you originally intended your payback to be. “Try to remember that next time you start criticizing yourself like that again.”

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• • •

Hello!

Before getting into some important stuff, this was meant to be yesterday's update, but I didn't have my laptop available at the time, hence the delay! I was able to update on other sites, but here I use the "keep reading" feature, which can only be accessed through a computer. (As far as my knowledge of that goes, of course -- I'm still learning how to use Tumblr!)

Now, moving to the important stuff:

A few changes will be going underway soon, such as adding the chapter navigation at the bottom of each update from the Prologue to Chapter Ten. As I mentioned in a previous author note about how late I realized I was missing something necessary for clicking on the next chapter more easily: I'm a dumbass, lol.

Also, I've made the decision of creating separate fanfics for the 4 other characters tagged in this story, along with a poll to decide which one I should work with first (as it was shown at the end of Chapter Fifteen, we've finally reached the exposition part of this fanfic, meaning other relationships will be introduced soon)! The reason why is not only to avoid coming off as misleading for those who're looking for a fanfic of that specific character only, but because rewriting this story led to it becoming much more slow burning, thus delaying the relationship development with plenty of characters. As a result, I'll modify the tags to all 16 chapters that've been published so far!

Hopefully, all those changes will be finished by next Friday. :-)

As always, take care and stay safe!

• • •

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