#putting this conversation under a magnifying glass

[benzatthanin]

DEAD FRIEND FOREVER | Ep 4

[tokoyamisstuff]

Delicate

Homelander x F! Reader

Summary: You and Homelander have been official for a while now, but you have yet to understand why things never went beyond a certain line.

Warnings: slight angst, slight manhandling, somnophilia, masturbation, explicit smut, praise kink, dirty talk, oral sex

A/N: not proofread as always bc I cringe at my own writing. take it or leave it

Homelander had never learned how to be gentle.

Of course he knew how to touch someone without breaking them if necessary, but there's limits to his self-restraint. Especially when it came to the intimate kind of encounter.

This sadistic side of his was an expression of his desperate need for control, an inability to truly let himself fall and be vulnerable with another person.

For decades his mantra was that normal humans only exist for supes' - and mostly his - entertainment. Your weakness was his thrill, the sheer difference in power so ridiculously high that you might as well be filthy bugs - and Homelander was like a cruel child with a magnifying glass.

Usually his mates were supes themselves and even they could barely handle his violent urges, but you are a mere human. So fragile and precious that it terrified him at times.

What if he loses control in the heat of the moment? What if he breaks you? Or even worse: What if you see him for the monster he really is and run away like everyone eventually does?

A while ago Homelander heard the story about Ice Princess' fling, some Vought employee nobody. She accidentally froze his penis off during climax. Hilarious, honestly. The first time he heard this story he had a very good laugh, and he still can't look that guy in the eye without cackling when he passes him in the hallways.

But now, being romantically involved with one of those weaklings himself, the possibility of something similar happening to you made his stomach turn...

...but of course, as Homelander always does, he chose to ignore the problem at hand instead of addressing it.

Why bother with an unpleasant conversation if he can just prolong this innocent, chaste bond for as long as possible? He'd rather have you like this than unnecessarily putting you into harm's way.

You on the other hand slowly but steadily grew impatient with your boyfriend.

At first you thought he was merely being chivalrous, but it's been three months and still nothing. He's famous, so you had involuntarily learned about his past affairs - and he's definetly not old-fashioned.

Then why is he hesitating so much?

Most of the time you don't dare talking about what's bothering you, simply because any issue of yours seemed so insignificant compared to the horrible things John's been through.

Admittedly, he once literally lasered a guy's head into mush just for throwing a can to his son's head. So while his reactions can be a bit unpredictable, John cares so deeply about the few people he loves that you want to spare him any more trouble.

Unhealthy way of handling things, admittedly.

Last week you had planned it all out: What you could only describe as the perfect date was supposed to continue in his apartment, and you could literally see all blood flow from his brain to nether regions as you entered the bedroom in finest lingerie.

Anyways, you had initiated several times up until now, and initially he'd always go along with it. However as soon as your make-out-sessions turn more heated, he'd abruptly end them and practically storm off.

Everything went so well at first, with you straddling his waist and tentatively grinding against his lap. His hands moved against his will as his resolve crumbled, finding the curves of your body and relishing in the feeling of your exposed skin under his gloves. His jaw clenched as he fought the urge to go all out, fearing dangerous consequences.

A proper dosage of pain can function as aphrodisiac, at least in your opinion. So you didn't tell him to stop, in fact your senses were too clouded by desire to even notice the way his fingers dug into the cushion of your hips.

Yet there was just the tiniest microexpression, just the fraction of a second where your heart sped up and your face contorted in pain...

...and Homelander, shocked with himself, threw you so frantically off of his lap, you landed face firsr on the floor instead of the bed.

Against all reasoning, you laughed hysterically at his not-so-subtle rejection, and god knows you'll tease him about it until forever. But also, understandably, on the inside you were as hurt and confused as never before.

Doesn't make it any better that your boyfriend had been avoiding you like you were the goddamn pest ever since.

Just like today, when Homelander comes home to you way past midnight, double checking with his x-ray-vision whether you were already fast asleep.

John was aware that this topic has been tormenting you for a while now, and while he never intended to hurt you - quite the opposite, really - he also clung to this pleasant illusion he had created with you.

Lucky at cards, unlucky in love, or so they say.

The course of his life had convinced him that all remotely good things happening to him will be taken away again. A farce prepared by destiny itself just to mock him, maybe evening out the scales since he had been blessed with too much power.

On days as shitty as this one however, nothing compares to having someone to come home to - even when he made sure that you weren't awake to confront him. He tosses his boots aside, grateful for you to be a sound sleeper as they fell to the floor with a loud thump.

Your boyfriend's heart sinks as he pulls up the blanket, being greeted by a handprint-shaped bruise on the side of your hip. Seems like it still hurts too much to sleep on that side. His fingertips run over the dark purple-ish mark, a pained groan escaping your throat when he gives in to the temptation to squeeze your ass.

He really is the worst.

Homelander freezes until he's certain you continue sleeping undisturbed, the sound of his own heart hammering against his chest drowning out all other noise. His palm is still lingering on your body, running up and down your sides and earning relieved sighs in return.

Before you'd feel his excitement too much, he manages to tear his body away from you, his erection twitching painfully as he rolled onto his back.

John really had pure intentions when he embraced you from behind, simply wanting to distract himself and fall asleep while cradling you in his arms - yet instead his already hard cock buries itself neatly between your thighs, the friction making him utter vile things.

Damn it Y/N, why the fuck do you always sleep in underwear only?! Is it to taunt him or to test his limits? Because it's working.

A breathy moan escapes his lips as he spread his legs wide, cock already leaking precum when he ran his thumb across the slid. He grabs it fiercely, pumping hard to make quick work of it, while roaming every inch of your skin he can get his other free hand on.

"Need some help with that?"

Shit.

ShitshitshitshitSHIT!

Seems like he was a little too busy with getting off - so much that even his heightened senses didn't catch you waking up to this scene. Your boyfriend had a habit of sleeping naked, so right now there was none of what he did left to the imagination.

"Heyyy sweetheart..." John tried to put on his trusty showman attitude, an awkward grin stretched across his face while trying to cover himself with the next best pillow. "Sorry babe, didn't wanna wake you up. Just go back to slee-"

"And miss out on the show?" you chuckle half-sleepily and he wants to die. He's done worse things in his life, way worse to be precize - so why is he fucking shy nowy just because you caught him? "Aww, you're blushing." He contemplates lasering your lips together to make you shut up.

"C'mon, John, I know you're holding back for some reason, but we don't have to go all out." Shuffling closer to your boyfriend, you give him those damn doe-eyes he can never say no to. "And I'd love to lend you a hand, if you know what I mean."

John instinctively closes his eyes as your face moves closer, lips eagerly awaiting yours...

...but just when you were about to touch him, he takes a hold of your wrist. "Y/N, I-" he shakes his head, trying to regain his composure. "Just- just let me go to the bathroom, okay?"

You frown. Worse, the humiliation makes tears dwell in your eyes. Pushing your partner is wrong, but without context you really start doubting yourself here.

Suddenly the stench of fear was lingering in the air, and your heart starts racing like a hummingbird. Trying to calm yourself was a fruitless attempt in front of a man that could perceive almost anything, even your pathetic strangled sobs.

So he was right: You're afraid and maybe even disgusted by his behavior, and just offered yourself to placate him.

Maybe he should just snap your neck to escape the inevitable heartbreak.

"A-Are you cheating on me?"

"Huh?" That question caught him off guard. He was prepared to hear anything, seriously all kinds of insults or accusations, but that? "Are you dense? Why the fuck would I cheat on you?"

And that's when it dawns on him: You are scared - but not of him.

To your defense, he did have a reputation of not being able to keep it in his pants. Maeve had remarked that fact more than once so you wouldn't forget. And him constantly being swarmed by the prettiest celebrities didn't do any good to your self-esteem either.

You're scared of him leaving you.

"Then what is it?" you sniveled, shrinking into yourself as you hugged your own legs. Seeing you like this and knowing he's responsible was somehow even worse than his earlier apprehensions. "You always react as if you got burned whenever we touch. Did I do something wrong, or- or am I not attractive enough?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" John scoffs in an almost irritated tone, unable to refrain from rolling his eyes. Comforting people didn't really come easy to him, even if he hated himself for not being able to let the shielding facade drop just this once. "You're gorgeous and you know that! C'mon, you women are always causing arguments out of thin air. Stop making this about yourself, would y-"

Seeing your glossy eyes turn into a glare at his ramblings made him shut up immediately, but the damage has already been done. "You know what, I'll-" For a while, you sit on the edge of the bed thinking and with every passing second of silence, Homelander's anxiety skyrockets. "I think it's better if I sleep at my own place for a while."

That's exactly what he's talking about, damn it! The line between control and insanity is a thin thread, and he is not willing to take any chances - when it comes to you at least.

"No!" he almost screams at you, jumping up from the bed and pointing a warning finger at you. "You're not going fucking anywhere!" When he sees your wary expression John's eyes soften, instantly regretting his outburst.

Why does he always fuck up? Why can he never seem to keep what makes him happy? Why can't he be what you need?

Homelander buries his face in his hands, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself just like you taught him. "Look, I-" He reluctantly put his hands on each of your shoulders and when you don't flinch away, he starts rubbing circles on your back. You always do it for him when he's upset, so he figures maybe it can help you too. "Please...I'll tell you the truth, okay? Just...don't leave."

You turn around to face him, nodding mutely as he wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb. Seeing you cry was gutwrenching, moreso when he was the reason. "I..." he helplessly gestures around, wishing there was a script to this like he was usually provided. "I tend to become...rough."

"So?" The initial hurt now turned into confusion, suspicion even about whether he was telling the truth. You defendingly cross your arms, like a barrier so you wouldn't falter before you got answers.

"I'm not made out of glass." Compared to his strenght, you might as well be. "And I can talk. If you become too wild I'll let you know."

Stubborn as always. But he loved that about you, too. "It's not that easy, Y/N." His head falls in defeat and exasperation. John's about to cry himself, and he hates you seeing him anything less than perfect. "I'll hurt you, and then you'll hate me. Or worse..."

Consciously ignoring the worse part, you cup both sides of his face, making him look up to meet your eyes. "John..."

You straddle his waist again, feeling relief now that you finally understood. Peppering kisses across his face and neck you whisper "I was so, so worried you had grown tired of me..."

"Never." Homelander wasn't someone to apologize often, let alone sincerely. The times he did ever since leaving the lab he can count on one hand.

But despite him being...well, him, John knows best what it's like to be plaqued by insecurities. He hugs you tight enough to make you feel the sincerity of his words. "I only wanted to protect you. I never wanted to make you feel this way."

"Next time talk to me from the start, okay?" You smile softly as he aggrees, and he doubts to be deserving of all your sympathy.

Your hands never leave his body, featherlight touch reassuringly calming his nerves. And yet together with the fact that the only thing currently separating your bodies was your thin panty, it was no wonder that his body reacted the way it did.

A moan disrups your conversation when his cock stiffens again, and you can't help but buck your hips against him in response. Your panties were already soaking anyway, due to the friction and his dirty little deed earlier.

The scent of your lust wipe all negative emotions from your boyfriend's mind, replacing them with something else.

"I want you, John" you breathe against his ear and he whines. "We could just take it slowly..."

"I don't know how" he admits, and you smile at his reluctant aggreement. Gently being shoved down on his back again, it feels like he melts beneathe your fingertips. "Then I'll teach you."

Goosebumps rise on his skin as your fingertips ghost over his body, and you lean over for a longdue kiss, so tender and affectionate John thinks he will fall apart.

Homelander's groan gets swallowed by your lips as you pull your panties aside, slick folds now grinding against his cock. Your name falls from his lips in meek whimpers and you refuse to believe this wonderful man could ever harm you.

"Let me take care of you." Shit, how do you always know exactly what to say?

Raking your hands through your hair as you sit up, air gets stuck in Homelander's throat at the sight, making him choke.

You look fucking magnificent.

Hell, he'd pay an artist to paint you like this so he could look at it forever. If only it didn't require another person seeing you naked...

"You know, I thought it was just my imagination..." A mischievous smile plays on your lips now that you think of it. "But my panties have been disappearing a lot lately."

Your boyfriend didn't respond anything else but a whimmer, shame washing over him at being caught. Not that he was really subtle to begin with.

"Speak up" you tease, giving his shaft a soft squeeze and he instinctively thrusts into your hand like a dog in heat. "Did you use them to get yourself off to your fantasies, huh? Naughty boy." His cock twitches in your palm at the words. "From now on, I want you to come to me for release. Always."

"I trust you" you add as doubt is clearly written on his face, voice firm and as unwavering as your loving eyes, driving tears into his own. You lower yourself on his cock, savouring the feeling of being filled out like this. "Mhh...you feel so good inside of me. Will you behave, John?"

"Y-Yes..." was all he managed to wring out, since it takes every ounce of strenght inside of him to not cum to your sweet affirmations right away. John clutches the bedframe so hard that it crumbles under his grip, but to his surprise you don't wince at the sound - quite the opposite, it shot a wave of heat right through your core.

"John...look at me." You guide his hands away from his eyes to cup your breasts instead, looking at him like he's the best fucking thing in the world. The intensity of your gaze causes him to shiver, makes him wanna hide.

Yes, this is too good to be true.

Whatever you see in him right now he will taint with his own hands given time.

And yet he can't stop anymore, now that he's aware of the depht your love helds for him.

You read him like a damn book, noticing his internal struggle so you silence the voices in his head with a passionate kiss. "So good for me, John" you cheer him on, moving your hips at a low pace.

Tension finally leaves his body and he dives his tongue into your mouth, groaning deeply as he moves his body alongside yours. His touch was careful yet bruising, sending pleasant tingles down your spine.

"I love you, John" you cry out as your foreheads touch, eyes never leaving his. "I love you so damn much!"

That declaration was enough to drive him over the edge.

Homelander pulls you as close as close as humanly possible when he stills momentarily, jackknive-like thrusts chasing after his high. The sounds he made as you got filled up bordered on obscene, as did the amount of cum spilling out of you.

"Shit" he speaks breathlessly against your skin, covering a bitemark he had just caused with kisses. "M'sorry..."

And yet he wasn't willing to let go off of you just yet, this amazing orgasm unable to ward off the embarassment of his poor performance.

"Never apologize for having a good time, silly" you chuckle, brushing your nose against his. "I'm flattered, if anything."

John never knew that sex could be so...satisfying, more than just physically. Filled with carefree laughter instead of expectations.

After all, he was conditioned to never wanna disappoint.

"Nah-a-ah." You yelped as he spun you around effortlessly, now him being the one howering over you, bearing his canines like a starved predator. "I refuse to let my goddess go unworshipped."

"John...I'm okay, really. Sex between lovers is not just about that..." And yet when he opens your legs, you don't resist.

He bets you taste just as fucking good as you smell, feisty little thing. Driving him crazy all those weeks. Do you have any idea how hard it was to endure this sweet torture for your sake?!

A shiver runs down your spine when he licks his lips at the sight of your leaking entrance, taking a deep inhale. There's a hunger in his eyes that no sane person could ever comprehend - but you indulged in it, craved in his twisted kind of love.

Heh, you were a goddamn freak just like him all along, isn't that right?

Homelander takes his time kissing a path down to your navel, admiring the marks he left on your body he was now able to see as the lovebites they are. He briefly looks up to assure himself of your consent, an answering smile all he needs to continue.

"Myyyy tuuuurn" he chants so cheerful, you almost thought he had put on his formal persona.

A relieving finger finally has mercy and slides into your already overstimulated sex, making you arch your back when he curls it inside. Pleads and curses falling from your lips as he enters a second one and then another, and you desperately try to move yourself deeper onto him.

"Attagirl!" Seems like his confidence has returned, at least judging by that damn smug smile his tone indicated. The frustrated pout you wore right now was so adorable, he decided to end your misery and bury his head between your legs as well.

You were still fucking yourself on his fingers while he relished the taste of himself on your pussy, before enveloping your clit with his tongue. "That's my fucking girl right there" he mouths as he ate you out, pumping his fingers keenly on your weak spot he so easily found. "Come on, I want to hear you."

When you came it felt like you were ascending to the afterlife, screaming his name at the top of your lungs before collapsing into the sheets.

Your legs had long since gave out but John put them over his shoulders, humping the mattress while his tongue still ran over your nerve endings, shooting jolts of overwhelming pleasure through your system.

"Oopsie" he coos, a predatory glint in his eyes as he crawled on top of you again, his kiss giving you a taste of your own spent. "Made me hard again."

You eyes flutter open after the last bit of your climax had ebbed out, exhausted yet invitingly batting your lashes as your limbs entangled once again.

"Seems like I found the Homelander's weakness."

[kanmom51]

Spot the differences (again)

*This one has been sitting in my drafts for a while now waiting for me to finalize it. Much water has passed under the bridge since, but I still think it is relevant, maybe even more so now that 'Are you sure?' is about to land and this is the type of rhetoric we will be hearing a lot.

This post is a public service for all those that love to nullify Jikook interactions. Those that ot7-fy them. "JM is such a sweetheart, he loves all his members" or "JM is always so happy to see the other members, remember when..."

So yeah, I actually do remember when. And that is why I decided to bring them here for you to judge.

Let's put these two under a magnifying glass side by side why don't we?

RM joining JM in his birthday live.

JK joining JM in his Docu live

Thanks to cr./@jimimn for their amazing gifs, some of which I will be using here.

Start, why don't you, with JM's initial reaction.

JM literally lights up when he notices JK. He stops the video and calls out his name.

He's not happy.

He is overjoyed.

His face literally lights up.

His whole body is reacting.

He is down right giddy.

That whole body movement when he calls out to Jaykay again. His shoulders literally dancing - that is what I call a little JM happy dance, exclusively for JK.

When RM walks in JM is happy he's there. Happy. Not giddy.

And may I remind you that this is JM's birthday live. So RM is popping in to wish JM happy birthday while he's on live. And as expected JM is happy to see him.

Happy and laughing for a sec and then manages, with ease, to have a full on conversation with RM, setting up a chair for him by his side. Expecting RM to join his live.

Yes, JM set up a seat for RM to sit by his side, all while he shooed JK away telling him to take the chair with him.

Lmao.

JM's first question to JK: "why did you lose so much weight?"

All while not being able to keep his hands to himself and going in for his chestie besties.

From the second JK walked in JM could not keep his eyes off him. It's like we were non existent, and he knew that, he knows that is what happens when JK is around during a live, hence him not having one with JK even though he has been asked to do one by JK multiple times.

And that is exactly the reason why JM told him "you can go now".

JM needed to stay in focus. Watching the documentary and focusing on that and us, the audience watching him watch it.

This isn't a person he didn't want to have around.

This is a person that while around would render JM unable to focus on the documentary and us.

So best he not be there.

Even while watching the documentary when JK wasn't there anymore, even then, when the part with JK recording Letter came up, JM wasn't with us.

We always talk about the JM effect, but when it comes to JM and JK, there is definitley a JK effect to be talked about as well.

So, RM comes in to see JM, and JM gives him a stool to sit on and join him. RM wants to take a pic of JM, and JM tells him to "take a pic of this", which is an AI generated elf JM pic he had on screen and that he was showing us himself just a second earlier as RM just came in.

With RM JM is clearly happy that he joined him. They talk about RM's hair, about having to get a drink together, about JM doing his dance clips. It's a short visit, less than 2 minutes long, and yet they manage to actually form full sentences and have a somewhat meaningful conversation.

And then you have JK's visit, more or less a minute long and all you get is "you've lost too much weight my chestie besties are disappearing" (the second half of the sentence is what he wanted to say, didn't say it out loud but his actions most definitely told us everything, lmao), and "get out of here before I jump your bones", more or less.

Nah, but seriously. They couldn't even have a back and forth conversation. JM shy and unable to talk as JK approached, leaning back for JK to come closer to his mic and JK (for reasons unknown to myself) leaning further down (JK, that's not where the mic is at). JK dumb-founded by JM's weight loss comment and chest fondling, so instead, recovering as quickly as he could, he addresses us. And then JM is "you can go"... going in for a hug and JK is all "I'm sorry".

Now what is he sorry about exactly? Interrupting JM's live? Causing JM to be a total mess (which he totally was)? Or, being a total mess himself (which again, he was as well)?

As JK is leaving he tells JM to have fun with army watching the documentary, and JM again: "hurry up and go" physically helping him to leave.

I have never seen someone who was that excited to see another when they showed up (JM when JK appears) try to get rid of said other as fast and as hard as JM did with JK.

🤣🤣

And yes, JK was saying I love you to army (well, that's what we were supposed to understand), but this was JM as JK was leaving.

Why you so giddy giggly JM?

Is it because you were overjoyed by JK showing up? Was it because you know you malfunctioned? Or was it just because it was JK? Cause that is the effect he has on you.

You know what it brings me back to? The BTB of JM's SMF pt. 2 rehearsals and JK visiting him.

Not only how heavily edited it was but also the fact, and I did mention this in my post at the time, that we didn't get to see them as JK showed up. Unlike other BTBs with other members showing up for JM and us being 'allowed' to see his initial reaction and their greetings, we were robbed of that when it came to JK's visit. I asked why in back then. Rhetorical question. I knew the answer. We basically saw it right here in this live.

And this was RM leaving.

JM happy to see him, smiling as he was leaving, and back to business no fuss no muss, and definitley no lingering smile that he simply could not wipe off his face.

Look, you don't need a Master's degree in psychology or in the science of facial and body expression to see the difference between the two. And JM, well he's well aware of it. He knows that JK has a special effect on him. He knows that with JK around he can get lost in him. And when you have a live camera rolling at the same time, well that is something that he knows could be detrimental to his health, lol. It's about schedules not aligning for them to have a live together. It's about JM knowing that they cannot handle it (it's not just JM, we saw that very well with JK's deer caught in the headlights behavior in that live - man thought he could handle it and I think he found out that simply ain't the case).

So basically, to sum it all up, here is JM in each situation:

JM to RM:

"Hey mate, how you doing? Come, come, sit right next to me, join me in my live. How are things with you? New hair? We need to get together catch up over drinks? Oh, if you're taking a pic, take this one...here look at my screen. Ok, call me to make a date for drinks. See you..."

Not the exact dialogue, but pretty close I'd say, lol.

JM to JK:

"What are you doing here?" Wait. Chestie besties, gotta ask them how they are doing...Shit. Brain malfunction. "Get out of here before I jump your bones. And take that chair with you so there isn't even the slightest chance you sit here next to me, cause there is no way I will manage to continue this live if you stay".

Yep, those words did not pass his lips (barely any did), but his actions spoke volume.

Bottom line brings me right back to the start of my post.

You can't ot7-fy how JM and JK are with each other. You just can't. No matter how hard you try, the way they are with each other is unlike how they are with any other member, which they both love dearly, there is no question about that. Just not the same way that they love each other.

Period.

There is a reason why while dropping promos for "Are you sure?" their "chemistry" is mentioned. There is a reason why people that have seen only the trailer and/or their announcement have raised an eyebrow, the words boyfriends and honeymoon being mentioned (not by Jikookers btw). Because they, those two, their interactions are charged, they are different than with the others. We see it when the others are around as buffers, but we see it so much more when it's just the two of them.

I know that there are those that are waiting for something big to happen in the show, a big revealing scene or what not. I think they are going to be disappointed.

On the other hand there are those that think it's going to be so watered down that what we will be getting is two bros on a trip. I must say that I think they are wrong as well.

Jikook are Jikook. They can't hide what they are to each other. You don't need to see a loving couple making out to know that they are a loving couple. There are so many other tells. And those are things that you can't hide or water down. They are engrained in those two's interactions, facial expressions, tone of voice, and physical interactions or lack thereof as well. All of those can't be watered down or edited out completely. And they know it. Which is why, again, the word "chemistry" was used - they know they can't hide it so they try to give it a name, maybe disguise it a little. All while knowing we can't be fooled. Not really.

So yeah, I keep needing to tell myself this is actually happening. Because this is going to be huge. And it's going to be so much fun and chaotic and happy and just WOW!!

Three weeks to go!!!

And D-1 to Muse!!!

This is going to be friggin' awesome !!!!!!!!!!!!!

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

A Keen Eye

(Aemond Targaryen X Rhaena Targaryen)

Summary: Aemond and Rhaena aren't actually in the fic themselves, its just a scene with the way that some highborn girls at the keep view Aemond and Rhaena's relationship and them gossiping about it soooo technically this fic is still Aemond X Rhaena! The fic is bite sized as well, I doubt it's even 100 words but enjoy anyway!

Rating: E (everyone and their mom)

The marriage between Aemond and Rhaena went well, healing a long festering wound between the two families. Several highborn maidens often gossiped about it.

"Do you think she is afraid of him?" Catherine Redwyne quipped in her group's embroidery gathering one day.

"I would be!" One of the Caswell twins put in.

"Why on earth would she have reason to be afraid of him?" Sara Umber asked with a scoff.

The girls all stopped their needlework and looked at her.

They all liked her well enough but Sara Umber was not ladylike and, quite often, her views conflicted with theirs.

It was a consensus among the southern girls that all Northern girls were wild, almost on par with Dornish women. Wild or not, Sara was still highborn and so they had accepted when their mothers bade them to make her part of the group. It certainly brought more interesting conversations, like now.

Catherine sighed as she responded. "Anyone with sense is afraid of Aemond Targaryen."

"Why, though?" Sara persisted. "He seems to treat her well enough. I saw them laughing together a few days ago."

Their Septa Maya, who had heretofore been forgotten over in her spot by the window, spoke.

"It is not difficult to understand the collective fear towards the Prince, Lady Sara. He controls the largest, most fearsome power in this world. Imagine having such a fearsome beast completely under your command!" Septa Maya called out, as she examined her own needlework with the help of a magnifying glass.

"A keen eye could say that is a more apt description of the Princess Rhaena." Sara said with a smile, returning to struggling with her own needlework. The girls all laughed in agreement as their Septa shook her head.

[psiroller]

chilaios, laundry

Laios should have been on laundry duty; instead, he watched over Chilchuck’s shoulder as his needle punched between cords of tightly woven green wool. Chilchuck couldn’t help but feel like a bug being burnt up under a magnifying glass whenever Laios watched him do anything. It wasn’t exactly paranoia; Laios’ motivations were always weirder than outright malice, but his curiosity had been focused to a searing point, and Chilchuck was starting to sweat under it.

“What? You got something to tell me?”

“Hm?” Laios blinked dumbly. “No. I was just watching you work.” Somewhere along the process of folding Falin’s sleeping gown, holding it half an arm’s length out in front of him, he’d frozen in place. He put it down in his lap, finally, with a sheepish glance away. “It’s… kinda hypnotic,” he admitted.

“You know I hate that,” Chilchuck hissed, the tips of his ears hot. “I’m not a bard, I don’t need an audience.”

“Yeah, I know. But you’re diligent about patching that thing up, I was just...” Met with a long, terse silence, Laios shrugged. “Never mind.”

Laios returned to the Sisyphean task of rolling his sister’s laundry up with his own, the way they’d always done it before they were separated, as tightly as possible to save on valuable inventory space. Chilchuck continued mending the loose hem in his neck warmer. The gold thread glimmered in the low spellight, wound around his fingers in rings that gradually loosened as he pulled the needle through.  Laios kept watching out of the corner of his eye, and Chilchuck felt every glance like one of Marcille’s magic missiles whizzing past his head.

Chilchuck heaved a weary sigh and rolled his shoulders, trying to stretch his back out. “It’s uh. My girls. They… made me this thing,” he ground out, waving his knitted neck warmer like a white flag. “Before that whole thing with—y’know, they—"

“Left you,” Laios said, automatically. Helpfully, ideally.

“Before my wife—y’know what. Forget it! Forget it. Hah, yup. Last time I listen to an orc!” Then Chilchuck was muttering half-foot curses to himself; he stitched at a machine’s pace. Laios considered running to get Falin to salvage this wreck of a conversation, but he’d done alright while she was slowly dying in the dragon’s stomach and unable to rescue him from his own mouth.

“It must mean a lot to you,” Laios said. Chilchuck scratched at the fur on the back of his neck. “It’s—nice. I think they did a good job.”

Chilchuck snorted. “Yeah, me too,” he said, more softly. “As far as sentimental keepsakes go, it’s lightweight, so I can take it with me on the job. I just have to take care of it, but, y’know. It’s worth the effort.”

“So… they all made it together?”

“Yeah. Flertom came up with the design, Mayjack helped her with the pattern and cutting the cloth, and Puckpatti did the stitching.” He chuckled. “Which is why it keeps coming loose. She was still learning back then.”

Laios couldn’t see Chilchuck smiling, but he heard it. Falin would have been so proud.

“Does that thread you’re using come from home, too?”

“Oh, nah. This, uh… it’s Marcille’s hair?” He chuckled awkwardly. “It’s got defensive magic in it. She gave it to me a few floors ago to patch my vest, and I’m pretty sure that’s what kept that big frog from swallowing me all the way. Been using it for everything ever since.” Chilchuck’s grin turned wry and dark. “Though, knowing what kind of magic she does now, I might end up regretting that.”

Laios made a grim noise of assent, but couldn’t commiserate, having so recently profited from the dark arts. Chilchuck was content to let the conversation drop while his blood pressure was falling, though, and Laios could finally return to laundry duty. Of course, the roll had come undone for the fiftieth time. As Laios gathered up his shirts to try again, something caught his eye, made him pick up a tunic and fold it out—and there, an inch below the collar, was a ring of threaded gold.

[kafkasmjjw]

Seo Moonjo still remembers where it started.

He'd woken from the throes of sleep and walked the orphanage hallways to get to Ms. Eom. To tell her how all his teeth had fallen out in his nightmare.

He remembers how Ms. Eom had chuckled and said, 'Moonjo-yah, we're having a feast soon'. The orphanage burnt down not a week later.

During his first lecture, his professor had asked, 'Why dentistry?'

The answers that followed the muddled murmurs varied. Money. Opportunity. Independence. The label. It runs in the family. All of it was so materialistic, so pretentious and worldly and greedy.

When the doctor called on Moonjo, he did so without a name. Young man! Why did you choose this field?

'Teeth,' Moonjo answered in his head. 'Because there's something less scientific and more visceral about the strongest substance in our bodies not having the power to repair itself. I want to be relied on.'

In the lecture hall, Moonjo pushed his glasses up his nose and voiced a blunt, "I like teeth."

He tilted his head when the professor grinned, and he looked deeper, inspecting him under a magnifying glass.

Guillaume Duchenne de Boulogne had once said that the first sign of a genuine smile is the contraction of the orbicularis oculi muscles around the eyes, and the tightening skin it brings about.

Fake, he thought. Even as he responded to his professor with a smile of his own.

Moonjo liked hiding things in plain sight, and he thought that the forged display of amusement was an answer in itself to the question. Perhaps one that required a little more insight into his life.

To Ms. Eom and the twins, teeth are weapons. Cutlery to gnaw on bone with. But to him? They're deceptive. Tools. A means to tamper with feelings. To influence and manipulate and corrupt.

The man turns around. He openly looks him over before he greets him. And they share a drink.

He steps onto the roof and takes advantage of the new resident's distraction to study him and take in the genuineness of his every movement.

He finds catharsis in it for a long while before he makes his presence known, "Are you the new guy?"

Somewhere amidst their conversation about a psychopathic pianist, Moonjo stills. He feels around, attaching himself to his body again, reclaiming it as his own instead of an implement, and feels the warmth in his cheeks and the coldness of his drink and the—

The unintentional flex of muscle around his eyes. Foreign and unwelcome. It's a momentary crack in his poise that 303 doesn't notice, too caught up in the psyche of his Pianist.

Moonjo takes a closer look at him, with all his senses at once. It's enough to put him at ease. He takes another gulp of beer, and, as quietly as possible, lets the crack web into something a little broader.

A little more ruinous.

[tobiasdrake]

Halara's turn for one final hangout sesh. Hopefully they won't break my kneecaps for failure to pay my debt.

Public space. This is good. It's hard to murder me in a public space. Then again, this is the same cafe where Fubuki drowned half of the clientele, and they still speak of her in glowing terms as the greatest barista that this place has ever known. So.

Oh shit, that is what this conversation is about. Look, if you give me a few more days, I can arrange for travel out of town. And then it won't be a problem anymore! For me. Specifically.

That's not true. I have a great plan. A fantastic plan, as a matter of fact. My plan is to hope the collapse of civilization happens soon and wipes out my debt so that I no longer have to repay it. Like most people struggling under late-stage capitalism!

My backup plan is to eventually die, causing all of my lenders to get screwed. *smug*

Because this is an elaborate ruse to justify a social call. Halara doesn't have friends. They have debtors. And they don't hang out with debtors. They meet to discuss the debt with their debtors.

Notice how they didn't answer the question? "Why are we meeting to discuss the debt in the cafe instead of the office?" was the question, but Halara explained the unbolded part which was never in question to begin with. They're waffling around the subject.

*nods sagely* Ah, of course. The Neo World Program.

Wait, no, what are you talking about? What kind of program is it? Like a social program? Magnifying glasses for tots?

OH MY GOD I LOVE IT.

Of course. Of course this is about cats. What else would it be about besides cats? Cats are Halara's hyperfixation. I love it. I'm about it.

I love this side of them. They shake people down for money so they can privately fund a feline rescue program. That's the best kind of awful.

Gentrification would hit different if the mafia was chasing you out of your home to build a wildlife refuge. Or an animal shelter. Or one of those puppy therapy places where you heal people's trauma by playing with cute baby animals.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Halara has put me into financial debt to fund their kitty dreams. And now, as a sincere gesture of our growing friendship, they've asked me to one day inherit their emotional debt to cats as a concept.

Asking the important question here. You're not offering me something; You're requesting that I take on your burden.

Okay but still. Does it, though? C'mon, Finance Them-slice. Meet me at the negotiating table here.

It's so hard to say "You are my friend and I value you" in too cool for this room language. Halara is attempting to have an intimate moment without compromising their hard-forged image and it is not going well.

And now that this incredibly awkward moment is here, they flee back to the comforting shelter of our meeting ruse. ^_^ Sure, buddy-pal, I'll get on that once of these days.

Can you imagine how heartbroken Halara would be if Yuma did somehow manage to pay his debt? How would we ever hang out together if they didn't have this excuse they could make for it?

I did not like Halara when we first met. Matter of fact, I accused them of murder. Said a lot of unkind things about them in the process. But they've grown on me a lot as I've gotten to know them and see behind the veil.

Suffice it to say, it's not that I don't like Halara but rather that I don't like Halara's persona. There's a genuinely interesting person hiding beneath the theatricism of a callous, unfeeling capitalist. They pretend to be a much shittier person than they actually are. Not unlike Desuhiko, as a matter of fact.

Fubuki's still my bestie but Halara's become my favorite character. Assuming the Master Detectives don't get killed off in a bloodbath of a finale, Halara's the one I'd be most interested in seeing a "Where do they go from here?" sort of sequel for.

The fact that they're our team's #1 cop-smasher helps too. I could watch Halara take apart Peacekeepers all day.

[crows-home]

Do you sometimes wonder if Maria had oldest daughter síndrome ™ and what was going through her head while they were haunting down his little baby brother who she never was able to protect and knows how poorly he is treated by everyone else but her ?

hooooo boy ok. i have so many thoughts about Maria Robotnik anon. You're lucky i have free time right now to ramble.

THIS ENDED UP SO MUCH LONGER THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD SORRY LMAOOOO

Maria is somewhat of a blank slate, no? at least, she was in the beginning. Her main purpose was "tragic backstory." and there's something to be said about girls/women in media and their only roles being support for the male characters and their arcs. but those are big conversations that other people are more verbose in digging into. also i'm sleepy.

Maria, to me, has always been a blank slate. If not, she's always been the "perfect, proper, glass child." Poor Maria, so soft-spoken, so kind, but sick. She died sacrificing herself, don't you feel bad for her?

i don't think Maria has eldest daughter syndrome. It's something adjacent, though. It's a suppression of emotions, especially negative ones, that can be seen as eldest daughter syndrome. It's the expectations that have been put on her, by herself, to be kind, be courteous, be good.

Because Maria has a terminal illness, perhaps since she was born. The people in her life care about her so much, her grandfather takes her to space because it lessens her condition, there is a massive project going on to save her life!!

Maria doesn't get to be sad. She doesn't get to be angry. She can't show any of these emotions, can't scream and cry about how unfair all this is, can't speak out against people talking like they've already lost her when she's right fucking here. She can't be "difficult". Because her family has given so much to her, for her. They're so sad when they look at her, she can tell. So, I think, Maria puts this pressure on herself. To smile and be happy and positive, so as to not worry or bother anyone.

Children do that, when they perceive themselves to be a burden. It doesn't matter if they're explicitly told that or not. Maybe the adults in their life tell them "God, taking care of you is so expensive. Do you know how much better things would be if you weren't here?" Or maybe their family is loving, but at the end of the day, they see their parents struggling to pay bills, struggling to put food on the table, and wonder "Is it because of me? Am I weighing them down?"

So they become what I like to call "low-maintenance." Never taking more than is needed, because they're hyper aware of the resources they're taking. They make sure to stay happy and agreeable, because they don't want to cause trouble or bother anyone.

In my head, this is where Maria was at. She was happy, sure! No doubt, she loved her family and her grandfather and she loved Earth so much, so desperately did she want to be a part of it.

But she could never talk about the ugly bits. About her anger and frustration and even the depressing thoughts.

I think she started to with Shadow.

Here's her little brother, this little guy that was born from a test tube to be her cure, but has a soul all his own. Who she could talk to about these tough things.

"I sometimes wonder why I was created," Shadow might say.

And Maria, her soul aching, understands.

They come to their own conclusions, on the ARK, about who they are. Shadow is treated like an experiment, a pet, a thing, rarely ever with respect. By most, except for Maria. Maria looks at Shadow and sees family.

With Shadow, she can be moody. She can be snappy. Shadow can be silly and as unserious as he wants without constantly being under the proverbial magnifying glass. They are siblings, that's what they do!!! They don't have to put up this front like they do in front of other people. They don't have to be perfect when they're around each other.

"I feel guilty," Maria might say. Her voice might quiver and shake, like she's admitting something damning. "For existing, sometimes."

Shadow, absolutely floored by the admission that his sister is not always happiness and sunshine, understands.

I love headcanons and aus where Maria is allowed to be just a Weird Little Girl or really get into what she might have been into (goth, macabre, art, etc.) It gives her depth. It gives her life.

So I imagine all this, all the ways this young girl kept herself amicable and calm and pleasant, because she's so afraid of being anything but. Then I imagine all of it coming away when she's with her brother.

Then I imagine her running down the hall, grabbing his hand as the alarms blare. She is filled with love and hope for a world that she was never sure she would get to see. But by God, Shadow will see it. I imagine that there was always the possibility of death looming over her life, and the bullet just sealed it. I imagine the guilt that she feels when she pushes the button that sends him down. I imagine the fear and sadness she feels at the thought of him being alone, ultimately knowing there's nothing she can do. But hoping it was enough.

[interdimensionalburnout]

>>It's been almost twelve hours. But you're not quite over the conversation you had with the master brain of the cyborgs you stole from. The great big entity had no qualms with your murders, on account of you returning their memory banks to the hive-mind. They would get new bodies, you were told, and be happier for the "final conversion." At that point, you wager the stolen teleporter vest would've been okay, too, but by the time you'd struck up a conversation, you'd already completely wiped the software and replaced it with a Partition, rendering it invisible to your host.

The great mind was quite... poetic, you thought; it spoke as if it was trying to dumb itself down to you, but instead it came across as a philosopher, rather than ANY kind of machine.

>>"You remember being older than your time in the game, I am sure." You very much didn't like getting that kind of a frank familiarity from a strange entity, and you're kind of STILL rubbed the wrong way by it. That thing knew you entirely too well, and you told him as much. "Your history is known to me, I AM a historian, am I not? You weave an uncertain penstroke across the the paper, turned inwards even as it spirals ever outwards; the hand is uncertain, the pen stumbles, the nib flings the same ink in a thousand directions. You are lost in the finished collage, as any one might be, yet under the magnifying glass, you leave a unique trail, the web of a spider."

>>You've known a fair share of self-confident computers, but this was the first time you've ever accused an AI of, "Bloviating, that's what this is," you said. "And a whole lot of words to say 'i will not tell you.' Well, fine, I guess. And yeah, I snuck into that, what of it, get to your point." You were situated at the same console you'd been hacking into the whole time, one hand pressed into the monitor for a more direct, but easily-disconnected, form of communication. And you were more or less white-knuckle clenching the soft bubble of the screen, ready to leave. You were -and are- SO tired of hearing about yourself, you feel selfish by virtue of being alive usually, so every asshole you run across for three days straight knowing you has kind of sucked to a breaking point.

>>"The point is not that you played the game, and gained from it a curse for your intrusion," You could swear he was being smug and mean when he said that, like the fucking emotionless historian AI was getting a dig in at you. "the point is that you are older than you initially recalled, and the scattered chronology of your memories, now fully freed from the storm you've weathered, are once again a uniform fleet." You asked if the fleet was supposed to tell you something, now that it was able to...

>>"...I dunno, coordinate?" The machine's answer was a long, low hum. The thing was considering the best way to answer you, and you just had the insane notion that you may be free of the green tears; not in a way you could even put your finger on, merely a sudden grounded feeling. When it did finally answer you, the answer was a simple question: What would you ask of yourself? That's when you kicked the console and started cussing, pacing two loops and triggering a sudden series of slams outside the door. Klaxon alarms blared, and suddenly went quiet, as the door behind you slid shut, preventing the cyborgs from intruding. After you had a second, you slapped your mechanical palm back to the monitor, and asked, "Is there a fucking Partition in there?"

>>"I will not tell you." The answer from the vast, ancient computer mind stole all the steam from your anger and you slumped backwards into the terminal chair behind you, laughing stupid-style, before slapping your hand onto the keyboard, reestablishing connection. You're no longer sure if you ARE being haunted or not. This shit's blurring the line between Partition and the nightmare hauntings (what with the malachite), you think, but you smiled, reminding yourself to just get used to it, wallowing in a minor serving of defeatism.

>>"Well alright, then, you won't answer the first thing I asked of myself, smug prick. So tell me, are you havin' fun in there?" The hum that flowed through your mind was one that was DEFINITELY smug, outwardly so. Like the AI mind of this complex was teasing you suddenly. You closed your eyes, leaned back in that chair, and asked a second question, too: "Diggin' around for lost history looks like fun to me, at least, but like, is the company good? They seemed kinda... buzzkillish." There'd been a warm feeling, just inside your sternum, that radiated through your chest and made you feel like your lungs had been shaking with laughter.

>>"It's alright, actually, yeah." The voice that responded to you that time... well, it sounded the same in your mind: metallic, wavering, but the tone almost perfectly mirrored your own. "Maybe you'll do it differently? Maybe you'll figure out something else."

>>"Who knows," you both said, in tandem, in the same voice. The moment gave you pause, as if you'd heard your own voice twice, out-loud. When you opened your eyes, your senses were assailed with new surroundings. The sky burns blue-white overhead, sea-salt air and pine-sap fill your nostrils. You've been here for a few hours now, wondering if it sucks that you have to be your own support network like this, or if you should consider yourself lucky.

[andicareaboutyou]

Coming Home (Chapter 11: Your Tears A Sea For Me To Swim In)

Summary: Amy and Kirsten are finally in front of Morag's and Gordon's house. Let's take a look at their emotional state.

Notes: I'm sorry for the major wait, ya'll. I have been a little distracted recently, in all the good ways. But I decided to finally publish this chapter, only half edited I must admit. It is what it is and I hope you'll still like it. I personally struggled with this one, a lot more than I should have, but I hope you won't be (too) disappointed. It's not the end of our story of course, but it's the next step.

Again, I thank you all for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting. It means a lot, as the writers among you will know, and I truly appreciate you taking the time to read my creative outpourings (or trickle these days).

Teaser: “Amy, when I was last here, Morag and Gordon, they mentioned the conversations you’ve been having about custody, and they thought I knew. But you don’t need to say anything. It’s just …”

With a voice, gentle but distant, the words tumbling from Kirsten echo the painful rift in the landscape of their relationship. She can feel Amy’s gaze on her from up the curb – initial shock apparent in Amy’s wide eyes and her gaping mouth. Kirsten can’t help but remember all the times she couldn’t pull her eyes away from Amy’s face, those eyes. But here, now, under the magnifying glass of Amy’s attention, Kirsten just wants to disappear.

Stranded and broken, she steps back from the overwhelming magnetism of Amy Silva, feigning a strength that is little more than a blend of fear and hurt. “Well, it’s just in case it comes up, they know we are not together now.”

They had never verbalized the end of their relationship, neither fully aware of where they stood and where they could go. And now, for the first time, words as heavy as iron chains weigh in the space between.

We. Are. Not. Together. Now.

They say you shouldn’t look back when moving on, but as hard as Kirsten tries to put on a brave front, she cannot find an anchor anywhere else – her eyes are drawn back to the woman in front of her, her reaction, her presence, her love. Kirsten wonders how she will ever truly move on when her every fiber just wants to melt into the stubborn and frightened woman in front of her. How did she ever end up in so vulnerable a state, so lost in the sea of what could have been.

[... Read further on AO3]

[billfarrah]

I’d ask that anon to define ’flat’ and give examples why they think this or that character is cliché in their opinion. Because for me a flat character is a one-sided one, without nuances. A good gooddy or a bad baddy. If YR characters were flat or the events of the series just predictable we wouldn’t still have all those heated conversations on who was more hurt, was Simon right not to say Ily back, whose betrayal was worse, was Linda a good mother, was Christina cruel or reasonable, was Eric a good person …. And I always thought that if a character does what they’re supposed to do due to their background, their personal experience, their revealed thoughts and feelings, it’s called ‘logical’. I hate it when I can’t trace any hints under the reasons of people’s actions, when they do smth just for the sake of plot being original.

I agree. Like I said it’s ultimately a matter of perspective. I think the definition of “flat character” varies depending on who you talk to. Perhaps that person defines it as a character whose actions you can predict. That’s not how I define it. I thought every character had a very multi-faceted personality and their demeanours change based on who they’re interacting with, which is very true to life. I think Wilhelm is the best example; at times he’s crippled by his anxiety and fear but we often physically see him working through it to go after what he wants. He can be silly and giddy in front of the boy he likes but also strong and confident around Simon when he needs to be. Sometimes he’s really emotional and sometimes he’s really horny. He lets things that bother him go if he doesn’t have the energy to deal with it but when he needs to stand up and make a scene, he will. He doesn’t want to use his status to his advantage but he will to protect Simon. He’s vulnerable and strong, sometimes simultaneously. He’s kind at heart but he’s also quite stubborn and can be rude (one of my favourite things about him 😂). He’s a character that has a really strong foundation - he doesn’t necessarily have any issues being as privileged as he is, he just hates the bullshit and fakeness he’s surrounded with and has very little patience for social pretences. He desperately craves things that are real and true, which is why he falls so hard for Simon.

I won’t go into the other characters because I’ll be here all day, but I obviously did not find them flat since I’ve been here talking about them for the past year 💀 so I’m not really the right person to complain about the characters being flat to haha

Not finding the characters interesting personally is one thing, but I don’t think it’s really fair to call them flat when it’s so clear the writers and directors put a lot of work into creating them and their relationships. I think if you think about the characters enough, it becomes clear they’re not one-note. I genuinely do believe YR needs to be watched several times to fully grasp what the story is trying to say; not because it’s so genius that people miss it but because the story is quite jam packed in a very short time span and it’s very easy to get distracted by the plot and miss things, and there’s also just a lot of really cool little, subtle details.

Anyway, people can think the characters are flat. Everyone experiences things differently, but I would encourage them to look a bit deeper. But not everyone analyses a series with a monocle or magnifying glass like us freaks haha

[dj-of-the-coven]

Lost My Fear of Falling

The other day, @purplelea14​ sent me a cool fic they wrote and it made me so happy that I went insane and stayed up a whole night to write something in return. Here are ~2,800 words of my finest BeatNeku fluff, fueled by pure, concentrated gay yearning. Whatever the yearning equivalent of essential oil is, this is it. Don’t drink essential oils if you don’t want to die and likewise don’t read this fic if you can’t handle yearning so unbelievably, insufferably drawn out for a one-shot that it’d make a tiktok junkie have a heart attack. Fic under the cut.

Neku was never meant to see this much of him.

He hadn’t thought that letting Neku in would mean splitting himself in half---that falling for somebody was just as much about being caught as it was feeling the plummet. Under the magnifying glass of Neku’s eyes, his heart cracked open like a geode, raw, jagged, and red, and with every cut he’d received from trying to claw it shut, Neku had just taken his arms and wiped away the blood, murmuring soft reassurances in his ears the whole time.

“Nothing you do could ever make you a burden to us,” Neku told him, nuzzling his face so gently into Beat’s neck, and the words themselves felt taboo; he was almost loathe to hear them for how much they made his chest tight with things too shameful to put a name to. “Not to Rhyme, not to the Twisters, and not to me.”

The fall was what was supposed to be scary, he thought. He was supposed to be afraid of the height ahead of him that was threatening to break his bones, but he found he couldn’t care less about his body’s survival, in the end. All he could think about was how he was bare for the first time in his life, even when he was standing at the edge of a cliff.

He tipped over the edge in slow motion.

It wasn’t falling that scared him.

Beat fell through movie dates and late night conversations, through in-jokes and shared playlists and hot bowls of ramen on cold, rainy nights. Neku was a beautiful person to fall for, he couldn’t help but think---his hair was smooth as water to card through, and his skin was soft as silk to the touch. Neku’s blue, blue eyes were like jewels, but more precious, and his heart was something so unbelievably warm and delicate to hold.

Being gifted it was the hardest thing he’d ever had to come to terms with. Beat didn’t trust himself not to break it in his clumsy fingers, but Neku believed in him like a tree believed in rain: the fact of the matter was that he couldn’t have gotten this far if Beat didn’t already do what he was needed for. Or so Neku told him while they were lying together under thick winter blankets, moving slowly closer to each other, reaching across oceans of fabric and fluffy pajamas to feel the heat of the other’s skin on the palm of their hands. When Beat slid his fingers under Neku’s shirt, inching up his spine with just the pads trailing over each vertebra, on a whim he pressed his hand flat against Neku’s back. And that was the first time he felt the rhythm of his soul, his heart, beating against him.

It just... made him break.

The first tears fell from his eyes before he could stop them, and Neku made a concerned sound, a small, meek thing, that had them falling even faster. Neku panicked, but Beat just pulled him in, shoving his face in the heat-soaked fleece of his sleeping shirt as he let the tears come, wave after wave, trembling against him until he had nothing left to give.

Neku whispered to him through all of it.

“Beat, you’re not going to break me,” he insisted, holding him through the sobs with a steady hand. “I don’t know who made you so scared that you would. But I’m telling you; I’m not afraid. You’ve never been anything but gentle.”

And truthfully, he wasn’t just scared of hurting Neku; He was terrified by the prospect, practically heart-stricken with a sick, roiling nausea if he even thought about it. But Neku’s words of comfort were powerful, and he had a hard time giving into the dark thoughts with a light so brilliant embracing him from every side.

He still didn’t understand why Neku was letting him have access to the parts of him that were breakable in the first place---why he was allowed to weave his arms around his thin, fragile body and touch him so indulgently, so reverently that it had them both quivering by the mark of a few minutes. There was even a time that he’d had Neku panting against his neck, when Beat had been overwhelmed by the soft kisses that they’d been exchanging in the lamplight, and he’d had to rest himself against Neku in a bid not to swoon, all boneless and happy and utterly, completely in love. Nobody ever told him that love would make him so hungry, that even when he was shivering and oversensitive that all he would want was to put his lips back on Neku’s and hear him whimper Beat’s name, again and again and again. 

He didn’t understand why he was allowed it, but losing it now that he had it would be devastating. Beat didn’t think he could have the memory of Neku’s kiss and not be able to repeat it at the nearest possible convenience, whether that be in an alleyway or a phone booth or against the graffiti-lined walls of Udagawa. Restraint just wasn’t something Beat had much of to spare, and he imagined the fallout would tear him apart, being so close to something he wanted that he was never allowed to have again. He’d drive himself insane with the sheer desire to make Neku’s heart beat faster under his palm.

So, if vulnerability was painful and love was terrifying, you’d think that falling in love was the scariest thing someone could come up with---you had to be vulnerable in order to fall, and falling inevitably meant landing somewhere. It was impossible not to encounter pain during the process.

But, from what Beat could tell, the pain was less like broken knuckles and battered shins, and more like a bearable, dull throb in the back of his head that was only felt when something happened to remind him of the injury. The pain of love was knowing that he could never take away everything that would hurt Neku; that no matter what he did, the lingering touch of Shinjuku would always have its cold, dead fingers in Neku’s relationships with others. Beat couldn’t stop him from ever having nightmares again, but he could hold him through them, and that, Neku always said, was more than enough.

Love was painful because it was so fundamentally vulnerable to bear his whole being to someone else, and to be expected to handle that responsibility in return. Except, the vulnerability came with something Beat never could’ve imagined before he’d stripped himself of all pretenses: it came with the possibility of someone taking the softest parts of him and immersing them in bliss, in comfy sweaters and cups of green tea while they watched a movie, in the sweetest, shiest kisses to ask that he be safe on his morning skate around the block. And it was the easiest thing in the world to look at Neku’s insecurities---his low weight, his utter lack of muscle definition, his gap of knowledge in three whole years of world events---and love him for them all the more.

There was something that felt profound in Beat making Neku blush by putting his hands all the way around his waist. If he were more like his sister, he’d come up with an adage by someone properly academic about rose-tinted glasses, but because he was Beat and not Rhyme, the only thing he could think to say was that there was nothing Neku could be that Beat wouldn’t find endearing in some way. He was skinny as hell, and not a damn thing in the world could stop Beat’s heart from rabbiting in his chest when he saw him. Neku was a skeleton of a man and Beat was a very lovesick werewolf.

When you come to have a relationship like that with somebody, Beat thought it was pretty inevitable to sync, even outside of the UG. And the thing that pushed them over the edge---all it took to trigger the thing he’d been so afraid of---was for them to be on a walk together late at night, when it was raining hard enough to rattle the overhangs of every shop they passed.

They’d been under the same umbrella, just observing the sights, when Neku, shivering up a storm, suddenly suggested that they stop inside the Hachiko Plaza phone booth just for long enough that he could warm up a little. Beat, worried that Neku might be on the track to catching a cold, had ushered him inside and quickly taken Neku into his arms, wrapping his hoodie around his sides so they could share Beat’s body heat.

Neku’s arms snaked around him underneath the jacket, holding him gently, softly, like it was Beat who was the one with practically hollow bones that were in danger of being snapped by an overzealous hug. Still, it had his heart thumping, and pressed so close to Neku, Beat could feel his doing the same.

“Mm. You’re warm,” Neku murmured against him, sighing into his chest and snuggling a little closer. “This is so nice that I could just kiss you right now.”

Fighting the urge to beg, Beat coughed out a stiff “Can I, yo?”

Neku just laughed, and then their lips were meeting, Beat’s heart erupting into an erratic pulse despite the slow, soothing care with which Neku gently sucked Beat’s lower lip into his mouth.

And suddenly their hearts were in perfect tune.

He tried to draw away, but it was too late---the sync activated, soaking the both of them in a golden pulse of light, and Beat could feel Neku’s emotions slot perfectly alongside his own, their bodies almost merging together entirely for one split second before spitting them back out again.

It was one of the singular most intense moments of his existence. For a second, he could feel Neku feeling him, their minds looping together in an infinite feedback of I love him, I love him, I love him.

There. That was the thing Beat had been so scared to experience, the joining of their hearts together, where Neku would be able to see every last bit of him that he hadn’t yet laid out for him to look at. Where he could be disgusted by Beat’s complete lack of a functioning brain or any higher thought mechanisms, look at the ugly pieces of Beat that harbored jealousy for Rhyme and his hopeless, chaotic despair over what he’d done to her over the course of his life, letting her die without being smart enough to fix it, and watching it happen again.

Neku must’ve seen all of it, the way he’d seen what Neku considered to be his own worst moments flashing through his mind with the same lightning speed he’d gone through everything else in his partner’s head: Neku almost killing Shiki, Neku refusing to be friendly with Beat and Rhyme when they’d first met, Neku going through endless running cycles of hating Joshua and tolerating him and being scared shitless by the thought of him being his murderer. The moments just kept piling up, showing every time Neku hadn’t reached out to Beat when he was a reaper, every time he made a move that put Shiki’s life in danger, every moment standing alone in a dead city that he regretted not telling his friends how much they meant to him.

He came to the sickening realization that Neku hated himself the same way that Beat hated himself.

But when Beat looked at it all, he couldn’t see any of those as things that made him a bad person---when he’d made most of those mistakes, he was just a kid. Beat couldn’t look at fifteen-year-old Neku with the same lens he would look at the calm, soft-spoken adult Neku he was holding in his arms, because making any kind of comparison between the two would be disingenuous. Everybody went through a learning curve in their teen years, even if Neku’s was more volatile than most. And besides all that, Neku was so much more than a few dumb things he’d done as a teenager. Neku was... he was the best thing to ever happen to Beat.

He hoped that Neku knew that, if his whole tripping-over-himself-in-love thing hadn’t quite been made clear yet.

Luckily, there was still an abundance of good things that Neku had poured into Beat’s mind as well. There were hangouts with the Twisters and coffee shop visits with Shiki, visions of gorgeous city skylines and the best curry in the world at a little shop in Dogenzaka.

Just before Beat’s stomach was about to drop in horror, not seeing anything of himself in there, he suddenly flushed scarlet when his head was inundated with just about everything they’d ever done together after making it to the RG: growing close over the course of months, sleeping over at each other’s places, Beat inviting Neku to stay with him, eventually moving into the same room when they became a couple. There was day after day after day of them waking up together and falling asleep together, holding hands out on the town, showing each other stupid things on their phones, and of course, a billion stolen kisses that he was surprised Neku could remember the context of.

It was a lot.

But it looked like Neku was having it a lot worse.

When Beat looked down to meet his eyes, Neku was shaking, blinking like he was trying desperately not to cry.

“How long?” Neku said, and Beat could only tighten his fists.

“I always been stupid, yo. It ain’t dat new.”

Appalled, Neku shook his head, a small, frustrated growl coming from the back of his throat. “No, Beat. How long have you thought---thought that I would hate you, if this happened?”

That had to be a rhetorical question. Neku knew from syncing that Beat had been afraid of this possibility since they got together, knowing it was only a matter of time before his feelings grew too large to keep contained in his body, or even in this plane of reality.

Before Beat could say anything, a fist without any force behind it came down on Beat’s chest. “Beat, you stupid asshole,” he mumbled. “I love you. You know that means I understand you aren’t perfect, right?”

“I... I know I ain’t all I crack myself up ta be.”

“That’s not what that means. Beat, it means I know you make mistakes sometimes.”

Neku brought up a hand and started counting off with his fingers.

“You’re stubborn, you’re hotheaded, you’re clumsy, most complicated vocabulary goes right over your head, and you have such abysmal self esteem it makes me want to put you in a glass jar and shake you around until you’re dizzy.”

Beat blinked.

“This supposed to make me feel better, yo?”

“Shut up. What I’m trying to say is that I know all of that---but Beat, I’m still in love with you. Desperately,” he said, and he pretend-hit Beat again, this time even weaker. “It’s not fair for you to love me so,” he swallowed, “so much and not let me love you back. You’re such a dick.”

And that was when it occurred to him. Really, the answer had been so simple this whole time.

Beat realized that there was no starting point or ending point to falling in love. He’d already been some measure of gone for Neku before he’d ever shown the cracks in his armor, and if he was already in love, then really, he had no point at which he could distinguish a stop in the fall.

He was still falling, all the time, every day, every kiss, deeper and deeper with no end in sight. It was terrifying and exhilarating and wonderful all at once---and it was worth it. Because it was Neku he was falling with, holding his hand in the sky as they tumbled past clouds and never-ending skyscrapers. 

“Ya love me,” Beat sighed, a dreamy smile finding its way to his face. “Neku. He loves me.”

“Of course I do,” he grumbled.

“An’ I love you too,” Beat whispered, like a promise, grabbing Neku’s hand and bringing it to his lips to give his palm a soft, lingering kiss.

The blush that spread across his partner’s face was the kind of thing they wrote poetry about. He was so beautiful, his red hair still shimmering with rainy mist, one arm buried in Beat’s jacket because he was cold and his first instinct when that happened was to come to Beat for warmth. 

“...Even though you stole my last clean shirt dis mornin’,” Beat joked, and Neku made a show of rolling his eyes before leaning in to kiss him properly.

[vamp-orwave]

Her Favourite Worst Nightmare

III - Fugato

In Anne’s experience, Reverend Ward never made a secret of his displeasure. Perhaps it was the key to controlling his Beast; to let his Wrath trickle out slowly rather than damming it until it swells into a drowning flood. I’ll never learn to be so bold, she lamented. The Reverend took another long look at the newcomer over his thick-rimmed glasses before she disappeared down the stairs.

“Astounding, the kind of trash that washes up on our shores,” he muttered, to nods of general agreement from his fellow Sanctified.

Anne found his assessment somewhat harsh – after all, he hadn’t seen what she had – but it made sense to her that a Ventrue of his years would have to be a good judge of character. Besides, deciding who among the Damned to trust was about survival, and survival was more important than tolerance. No doubt she feels the same way about us.

“So then,” murmured Abigail – the paper-thin blonde in arsenic green to Anne’s left. “What did Beaufort have to say?”

Without so much as excusing himself, Reverend Ward took Abigail’s arm, leading his childe away to have that conversation privately. The rest of their small group splintered off to mingle.

Anne watched them go, reminding herself of her place to alleviate the sting of being ditched. You should be used to this by now, silly girl. It was Kindred nature to keep everything close to one’s chest. She felt the urge to don the Cloak of Night and eavesdrop unseen, but there were Mekhet in the room; she couldn’t risk her misbehaviour being witnessed by someone who might hold it over her head.

Alice Redman, in particular, seemed to see too much lately. Anne peered over at the lingering cluster of Carthians in the corner to note that indeed, she was already being watched. She felt like an insect under a magnifying glass. How unfair that both our clans are gifted with Obfuscate, but only hers with Auspex. There were times that Anne had prayed to know what was going through someone’s mind. But then, there were many more times when her own imagination was more than enough.

Abandoning her place by the grandfather clock, Anne found a seat on a lonely couch that conveniently put a large floral vase between her and her observer, and scooped Johann out from the pocket of her argyle cardigan. The plump, white rat chirped lovingly in her hand. She rubbed his tiny chin with her thumb as she searched for his brother. At her insistent call, Sebastian poked his black, furry nose out of her patchwork leather handbag and sniffed. With a warm smile, she stuck out her palm, and he began to climb her sleeve.

At least with these two, she was never without company. Perhaps Animalism was a better gift than Auspex after all.

Sebastian, clinging to her shoulder with tiny claws, began to lick greedily at a spot of dried blood on her bandages. Anne swiftly redirected him, plopping him down onto the lap of her long grey skirt to play with Johann. More soon, I promise, she chittered, adjusting the gauze of her bandages against her cheek. They itched terribly, but without them, her best white blouse would be stained red and yellow by the purulent Vitae leaking from the many huge, open sores that warped her face. It was a cruel twist of the Nosferatu curse that magnified tenfold the insecurities she still carried from chronic acne in life. Laundry aside (which was already a losing battle for anyone who spent as much time underground), Anne wasn’t ready to face the disgust that her naked visage could elicit in the other Clans. Most of the time, it was better not to be noticed at all.

Isn’t that right, babies? She tickled Johann and Sebastian’s monochrome bellies to a chorus of approving squeaks. True, true! They told her. Hidden is safe!

It appeared, however, as though the wisdom of rodents was wasted on some. Desmond Kale, for example, burst through the door of Elysium and begun tracking wet footprints along the fine rugs and hardwood floor. Shedding blades of grass, he hastened over to Kostya and Carsten, who were quietly chatting by the cedar chiffonier.

Anne was wary of the Circle at the best of times. To the Lancea Sanctum, they were heathens; unrepentant sinners who corrupt and tempt mortal souls away from their salvation, subverting their God-given role instead of just denying it. There had been centuries of war between the two Covenants, and yet Desmond had never been anything but nice to her. Kostya Maksivinivich bore his monstrous cruelty as plainly as the skull that adorned his face, but as her Sire and Priscus, he’d always treated her fairly. For that, he had her respect.

Desmond began to speak excitedly to his fellow Acolyte. Carsten Sobels watched and listened, silent as always. The Ordo Dracul were heretics of a different sort, she'd been told – turning their blasphemy inward in an attempt to improve upon God's design – but Anne felt godliness in Carsten. Clanmate and confidant both, it was his unwavering kindness and generosity that gave her the strength to rise every sunset.

Perhaps this was one conversation where she wouldn't be unwelcome – but the time to find out had already passed.

Duke Penthièvre reappeared from the underground sitting room with Mr. Donovan's guest in tow. Once again, he clapped to draw the room's attention.

"Kindred of the Court," he called out with a glib smile. "As His Excellency’s Harpy, it is my great pleasure to announce that Prince Matthew Beaufort, Viscount of the White Shore, has declared Miss Judith Doulton Acknowledged within the City of Adelaide."

She's staying?

A throng of disquieted murmurs went up. What could someone like her possibly want in the City of Churches, Anne wondered. Over her shoulder, she saw Reverend Ward slip away through the door to the conservatory, fuming, with little mystery as to why. The Lancea Sanctum had done its utmost to maintain order in Adelaide since its founding, and Judith had troublemaker written all over her.

The duke returned to his business as Judith's Firebrand co-conspirators surrounded her to offer their congratulations. She seemed weary, but visibly relieved, punctuating her indistinct speech here and there with a flash of nervous smile. Anne recalled the sight of those stark white fangs – those plush red lips – assaulting the neck of the poor woman in The Rack who endured Judith's 'affections.' She must be a Daeva, she thought bitterly. Temptation is in their blood, and they only Embrace the beautiful.

As though he could smell her deviance, Desmond was drawn to Judith like a bee to honey, and Anne's Clanmates followed. Idly stroking her rats, she watched from afar as the group exchanged introductions and made small talk, occasionally interrupted by short rounds of laughter at the presumably witty repartee. She dreamed of how it would feel to have such a natural charisma; to make a room full of people laugh with her rather than at her.

Suddenly, Kostya gestured across the room at Anne. All seven Kindred turned to stare directly at her. She froze like a deer in headlights. Hidden is safe. She willed her vampiric blood to shroud her in the Cloak of Night, scrunching her eyes shut. When she opened them, they were still looking. Damn it, she cursed herself – how do I keep forgetting to break line of sight? – but her frustration was quickly overcome when, having spent her Vitae in vain, she felt the Hunger rise.

It started as a sickening wave in her chest that crawled up to the back of her throat, demanding more blood. Now. As she wrestled with her Beast, each pair of eyes dropped away, save one. Judith was still staring at her. Not the way one would stare at a cockroach, or a curiosity, but the way that boys at school used to stare when they thought their friends weren't paying attention. It had been a long time since she’d seen that look, but she couldn’t forget it if she tried.

Anne shied away from the Serpent's gaze. She tugged her cardigan closer to cover her ample bust, grateful that she couldn't blush. Her thirst gnawed urgently, demanding action, and distracting her from further unwanted thoughts.

With a resigned sigh, Anne herded Johann and Sebastian into her bag, brushed off her skirt, and rose from the couch to slip from the room. She had to leave Elysium to feed, and to ignore one’s Hunger was to invite disaster. On the off chance she was needed on urgent business, Carsten had her number.

It wasn’t bad timing, all told. She'd had more than her fill of Court for now.

[start] [prev] [next]

[littlestsnicket]

Yenralt! 😍

yenralt!!

can’t put basically canon when they are literally canon!

i almost put “there’s no way this will end well”, but even discounting the games, i don’t really think that’s true. i think they get the time and space they need to make things work in the end. and they’ve earned it by the end. in the books, even though i was deeply interested in them from the beginning, i did have to go on something of a journey with them before i wanted them to end well (the way they are in all of the sword of destiny short stories is just so much of so many things, all of which i want to put under a magnifying glass and study but not all things i like in a more visceral sense).

i’ve been (re)reading sword of destiny, and i cannot stop thinking about geralt and yennefer’s conversation in a shard of ice, and like… geralt doesn’t believe yennefer loves him (he literally says as much in a little sacrifice) and yennefer doesn’t believe geralt will still love her if she acts like she likes him because what else could her speech about the thawing ice queen possibly mean. and then yennefer’s feelings about how dandelion sings about the two of them in blood of elves. i just… them. i cannot possibly hope to articulate how they make me feel.

[sheppyscribbles]

The Grand Bijoutier

"Come talk with me, young healer." The old man beckoned to Justin with a gnarled hand that clinked and rattled under the weight of its many jewelled rings; it trembled almost as much as his quavering voice, but his eyes were still bright amethysts honed to sharp points. "I think perhaps a conversation with you would bear much fruit."

By this point in his journeys, Justin reflected, he should have learned to expect the unexpected in everything, but the Grand Bijoutier of the Crystal Gnosis Society was still a surprise. The enigmatic advisor to the Imperator of Kholarthal, the official who had personally demanded the head of Prince Justin Himmelgarten, turned out to be a tottering old man vaguely encrusted in minerals - even his walking stick was a long, spindly piece of crystal that clacked unsettlingly against the marble floors of the Society's home office. Still, even hunched over with age, the Bijoutier was taller than Justin, and his halting steps were still full of purpose as he led the young man into a private chamber lined with bookshelves and stained glass windows. The furniture was dappled with myriad colors of light, and the whole room seemed just a bit detached from anything reassuring.

"Now then, young healer." The door swung shut behind them, and the Bijoutier planted his walking stick firmly enough that the tip sank into the marble and dislodged a chip or two. "I couldn't help but overhear your idle prattle about miracles earlier." He adjusted the magnifiers on the right lens of his glasses, and the amethysts snapped into sharper focus.

"Ah, er … y-yes, sir, ah … Your Grace." Justin fidgeted with the hem of his robe. "M-my apologies, I meant no offense to this house of reason …"

"None taken, ah hah." The corners of the old man's mouth softened into a half-smile. "Commander Sidaris has informed me that you are from a rather … secluded locale, are you not? Hardly surprising that such a place would hold fast to the less enlightened ideas of the past. Nonetheless, I would … exhort you to reconsider these provincial beliefs of yours, and perhaps lay them aside fondly as a man puts away his childhood toys. Surely you have seen that a pacified world such as this has little need of gods."

"… pacified, Your Grace? I'm … not sure I understand."

"The Prime Crystals, you see." The Grand Bijoutier gestured, and a small chest on a nearby shelf came unlocked and spilled forth its contents: eight little crystals, inch-tall likenesses of the massive Primes in their various strongholds around the world. Another gesture, and they floated over to him, lazily spinning in a glowing circle around his hand. "Without their regulating influence, the elemental energies of Aïn would roil about in a miasma of chaos and conflict, reacting uncontrollably and causing untold destruction in all lands. But each of the Primes is attuned to one element, pulling the energies of that element unto itself. Earth and Air, Fire and Water, Electricity and Ice, Light and Shadow … four pair of clashing forces, gently separated and pulled to opposite sides of the planet, subjugated and controlled for the benefit of all. Hardly a need for divine intervention, now is there?"

"I suppose not …"

"It follows, then, that what some might call a 'miracle' is simply the working of a great act of magic by someone with a sufficiently strong and desperate will. Much more reasonable, wouldn't you say?"

Justin's shoulders slumped. "Y-yes sir."

"Good lad." Another smile, and the Grand Bijoutier turned to open the door once more. "Now, shall we rejoin your company?"

[byemizumikahago]

Is it possible for the victims who received explicit material from mizumi while underaged to file a police report or take legal action? If so, I strongly suggest it.

I got this question a while ago, and I've been thinking about it ever since. I thought about how to respond, but I never could think of the right way to say this. I knew if I said something too positive that, if the eventual outcome wasn't as good as I promised it'd be, it would've gotten people's hopes up for no reason, and just causes more hurt than good.

On the flipside, however, I knew that if I said something too negative, it would probably just make a lot of people pretty depressed. And it'd probably discourage people from ever trying to take action, or make things better, because "what's the point if it's just gonna be a fruitless effort in the end?"

I thought about just not answering this ask for a while, but I also thought that I should answer, because this brings up an important conversation topic about online predators and how shitty our real world laws are at protecting victims/preventing online crimes from targeting minors.

So, even though this is gonna be a hard pill to swallow, it's important to be realistic and talk about these issues properly, instead of just sweeping the implications this ask actually has under the rug.

So, my answer to, "Can the victims who received explicit material from mizumi while underaged file a police report or take legal action?" is...

No.

Okay, well, technically, yes, the victim can PHYSICALLY go to the police and report it, but my point is that, even if they did, that doesn't mean it'll fix everything. If anything, depending on the context, it could make everything worse. Or (since that scenario I presented is kind of an extreme, and again, don't wanna be too negative), if the victim brought this to the police, the case would most likely be dismissed on the spot. There are also a number of other factors for why taking this online issue to real life wouldn't help, is that;

1: From the few conversations I've had with the victim, their main, primary concern is maintaining anonymity. They seem to just want to put this whole situation behind them, and focus on healing from this experience. They gave me permission to talk about what mizumi did to them, but requested to be completely anonymous.

If this case was ever taken to court, like, actual court, with a Judge and a Jury and lawyers and the public, the victim's anonymity would disappear. Their face would be seen by everyone, and whatever sense of security they had would be gone. Everyone, like their friends, family, classmates, and random people on the street would know them as "that online grooming victim". The label will stick with them wherever they go, and it'll be all anyone can ever see them as.

Also, if mizumi was sent a notice stating that she had to appear in court as the defendant (either in person or by video call), the victim's personal info, like their full name, will be on that notice. And I don't think I need to go into depth on how terribly that'd go.

2: There's the issue of cross-country laws affecting the ability of this report to be taken seriously. Mizumi and the victim both live in different countries, and both have different age of consent laws, and both ALSO have a ton of holes/loopholes that can be exploited, or have to be closely looked into with a magnifying glass to read between the lines. Your local police officer-receptionist, who is working long hours on their depressing job and is constantly tired, isn't gonna bother to investigate the laws of a different country to determine whether this case is suitable for court or not. They're just gonna say "Ah, it's a different country, the culture is different there, the laws are different there, get over yourself kid, and stop wasting my time with this bs"

3: This incident happened a year ago, back in January of 2022. It is nearly the end of 2023, so it's been a little while since this incident took place. To anyone with a brain, you'd be thinking "Okay, sure, it happened nearly 2 years ago now, but that time-gap doesn't mean anything! It should still be looked at in court! The perpetrator has gotten off scot-free for two years, that means the time to act is now, before it's too late!" And I would 100% agree with you, but unfortunately, the people-in-power, who decide what should be taken to court and what shouldn't, do think that this time-gap means something.

In a post from Rainn.org, they state that, statistically, out of every 1,000 sexual assault cases, 975 of the perpetrators will walk free. And, while researching, I came across the Statute of Limitations; it states that there's a time limit to report a sex crime, and it's appliable to most places in the US. It comes from the belief that the sooner you don't report, the less evidence there will be, so there's no point in reporting at all after the fact.

Also, to add onto the un-likelyhood of this report ever being taken as a serious case, the examples I showed you were all from IRL cases of sexual assault. This incident took place online, where there is less physical evidence of the crime taking place. This video series is from the youtuber Illymation, who was a victim of an adult online predator sending sexually charged messages to her when she was a minor, herself. At one point, she talks about her experience with bringing this issue to the police, and how her case was not at all considered seriously before being tossed out. This is just one example from one person about how the justice system screwed them over. But go onto someplace like AskReddit, and you'll find HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS of people sharing their experiences just like this.

So, yeah. Filing a police report about this mizumi incident not only has a statistically low chance of actually leading somewhere, but may actually put the victim in more danger than not.

So, what does this mean? Is there no point in trying to stop these types of things from happening? Will justice never be served? Will mizumi walk away scott-free, with no consequences, ready and willing to pull something like this again?

Well, personally, I don't think it has to end as depressingly as that. In fact, I don't think it should EVER end like that. I think there's still a way to both not take this to court and have an innocent person doxxed, but ALSO make sure mizumi never has the power to exploit another minor again.

Have you heard of the author, VelvateCarnage, of the infamous danganronpa fanfic "Lavender"? Well, he was exposed as being a creep who sent sexual messages to minors, and basically EVERYONE in the fandom knows this. When he was exposed, he deleted all of his social media accounts, and ran away with his tail between his legs. Since then, a group of have been working together to compile all the evidence of his grooming, and multiple screenshots have circulated, showing his true nature.

Now, everyone in the dr fandom knows what a monster he is, and are now on high alert, so whenever he tries to sneak his way back into the fandom, people immediately notice, and chase him out. This ensures that he can't come back to a space with lots of minors, and create even more victims.

I don't see why the same can't happen for mizumi. I think, that if more people knew about what mizumi did, we could ALL work together to kick her out, and make sure she never comes back.

What I'm proposing isn't the most perfect, best, ideal situation. After all, the best place for a child groomer to be is behind bars, but since we, as individuals, don't have a lot of power to change the system, the best we can do is work with what we've got, and come together to stop more incidents like this from happening.

I might write up a post on what exact things fans can do to help, and stop mizumi from creating more victims, so I'll work on that. But for now, thank you for the ask, throwawaycomplique, you raised a very interesting question; one that really made me realize and reconsider what this blog should be about; not just calling out mizumi's behaviour, but actually putting a stop to it, altogether.