#sorry to anybody reading this response read those snippets

[97-liners]

Okay first of all, im defending her because of the content of the fic amd i have personally read it, NOT because she specifically is my friend. And second of all im not asking anyone to become personal friends with authors i didnt even imply that, i mean if ur gonna read an author, looking at gheir page a bit might be helpful but thats optional, now for the last bit if you read the first four paragraphs of a fic and go "oh this isnt for me" then it ISNT for you, dont assume the rest of the fic is bad or it doesnt get better, angst is a genre that exists and it has vsrying levels, just because it isnt for you doesnt mean its disgusting or wrong especially in this context. For example, i like to read angsty fics about dealing with weight issues because of my ed but that doesnt mean its for everyone and it doesnt mean the fic is GLORIFYING anything such as "being skinny" which the fic isnt even about btw

You always go on when people have a counter arguement trying to own them like "oh well this defense train" "oh well your her friend so your biased" i have a working brain dont i ??? I can come to conclusions myself without bias, im coming to you in your asks as a fat person, not as her friend although yes i am going to defend her. If i see bullshit i call it out, if she was in the wrong i wouldve 100% told her that, i think we have talked to each other enough for you to know this about me anyway but all you ever want to do is be in the right about things and blame other people and be self righteous and im kind of sick of defending you for it to my other mutuals but this was definitely the last straw. Slandering people for fics that you personally dislike as opposed to it being ACTUALLY harmful is crossing a pretty big line and this is ridiculous

this entire ask has nothing to do with the previous rant you sent in my inbox or the original anon that was hurt and the subsequent discussions but ok

but since you’re so insistent of me reading the full fic, i did. and i still don’t see how it’s supposed to be an angst fic about overcoming bullying when the entire premise is “i was bullied for being fat, then i lost weight and got really fit and skinny, and now everybody is fawning over me”

this isn’t a “this isn’t for me” reaction, this is a “this is cruel and i feel shitty and ugly reading it” reaction.

from the start, there’s so much emphasis on the contrast between the former self and the better, more attractive and more successful current self. the current self is repeatedly emphasized to be thin and fit.

throughout the entire fic there’s continued references to how attractive both characters are and it’s almost always tied to thinness (eg hoshi’s sharp jaw and muscles)

i understand that maybe this is why you said this is angst about overcoming bullying. but if “overcoming” bullying is you losing a lot of weight and entirely changing your lifestyle and appearance, and “overcoming” is also your former bullies being envious of your success, then that’s a really fucked to message to communicate.

this isn’t a case where writing is bad and i don’t like it, the writing is okay both from a technical standpoint and from a style standpoint. but the content is actively harmful. like, sorry if you can’t see it, or if you think that it’s positive representation of the experience of being bullied. i hope you can overcome that and set healthier expectations.

[lupically]

#FEF5F1 | DILUC RAGNVINDR.

genre | fluff

word count | 1825

warning | none

note | i finally wrote something for my top husbando :’)

it came to you as a surprise that diluc, at all, sleeps.

there has always been this fantasy version of him in your head, a fantasy that lacked the great ideals and bright adventures most fantasy novels you have read consisted of. in contrast, your fantasy of him was insulting and otherworldly at best—someone restricted to the rules, a personality as plain as a dull purple doormat, a total stick in the mud that kills joy at the mere sight of it, an emotionless robot that has no use for human necessity such as the bathing and sleeping.

does diluc even need to consume food? you have literally never seen him eat or drink anything before. has he ever taken off his gloves to pick up a hamburger—oh, archons, you just realized now that you have never seen the skin of his hands before. he always has gloves on! was it to hide something?

"oh, wow," you exclaimed lowly to yourself as you leaned forward to examine the hands of the very annoyed red-haired man before you. your long-term question was finally answered. "fascinating... so you do have hands!"

diluc spared not even a glance toward the limb you were so interestedly staring at. he kept quiet for a moment and peered down at you from his bed, one leg propped up and the other stretched out—a rather awkward position he had no time to get out of after he almost burned you alive for sneaking into his bedroom in the winery.

"what drunk wind blew your incompetent self here?" he asked, ignoring your remarks about his lack of real and human hands. whatever you meant by that? you were always spilling weird things out of your mouth, you might even be worse than venti, he reckoned. 

you glared up at him after hearing his mindless insult. you were only fifty percent sure (which was already a lot in your book!) diluc never actually meant those hurtful words, that they simply fly out of his mouth due to his weird need to make sure everyone around him knew that he leaves no room for unnecessary sentiment. 

being kind blatantly was not his thing, and he has no intention of being applauded for being a decent person. why that was, you couldn't be sure. you had your assumptions, but kaeya turned out far too different than diluc that you weren’t sure if you should put your finger on the assumption. you also didn't dare dive deeper into it because (a) you just weren’t invested enough, and (b) by then, it would be a family business you would hate to indulge yourself with.

"kaeya dared me to take a picture of your sleeping face in exchange for some wine. our good friend, the honorary knight's smaller friend also wanted it as a possible blackmail souvenir," you told him honestly.

diluc immediately murmured something you couldn't quite hear, but he looked more confused than annoyed when he glared down at the mattress of his bed. he grumbled something along the lines of how the roles were definitely reversed. you didn't press further about that.

"if that is what you came here for, your best bet is to leave the way you came," he said after a moment, pointing a cold hand toward his bedroom window. "you're not taking any pictures of me."

you snorted, holding up your kamera and tapping the lenses. “uh, i think i came pretty close to taking a picture of you sleeping, diluc.”

“i had woken up the second you walked through my bedroom door. you could never,” he said.

you hummed under your breath, eyeing him suspiciously. he was probably telling the truth. he barely struggled in surprise when he grabbed your hands in the dark; was it pure luck that he perfectly found where your kamera was on the first try or does diluc secretly has night vision? your guess was as good as the unknown. 

not to mention, he looked normal, just like someone who may be in the know of your intrusion. he appeared grumpy but that was just his normal state. you could barely get him out of a frown even if you pay him, mainly because he wouldn’t need your money, but also because he was stubbornly against smiling, it appeared. 

"you know, i was surprised at first. i didn't know you sleep at all! i always thought you kind of just shut down, or maybe you have stayed awake all your life," you said with a shrug, and when he deadpanned at you, you defensively waved your kamera around. "i'm sorry! i just–you don't strike me as a person who sleeps!"

"so dead, then?" diluc asked calmly, although there was very little calmness in his facial expressions, especially those judgemental eyes of his.

"not dead! just... not really human–" you paused and pressed your lips together, thinking back to what you said to him and realizing that he might have a point. then you turned to him. "you also eat, right?"

“are you leaving or not?” he asked, a hint of flare in his voice that if you looked closely, you may see fire emerging from his body.

being stubborn as ever, and knowing that diluc would never really hurt anybody he knew to be good people, you feigned thoughtfulness for a second. tapping your finger against your chin, you scrunched your nose and shook your head. setting the kamera lumine forcefully had to borrow you between your crossed legs, you flashed him a mischievous grin. 

“no,” you said. “i am getting that picture out of you!”

“like i said,” he said, “you will never.”

“fine! then i guess i will just have to sit here and wait for you to fall asleep on me,” you said, slapping your hand down on his soft mattress. “don’t try to force me out of here! i will make it way worse for you!”

diluc furrowed his brows, wondering if you meant what you said. when his questioning gaze couldn’t get even an ounce of budge from you, he could only sigh in frustration. if you planned to sit on his bed until he doze off, then you would definitely make it worse if he tries to dump you out of his bedroom through whatever means you could.

he may be a skilled swordsman and a vision bearer, but unfortunately, he was not immune to bullshits from the likes of you.

diluc closed his eyes to savor the tiniest bit of sleep he managed to get before he heard your extra loud footsteps creeping around his room. he was supposed to get a good night's sleep, which was something he hasn't had in a while because of all the business schedules and his side vigilante job.

he was supposed to rest tonight, and there came you.

there always comes you.

dilly-dally, unpredictable, the epitomie of 'knights of favonius... always so inefficient,' letting klee out of solitary confinement and causing a ruckus amongst the responsible adults kind of irresponsible, has paid for his wine at least a zero number of time kind of broke, and was just always here to ruin his mood at the tavern every single day. 

most of the time, diluc thought about you in a negative light, much like he did with everyone around him and the entirety of the knights of favonius. but there was a version of you in his head that painted you as somebody different—somebody respectful, somebody worth keeping around...

somebody he likes, perhaps.

after all, joy was never prevalent in his life. it used to be, but that was a past he has long forgotten the details of. even if he wanted to remember them now, he could only remember snippets that wouldn’t guarantee him a good nostalgia. he may just end up feeling worse at the end. the only constant influx of distraction he has now seemed to be either you or venti, and with the godly bard as his other option, he would much rather choose you. 

but it was not because that venti was too hard to confine in. you were just as hard to talk about problems with considering your optimism and fickle attitude. 

what diluc wanted was permanence; a train that never stops, a bottle of wine that continuously refills, dandelions that do not stop flying even after it reaches celestia. and venti was too understanding and abstract to be one. as interesting of a character he may be, venti knew when to leave people alone. or, occasionally, he just cared too little. after all the city of mondstadt didn’t lack a god because he was responsible. 

you, though. diluc could never pinpoint if you were as dense as you appeared to be, or if you did know how to read the room and simply chose to ignore it, but you never leave people alone. you never left him alone; you unknowingly pick a petty one-sided argument with him all the time, you get drunk at the tavern and somehow has never let anybody take you home but him, you barge into his bedroom in the middle of the night because of some stupid dare his brother made you do and you still refuse to leave despite being sleepy.

you give him a way out, whether he likes it or not.

arms crossed in front of his chest, he deadpanned as he watched your head drop lower and lower to the mattress. soon enough, you were snoring away on his bed with the gadget discarded by your feet. he watched you in silence, your cheek smushed against the surface and the intensity you always radiated lessening from your body. you looked normal now; not energetic, not talkative. just sleeping peacefully, the way he always made sure you were after carrying you home. 

diluc’s heart was finally softening under the knowledge that nobody was watching him anymore. the pessimistic monster that often emerges from him was still here, but in the face of you, it has painted itself pink and it has forgotten vengeance and retribution. in the face of you, it has been dragged out from the death it once laid and became forgiven. 

carefully laying your head down on the pillow, diluc draped the blanket over your shoulder to tuck you into his bed. after making sure you were fine and well, he placed the kamera on the desk in the room, somewhere visible you could find once you wake up, and he left for one of the guest rooms in the mansion. 

tonight was the first time in a while when he has forgotten about all the problems he’s had. something that wasn’t about wine, the family business, or the abyss order. it wasn’t the rest he wanted, perhaps it was hardly any rest at all, but he was glad he got to think about something else.

of course, diluc would never tell you that.

[kingonafiftymetreroad]

Snippet Sunday ☀️

Ahh thank you @zanniscaramouche for tagging me to do this! I loved reading your snippet. This is from a newly started fic for an upcoming fest! I decided last minute to change it to girl larry so enjoy 😅

Since sunday is basically over feel free to do a last line instead of a whole snippet if you’d like! If you’ve done this I’m sorry, you can ignore lol I think i’ll tag @fournipplesau @kingsofeverything @hershelsue @lululawrence @disgruntledkittenface & anybody else who would like to 💖

“Hi,” the woman says, deep pink lips spread into an adorable smile. Her white sunglasses take up half her face, covering her eyes, but they fit her well and Louis can’t help her own shy smile in response.

Fuck, she’s gorgeous, and Louis really wants to run her fingers through those curls. Maybe take a swim with her. Kiss her a bit under the stars.

It’s such an invading thought that Louis shakes her head before replying. “Uh, hey.” Louis’ lips twitch with another smile and she nods, wishing she knew where her sunglasses disappeared to.

“Louis, right? ‘M Harry, Anne’s daughter. Nice to finally meet you.” The woman - Harry - steps closer and extends her hand.

Louis’ breath catches in her throat. She shuffles the basket to her other hand and shakes Harry’s. Her skin is soft but her shake is firm, and Louis can smell the sunscreen Harry must’ve recently put on. “Hey, yeah. Louis Tomlinson. Nice to meet you as well. Anne talks about you sometimes. Wasn’t sure when the famous daughter would finally come to visit.”

Harry chuckles, hiccuping a bit. Louis notices the tall pink beverage with a straw and a little umbrella in her hand. She scrunches up her lips to try and prevent a smile, though she’s sure Harry sees right through it since she bites her lip to hold in another giggle.

[kawaiikichi]

Were We? (Saiou Week Day 7)

@saiouweek

Surprise, surprise, I actually managed to write something for Saiou Week! I feel like it could also fall under the prompt “Past Life” for Day 2 but because the past life in this references to them during the killing game and their present life is something completely different, I decided to just post it under free day.

I hope you all like it! :D

Title: Were We?

Prompt: Shuichi’s Birthday or Free Day

Summary: Shuichi has spent over three hundred years as a Grim Reaper, roaming the streets of Tokyo and leading deceased souls to the afterlife. One day, he runs into a purple-haired male whom he has seen in his dreams and it makes him feel emotions he hasn’t felt in god knows how long.

One-Shot Notes: Inspired by the Kdrama Goblin with Shuichi as the Grim Reaper and Kokichi as Sunny; their past life is them in the killing game while their present life is with Shuichi as the grim reaper and Kokichi as a human

Warnings: A sprinkling of angst, NDRV3 spoilers; read at your own risk!

Read on under the cut!

Shuichi walked along the sidewalk, the crisp autumn breeze ruffling his black hair and making his long, black trench coat flutter with each step he took. He stuffed his leather glove-clad hands into his pockets, hoping to warm them as he walked to his destination.

He had no souls to collect and take back to his tea shop until the afternoon, so he decided to take a walk and get himself some coffee before heading to the first accident that was supposed to take place. He also wanted to get away from Rantaro, the immortal goblin that he’s been rooming with as of late. His singing was obnoxious, anyway.

Upon arriving at the coffee shop he frequented, he was met with the warm and comforting smell of baked sweets and freshly brewed coffee. The barista at the counter greeted him, a wide smile on his face. Shuichi greeted him in response as he grabbed for an empty medium-sized cup.

“Americano with no sugar and no cream, correct?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’s correct. You know me well, Naegi-kun.” Shuichi told him.

“Well, you come here so often that I know your order by now!” Makoto slid a small plate with a cream cheese danish on it across the counter. “Here’s your danish as well, Saihara-kun.” he said.

“Thank you.” Shuichi replied.

After paying, he went to sit at the window bar. He nibbled on his danish as he watched passerbys walk the streets. He let his mind wander, and just like it usually did, it went to a male whose face he was unable to see.

Recently, Shuichi has been having dreams involving him. They always took place in what the grim reaper assumed to be a school, but it gave off prison vibes and it rubbed Shuichi the wrong way. But what happened between him and the male in that prison-esque school building could only be summarized as eventful and fun.

The male seemed to be a pain in the ass at times, lying all the time and pulling pranks on other people that were at the school, but the times they spent together were nice. They played games in the dining hall, hid away together in the casino, and read books in the basement library until they fell asleep on each other, blankets wrapped around each other with the male’s head on his shoulder and his head resting against the male’s.

These dreams were filled with happiness and love confessions whispered against each other’s lips as they pressed against each on the couch in the AV room, the film they were watching long forgotten. The Shuichi in those dreams was overjoyed and he looked at the male in his arms with love, which confused the grim reaper when he woke up from that particular dream.

Never in his three hundred years of life had he felt such an emotion so raw and passionate.

Fueled by his curiosity, he looked forward to these dreams. He wondered about how the Shuichi in his dreams interacted with this male he was dating and if these two were able to get out of the school that held them captive and away from the black and white robotic bear that played them like a fiddle in this killing game they were thrown into, living happily ever after.

But what the grim reaper dreamed of last night was anything but nice. In fact, it resembled a nightmare. Everything was smeared in darkness and steeped in the pungent, coppery scent of blood. There was mourning over the execution of a guy named Gonta, whose heart was made of gold and who wouldn’t dare hurt a fly (literally). There was screaming, shouting, tears, and words that pierced through the heart like sharpened blades and spilled blood everywhere without mercy, the dream eventually ending with images of a bloodied hydraulic press.

The way the dream ended last night unsettled Shuichi. Those images were still fresh in his mind as he took a sip from his Americano. Bitterness coated his taste buds, but it wasn’t the pleasant kind that he was accustomed to. Instead, it made his nose crinkle and his body tense from the intensity of it.

He didn’t bother finishing this coffee this time and wolfed down his danish before heading out, hoping that the subtle sweetness would overpower the bitterness that lingered in his mouth.

He eventually found himself strolling along a bridge, which seemed unusually quiet for a Monday morning. Well, save for a nearby jewelry booth that he spotted out of the corner. His eyebrow twitched.

Is that even allowed? he asked himself.

He shook his head, clicking his teeth before sighing.

“Whatever. It doesn’t concern me.” he said.

He started to walk past the booth when the owner of the booth called out to him.

“Hey, Mister Handsome in Black!” a chirpy voice called out.

Shuichi came to a stop, wanting nothing more than to tap on his watch and disappear from her sight.

Can’t anybody let me be in peace today? he wondered to himself.

He shot a glance at the owner, who turned out to be a girl in her twenties with wavy black hair and sparkling amber eyes. Her red lips pulled upward into a smile.

“Are you in need of some new accessories?” she asked.

Shuichi turned his body more, lowering his gaze to the sparkling jewelry and then up to the girl, who continued to beam at him.

“These kinds of accessories aren’t my style.” he told her.

Besides, you can tell at first glance that they’re cheap ripoffs of the real thing, his mind supplied for him.

This only made her giggle.

“Oh, no worries! Then, you could get one for your girlfriend. I’m sure it’ll please her very much.” she said.

“I don’t swing that way.” Shuichi told her.

She blinked her eyes, shooting him a dumbfounded look as he continued.

“I have a preference for guys, so buying something for a so-called girlfriend would be pointless.” he told her.

“I see...well, maybe your boyfriend would like something from here!” she said.

Shuichi got ready to tell her that he didn’t have a boyfriend, but she was already reaching for a purple rope bracelet with a simple puzzle piece charm on it.

“Here, you could buy this. It’s simple, but quite cute.” she told him.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.” he said.

She puffed her cheeks out.

“Come on! It doesn’t even cost that much. I’m sure you could give me a couple yen.” she said, growing more persistent with each word she spoke.

“Really, I’m fine! I don’t want to buy anything—“ he stopped, gold eyes landing on a checkered scarf.

It was just a simple checkered scarf and yet, Shuichi felt a tug in his heart. It was like the scarf was calling his name, begging for him to pick it up and buy it.

His hand started moving on its own before he could stop it. It inches further and further towards the checkered fabric, the tug at his heart growing stronger. His finger brushed along it as another hand appeared in his vision, snatching the scarf up and abruptly snapping him out of whatever trance he had fallen under.

“Oooh, this looks cute! This is totally my style. How much is it?”

Shuichi blinked, looking to his right and locking on a male wispy purple hair that stuck out in all directions. He was shorter than him, making him about five foot one, if he had to guess. The male wore a black and white sawtooth pattern coat with dark denim skinny jeans and black ankle boots.

Almost as if the male knew he was being watched, he turned away from the girl running the booth and locked eyes with Shuichi. The grim reaper felt the wind being knocked out of him the minute it happened. The male’s eyes were a deep shade of purple that sparkled like precious gems in the morning light.

Then, it happened.

Snippets from the dreams he’d been having came slamming into him like a truck, accompanied by a chirpy voice.

“Saihara-chan, let’s play a game!”

“Nishishi! It was just a lie. Or was I lying about that being a lie? The world may never know!”

“I...like you too, Saihara-chan.”

“Ew, I don’t think I can understand why you like black coffee so much.”

“Come oooooooon, Saihara-chan! You promised we’d go swimming!”

“Saihara-chan!”

“Saihara-chan!”

“Saihara-chan...I’m sorry.”

“...I’ll always love you, Saihara-chan.”

Before Shuichi could process what was happening, a single tear trailed down his cheek. He could only stare at the male with a dumbfounded look on his face.

The male peered at Shuichi curiously, brows furrowed and lips pursed.

“Why are you watching me like that? I saw this first.” he waved the scarf around. “You hear me? I saw it first. First!” he shouted.

However, Shuichi didn’t respond. The male arched a brow as he continued to look Shuichi up and down.

“Wait a minute...are you crying?” he leaned in closer. “Oh shit, you are.” he said.

Minty breath tickled his lips and the minute Shuichi realized how close his face was, he immediately jerked back like he burned himself.

“H-Huh?” he stammered out.

“You were crying just now.” the male pointed out.

“What? I wasn’t—“ Shuichi reached up to touch his cheek and immediately felt the wet tear trail on it.

He dabbed at it in surprise. He couldn’t remember the last time he shed a tear, let alone if he actually did during the amount of time he’s been alive. Just what the heck was going on?

The male continued to eye him.

“Do you want it? The scarf, that is. I wanted to buy it because it looked neat, but if you want it…” he murmured.

“Uh...I…” Shuichi trailed off.

“Hm? Are you speechless? Is it because I’m so drop dead gorgeous that you can’t say anything?” the male teased.

“Wha…?!” Shuichi gawked at him in shock, cheeks flushing red.

“Nishishi! Aw, you’re adorable when you’re flustered! It makes me want to kiss you.” the male said.

The blush on Shuichi’s cheeks deepened, which only made him giggle more.

“But seriously, do you want it? Because if you do, I’m not gonna give it to you for free.” the male held his hand out to him. “Give me your number.” he said.

“My...number?” Shuichi questioned.

“Yeah? I’m going to need to contact you in regards to this scarf, you know.”

“I don’t have one.”

The male blinked twice.

“Wait. You’re telling me you don’t have a phone?” he asked.

“I don’t have one.” Shuichi replied.

“Why not?”

“I don’t need one, that’s why.”

“How could you not need one? We live in the twenty-first century! Of course you need a cell phone!”

“I just don’t see why I need to have one.”

“Because…!” the male heaved a deep sigh. “Okay, I can’t be doing this right now. I guess that means this scarf will be mine.” he said.

He moved to tie the scarf around his neck, but Shuichi spoke, effectively stopping him.

“W-Wait! Set the scarf down. Write your number down and place it there with the scarf. I’ll call you.” he proposed.

“Weeeeeeell…” he proceeded to twirl some hair around his finger. “We should at least exchange names if that’s how you wanna do it.” he said.

“Okay...well, my name’s Saihara. Saihara Shuichi.” Shuichi told him.

“Saihara-chan? I’ll make sure to remember that, then. I’m Ouma. Ouma Kokichi.” Kokichi introduced.

He reached his hand out for Shuichi to shake. The grim reaper could only stare down at the hand quizzically before redirecting his gaze to Kokichi’s. The purple-haired male watched him expectantly, waiting for Shuichi to shake it.

“If you don’t want to shake it, then that’s fine.” Kokichi turned back to the booth owner. “You said it was thirteen hundred yen, right? I’ll take it.” he said.

He began to fish through his pocket, mumbling to himself about where he put his wallet. Shuichi sighed, reaching into his trench coat and pulling out his wallet. Flipping it open, he pulled out a few bills and handed it to the booth owner.

“Here, I’ll pay for it.” he said.

Kokichi gaped at him in surprise.

“Wait! Saihara-chan, I can pay for it—“

“I already gave her the money. Just let it be.”

The purple-haired male pouted as the girl giggled.

“Aw, how sweet! By the way…” she leaned in closer to Shuichi, which startled him a little. “This scarf costs way more than thirteen hundred yen. The cost for it is...quite hefty, if I do say so myself.” she whispered lowly.

“How much does it cost, then?” Shuichi asked.

“Hm...maybe someone’s memories?” she hummed out in response.

Shuichi eyed her warily, but she only smiled at him brightly as she accepted the money from him. He sighed, withdrawing from her as Kokichi spoke.

“Well, since you bought it, I guess I should let you have it for now.” he handed the scarf to Shuichi along with a slip of paper. “And here’s my number.” he said.

Shuichi took the scarf and paper from Kokichi, examining them. As he did, Kokichi continued to eye him. Upon feeling the set of eyes on him, he glanced back at Kokichi.

“Yes?” he said.

“You know...the more I look at you, the more I feel like I’ve seen you before.” Kokichi commented.

Shuichi’s eyes widened in surprise as Kokichi leaned in towards him, purple eyes scanning him.

“I wonder...were we lovers in a past life or something?” he mused aloud.

“Were we...what?” he questioned, wondering if he heard him correctly.

“Lovers. Maybe we were lovers in a past life.”

“Were we?”

Kokichi shrugged.

“The world may never know.” the sound of a phone ringing reached their ears. “Ah, that’s mine. I’m going to need to go now.” Kokichi said.

He pulled away from Shuichi and began to walk past him.

“I’ll be waiting for your call, my beloved Saihara-chan!” he called out over his shoulder.

“My beloved…?!” Shuichi squeaked as he turned, watching Kokichi wave his hand as he headed down the steps and disappeared from his sight.

Shuichi sighed deeply.

“That was...interesting.” he murmured.

He looked down at the scarf, running a thumb along the fabric before focusing on the piece of paper that had Kokichi’s number on it along with his name and a quick doodle of himself. As he continued to stare at the two items, Kokichi’s question rang in his mind.

“I wonder...were we lovers in a past life or something?”

The bits and pieces from his dreams resurfaced as he thought back on them. This time, the mystery male had wispy purple hair, purple eyes, and a mischievous smile. He gripped the scarf tighter.

He couldn’t help but wonder if these dreams he was having were merely dreams or if they were something. Maybe they were pieces of his memory from his past life that he was told that he shouldn’t remember at all costs.

But if it were indeed those memories that stayed buried within him, locked in Pandora’s box...then Kokichi might be onto something.

[gwynbleiddyn]

If you’re taking requests, maybe a little snippet about Arthur meeting a trans guy reader and befriending him?

oh this is my JAM, of course anon! hopefully this gets somewhere close to what you were after <3 also im so sorry i see the word ‘snippet’ and my dumbfuck brain writes 1500 words instead

|| REQUESTS OPEN ||

arthur & male reader / all the stolen voices

Perched at the bar, you can feel a few pairs of eyes on you from across the dingy room. Nothing unusual, you’re used to the staring - it’s gotten less, sure, but a subtle shift of posture means curious eyes catch the glint of a revolver at your hip. Most turn away after that. Those that don’t, well, they either meet the business end of your fists or a bullet if they dare to tread in your footsteps on the way out. 

Tonight, though, nobody’s stare lingers and you’re grateful for it. It’s been a miserable day of hunting, the piss-poor weather making a poor show of what little tracking you can manage, and you’re left with barely a few coins to rub together for a drink to warm you up. The whiskey is unpleasant, lukewarm, tasteless by the time it hits your throat with its signature burn. It keeps you warm, though, and especially through the sodden layers of clothing you’re not about to remove anytime soon. It’s uncomfortable, but being without them is worse. The solid weight of a dark, worn leather duster on your shoulders keeps you sane most days, so the brief spells of discomfort in-between are a small price to pay. 

You keep your hat pulled low and ears to the ground, listening for any sign of trouble. It’s routine. Safe and comfortable for the most part, and that’s become a valuable thing for you. Taking another sip of the forgettable whiskey, you pick up a pair of footsteps approaching. They’re slow and ambling, but not those of a drunken fool or a old man either. Someone solid - they’re not light footsteps exactly, but whoever it is seems to be actively making an effort not to stomp their way across the dirty floorboards. Cautiously, you turn your head - and your ear - closer to the sound. 

“Just a beer.” A rough, low voice filters through the uproar of the evening, settling in at the bar next to you. On instinct, you tense up and pull your drink closer, dipping your head to avoid being seen. 

You apparently aren’t as subtle as you hoped. “Oh, I ain’t lookin’ for trouble.” 

That makes you glance up, slow and uncertain. A rough and ready looking bastard has propped himself up on the bar next to you - granted, the place is filled to the rafters and you can hardly blame him for finding a spot next to you, given as you’re probably one of the smaller folk taking up space. Managing a jerky nod in response, you make sure to get a better look at him as you settle back down at the bar, arms folded around your whiskey glass. He’s tall. He could easily loom over you and send you running, you figure, but he makes no effort to do so. Like you, he keeps his arms folded, even as the barkeep sets his drink in front of him and stomps away back to the braying fools at the other end of the bar. Everything about him is quiet and curled in, even the way his hat sits low over his eyes and the scruff at his jaw and chin hide the shape of his words. 

“What?” He’s noticed your scrutiny. Shit. Heat bubbles up in your chest and spreads across your cheeks, and you bite the inside of them to keep from scowling in distaste. You always hated how easily you blushed. Gets you read like a sissy from a mile off, even if that ain’t the truth. Huffing, you shake your head and shift in your seat, pushing your voice deep into your chest before you try and speak.

“Nothin’, mister. Just keeping myself awares, is all.” You manage a half decent reply, and the man seems satisfied with that. You feel a new pair of eyes on you then, and it makes sense - your voice doesn’t match your look, or at least, you don’t think it does. He’s wondering why. 

“Well like I said, no trouble.” The man relaxes a little, unfolding his arms to pull his drink closer to him. You feel yourself doing the same although you push your now-empty glass away instead. “What’s your name, kid?” 

You stammer something out in a knee-jerk reaction. He doesn’t question it at all, and only gives you a nod - which you assume is meant to be an acknowledgement, maybe, but you’re really not sure. He’s hard to pin down, and you’re used to being able to read people far easier than this. It throws you off.

“Arthur.” He introduces himself bluntly, and you feel a little better for knowing his name. Arthur. It sits nicely with your hastily conjured image of him. He does look a little worse for wear, but otherwise clean and well dressed - not like the usual stock of brigands who frequent this place. Though he could be a killer for all you know, and you tell yourself that before you start letting your guard down too quickly.

“You look like you’ve been through it.” Arthur says drily after a moment of two of silence, and you glance down at yourself. Mud splatters line your trousers and your coat, there’s a dribble of blood on your boot that you hope is from some buggered hunting job, and you can feel the prickly sensation of dried dirt on your chin. Yeah. He’s not wrong.

“You could say that.” You reply tersely, pushing your voice deeper still. He doesn’t seem to notice. 

“What are you? Some kind of hunter? Don’t look like a city type, don’t look much like a cold-blooded killer neither.” Arthur seems to be dropping his thoughts like pennies, and you get the impression he’s blowing through some bullshit of his own in the rambling, senseless way that lost folk seem to do. You know the feeling well. Something about that settles you, and you find yourself turning towards him a little if only to see him better.

“Sure. Why not? I ain’t much of anythin’ else, a hunter describes what I do prettily enough.” You admit, truthfully. You really are just scraping by, trying to find some way to survive without compromising yourself in the process. So far, this is the only thing that comes close.

“Huh, by yourself?” Arthur continues his aimless questioning. You’re happy enough to comply for now, so you nod, Arthur pays your way for another drink or several, and you find yourself in the company of a pleasant acquaintance instead of a stranger barely an hour later. 

By the time you get up to leave, though, you’ve somehow missed the group of shady looking bastards holed up by the door with their ugly little eyes flickering back and forth to you. The steady stream of whiskey hasn’t quite dulled your senses to the point of non-functionality - that stuff is almost definitely being watered down - and your instinct kicks in as you step off your barstool, Arthur’s laugh trailing off abruptly behind you. One of the men stops talking, looking directly at you with a sneer. 

“You ain’t right.” Is all he says, but it’s enough for you to snap to the draw, fingers finding the familiar revolver at your hip. That kicks up a commotion and a half, the men clustered by the door now leaping into the fray with slew of insults, all jostling to back up their slimy excuse of a leading man. You’re just about to draw when a heavy hand settles on your shoulder and begins to push you out of the commotion. Arthur’s shouts are far louder than the pathetic snivelling of the men inside, and you’re glad that you can’t hear them as you hit the cool night air, shrugging Arthur off your shoulder and making a beeline for your horse.

“Hey!” Arthur calls after you, leaving the barkeep to settle matters inside. You glance over your shoulder, still walking, trying your hardest not to let the shame bubble up into a nasty remark to a man who’s been nothing but friendly to you all evening. 

“Sorry, Arthur. I think it’s time I got the hell out of here.” You say, a little unsteadily. His strides are much longer than yours though, and he catches up easily.

“They ain’t worth your time, but I guess you figured that out a long while ago.” Arthur tells you. You’ve heard the sentiment before, but hearing it from Arthur - a no-good outlaw who seems to be on the run from God knows what - makes you listen a little more. You slow up, reaching out to pat your horse, seeking familiar comfort before your emotions started getting the better of you.

“You’re right. I did.” You’ve been through this shit plenty of times before now without anybody at your back, but the sentiment is appreciated this time. “But... thank you. It was real good talking to you, Arthur.” 

He seems confused for a moment, as if he isn’t expecting a thank-you, or even a kind sentiment in return. Blinking, he manages an awkward nod in your direction, and a hesitant clap on your shoulder in lieu of further rambling. You give him a warm grin before turning to swing yourself up into the saddle, wanting some peace and quiet and rest - things that you knew how to find in the wild, at least.

“Don’t go lookin’ for trouble now, you hear?” Arthur says as you pick up the reins. You manage a weak laugh, the minor rush of adrenaline from the almost-altercation beginning to make you shake.

“It usually finds me, mister. But I won’t go lookin’, I promise.” You give him a salute from the brim of your hat and as you turn away from a new friend, you sincerely hope it isn’t the last time you see him. 

[japanessie]

Thank you for making time to answer my question about the Summer Sonic 2018! It really made my day! I know I'm anonymous and you probably won't verify that I was the one who submitted the question, thank you! Thank you for sharing your thoughts as well! Even if you don't reply to this message, I'd like you to know that I admire your dedication on bands like MFS. Know that I'll share this page with my fellow MFS supporters if ever the fans have misunderstandings about the two brothers! Thank you!

Hi 😊

Well, there are two groups of people who send me anonymous questions. Those who genuinely don’t have a Tumblr account or my readers who are too shy to talk otherwise 😄.

Before I go any further, sorry that it took me awhile to reply to you. Lately I have again been stumbling upon some outlandishly crazy “claims” regarding Hiro and Taka 😕. Reading your message, I knew where your state of mind was coming from. Like many out there who are intrigued (in either good or bad way) by the Moriuchi brothers’ relationship, some would choose to search for answers while some simply choose to remain “uninformed” but acting like they know it all. The second group of people are the toxic ones who unfortunately seem to be very proud to be so from what I’ve seen 😮. Glad you belong to the first one 😊.

What I’m hoping from MFS supporters is a sense of responsibility especially when it comes to the social media. 

For example, lately I keep seeing more and more people posting snippets of Hiro’s widely misunderstood-and-taken-out-of-context Budokan speeches (on YouTube, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter etc) which of course attract both fans and haters leaving crazy “low-life-Hiro-hates-Taka” comments as usual. I admit that it’s easy to take Hiro’s words out of context. However, the issue I see with this is, often the ones who posted the videos are too clueless about MFS especially Hiro’s story and can’t explain anything substantial 😑. Either that or they just stay quiet while letting the haters spew their malicious claims uncontested. Then a new fan comes in, reads it and innocently believes it 😕. It always ends up becoming yet another breeding ground to spread yet more lies and trash talk about MFS particularly Hiro. 

Deciding to support MFS, for the most parts, requires us to prepare ourselves with knowledge and a lot of understanding to face this group of people. No, I don’t encourage verbal mudslinging fight either 😄. Always treat people with kindness and professionalism 😊.

Haters and skeptics will always be there. We know that. However, if we as fans let our social media accounts become a platform for them to thrive, then shame on us, isn’t it 🤔?

Why we need to watch that One O'Clock thing till the end ….

Everybody is obsessed with this stepping on the one-o-clock shot and yet …..

Nobody talks about how the time rewinds at the end of the show and the clock goes back to its original state INTACT when the boy decides to live on. Look at the caption, “いつか終わるその日まで、僕は行き続ける / till that ending day, I will continue to live”. This is the part when the narrator says “Until my last day, I will live my life,” in English.

The clock already got lifted from the ground and is now perched against the tree showing about 2 mins after one o’clock with the caption saying “僕の物語は続く/ my story continues”. Does anybody else notice this? This shot literally says “MY FIRST STORY will continue just a little bit later after ONE OK ROCK”. It’s clear, isn’t it? There is zero animosity towards OOR. Hiro does NOT hate Taka. It’s unfair to take only several seconds of a 2-hour long video to come up with a conclusion what the video is all about, isn’t it?

It’s not Hiro’s fault that some people just don’t care to watch the video till the end nor even try to delve into the symbolism in the story.

[silenthillmutual]

F + I + T !!

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

i actually managed to track down my absolute favorite dialogue scene i've written, and it's from to quote mika, age 35, of beirut, lebanon: where have all the good (gay) guys gone?

this is so long i'm so sorry. i'm putting it below a cut:

“Why did you tell people you didn’t think I was scary?” 

Taka looked at him, worn down, and tried to figure out what kind of a response he was looking for. People rarely asked him why with an intent to know the actual answer. It made answering things, and conversing in general so hard for him. But Mondo didn’t look like he had any particular expectations, so Taka swallowed through the dryness in his throat and replied. “Because I didn’t think anyone would want to be told that they were,” he said, “And to me, you are not. You never have been.”

“Alright. But why?”

Taka wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “I’m sorry?”

“Why don’t you find me scary? I intimidate the shit outta everyone else ‘round here. Why dinnit ever work on you?”

In sixteen years of attempting to form a meaningful relationship with anybody, of trying to make friends and failing every time, of not even being able to get his classmates to stand him, no one had ever once asked him a follow-up question. He’d offered them in long run-on sentences that made them weary and annoyed, reminded not only by his peers but his teachers and his own parents that people didn’t tend to want to a detailed explanation about his thought processes.

Taka’s never scripted out the full thing before.

So he did what he always does in those situations, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “You like dogs.”

“Lots of people like dogs,” Mondo replied.

“Yes. But you remind me of one.”

He blinked at him. “How?” Taka licked his lips, and stared at the ceiling of the dressing room to keep from looking at Mondo. Knowing he was being watched was making him nervous. “Are you pre-scriptin' this?”

“Yes,” he admitted, and kind of had to look at Mondo at that point in time. He looked...fond. “How did you know?”

“You always kinda talk like ya scripted it out in yer head first.”

“I do usually script things I say in advance. People won’t talk to me if I don’t.”

What had been something like a smile sort of crumbled, and it looked like Mondo was biting his cheek to keep from looking too sad about it. “Well, just say whatever comes to mind. Ain’t like it matters, ‘s just me. And we’re friends now, right?”

He couldn’t help the feeling that it could all be some sort of trap, but if Mondo was going to insist, as some sort of way to strengthen the bond of their friendship, then he could at least try. “Some breeds of dogs get bad reputations because of the way they have been bred for things like fights and security. Like, Rottweilers, Dobermans, Pit Bulls. And I think it would be terribly sad, to be that kind of dog, and have people assume from the look of me that I’m not worthy of companionship because of what my environment has made me.”

i thought about this dialogue way before i wrote it, and i think it's the most insightful i've been about about a character and characterization. i don't know. i just feel like everything else i've written sort of pales in comparison to the clarity i felt writing this out. i've always wanted to write something for pathologic that made me feel the sort of accomplishment i did with this section right here. i feel like it's harder for pathologic because as a role-playing game there's more leeway in how these characters are represented and how they act than with npcs in a courtsim. of course interpretation will always be up for grabs but this time i just felt like i really got it.

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

some kinds of fic are guilty pleasures themselves because they're wish fulfillment. like, everyone lives aus. although 'everyone lives' usually means protagonists. there's a beauty in the tragedy of the source material but i don't always want to read something that furthers the tragedy. sometimes i want to see people who died being happy. especially for something like jojo. or saw.

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

i'm trying to think of something that pertains to fanfic because i've gotten better at just ignoring things in fic that i don't like. the only thing that really bugs me is when i'm just reading something and one of my triggers pops up without being forwarned about it. i'm also not really a fan of crack fics because i just... do not understand them. i guess they're supposed to be funny? but they just don't vibe with my sense of humor.

fic asks

[revwinchester]

Centerfold - Part 3

Summary:  Dean stumbles across an interview and photoshoot starring his high school crush (and younger brother’s friend) Castiel.  He decides he’s going to stop at nothing to get back in touch with the boy with the blue eyes who used to sit in front of him in homeroom.

Genre: Mostly fluff with a touch of angst

Pairing: Destiel

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel

Word Count: 1498

Series Warnings: AU - No Supernatural, Porn Star Cas, Mentions of Sex (but no depictions), Bastardization of SPN Lines, Scenes, and Episode Titles

A/N: This whole series came out of a prompt for @thinkwritexpress-official​‘s Back To School Challenge!  The fic is based on the J Gelis Band song “Centerfold” in which a man finds his high school crush on the pages of his favorite porn magazine.  This is the last part before Cas joins us, y’all!!  Also, if one of the scenes looks familiar, I was using a transcript of 4.18 in order to get it just right while I twisted it to fit my story :)

Special thanks to my dearest Night Sloth who reads my stuff before y’all do and assures me it’s decent before I share it.

Find it on AO3

Centerfold Masterlist

Centerfold - Part 3 - 

The next morning, Sam got ready for work and left, parking his car just out of sight and waiting for Dean to leave the house.  He had decided to follow Dean to the city, despite his brother’s instance, so he had taken the day off of work but he had to keep up appearances if he was going to tail his brother.  Not too long after he had left, Sam watched Dean’s car drive by his hiding place and he pulled out to follow.  

As Dean drove into the city, Sam rode behind him staying back just far enough that his brother wouldn’t notice him but close enough that he wouldn’t lose sight of the Impala.  Once they got into the city, Sam was surprised that Dean drove toward the business district, eventually pulling into a parking garage.  Sam parked his car quickly, making it down to the sidewalk in time to see Dean duck into a building across the street.

By the time Sam got inside, Dean was no longer in the lobby but a quick scan of the building’s directory gave Sam an idea as to where his brother had gone.   Hot Rod Hotties had offices on the building’s fourth floor.  Sam elected to take the stairs, figuring he could hide his entrance better than he could on the elevator, and made his way up, his long legs taking the steps two at a time.  When he arrived on the fourth floor, he emerged into the small lobby for the magazine’s offices.  He couldn’t see Dean but he could hear him and Sam smiled at the receptionist.  

To his surprise, she waved him back toward the offices.  Sam didn’t question his luck and followed Dean’s voice, stopping just outside of an open office door to listen.  

“So, you book the talent for the magazine?  You made that interview with Jimmy Novak a reality?” he heard Dean ask.  

A woman answered.  “Yeah, Gosh, Jimmy… He never really gets the attention he deserves.  All anybody wants to watch anymore is that free hard core stuff, you know?  They don’t care about the story.  It’s all two minute videos like, ‘Red Headed Bimbo Gets The Pounding She Deserves.’  How do you get anything done in two minutes?” she scoffed.  “Please…”  Sam could practically hear her eyes rolling.

Sam heard Dean huff.  “I know, it’s just so… there’s no story there,” he agreed.  

Sam held in a snicker.  He could only imagine Dean’s inner turmoil.  His brother loved those short snippets just as much, if not more, than the longer films he’d downloaded but, clearly, sharing that wasn’t going to win him any favors here.

“I’m really hoping that my dissertation can shine a light on storytelling in pornography, bring some attention to an under appreciated art form,” Dean continued.

The woman in the office practically squealed.  “It really is under appreciated.  Thank you!  I mean, the best parts are between the sex!  Like, in Stuck In The Middle , where Jimmy Novak’s character thought he was going to die… he was on the verge of tears as he professed his love to his best friend and it felt so real…” her voice trailed off and Sam was almost positive he heard her sniffle.  “I mean, no offense, but how often do men actually act like that, really let it all out?”

“The orgy that followed really drove that feeling of love home,” Dean joked.  

Sam could practically envision the forced grin on his brother’s face and, apparently, the woman in the office didn’t miss it, either.

“Is that supposed to be funny? How do I know you’re legit?”

Sam imagined her getting up in Dean’s face, maybe poking a finger into his chest.

“Lady, this whole thing is funny,” Dean replied, digging his hole even deeper, but then he added, “Look, I’m legit.  This isn’t some smart ass paper that’s going to make fun of the industry.  I promise you.”

The woman considered Dean for a moment.  “I’m a sucker for a pretty face… what do you need?”

“Well, we were talking about Jimmy Novak, How can I get in touch with him?” Dean asked, almost too quickly.

“Oh, um, no…” The woman sputtered, “no, Sorry.  I can’t do that.”

“Oh, come on,” Dean pled, “I’m a big fan…”

The office was quiet for a few moments, only a rustling sound coming from inside.  Sam wasn’t sure what was going on in there but he was positive that he didn’t care to find out.  After a couple of minutes, Sam decided it was time for him to go.  Dean could be coming out of that office at any minute and Sam did not want to be there when that happened.  

He made his way down to the main lobby, the receptionist on the fourth floor mumbling something about how hot the talent was as he passed.  Sam did his best to blend in while he waited for his brother to come down and exit the building.  It was another few minutes before Dean did - with a giddy look on his face - and Sam followed him out the door.

Something had gone well in that office, Sam mused as he followed his brother down the street and away from the garage where they had parked their cars.  Luckily for Sam, whatever it was had given Dean tunnel vision of a sorts so he didn’t realize that he was being followed through the streets.

Dean turned into a park about two blocks from the office and Sam continued to trail him.  He was back far enough to change his course and creep up behind his brother when Dean stopped and sat on a park bench.  He watched as Dean pulled his phone from his pocket and punched in a phone number that had been written on a sheet of paper Sam hadn’t noticed while it was clutched in his brother’s hand.

As Dean pressed the phone to his ear, Sam quietly moved closer to him so that he could hear his brother’s phone call.  

After a couple of seconds, Dean’s shoulders tensed.  “Um… I…” His words were stilted and cut off and after a couple seconds of floundering, Dean pulled his phone away and slammed his thumb onto the red button that ended his call.  “Shit…” he muttered and Sam couldn’t hold his laughter back.

Snickering, Sam made his presence known to his brother, plopping down next to him on the bench.  “You finally got his number, didn’t you?” he asked, “And you couldn’t even talk to the guy!”  

Dean looked at his brother in shock, surprised that he was even there in this moment of spectacular failure.  “What? How? What… are you doing here?”

Sam’s laughter doubled at his brother’s confusion and it increased again when Dean scowled at him.  Sam forced himself to get under control so that he could answer.  “You were being super cagey last night.  I knew you weren’t in the city to pick something up for Bobby so I followed you.  You weaseled your way into getting Castiel’s number, right?”

Dean tried to summon up some bravado but he knew Sam had heard his phone call.  He hung his head as he replied.  “Yeah, I got his number from the magazine’s offices in town.  And then I totally messed up when I called him,” Dean mumbled.  He sighed deeply and added, “But I guess you know all of that if you’ve been following me.”

Sam sobered up at the defeated tone of his brother’s voice.  He sat beside Dean, trying to find the words that would comfort him without sending him into retreat mode at the indication that feelings might be on the table for discussion.  When that failed him, Sam tried anyway.  “Look, I know I’ve given you a hard time about this but, I mean, there are a lot of guys out there, Dean.  Don’t let this get to you.”

Dean chuckled darkly.  “Sure, Sammy, there are plenty of fish in the sea.  It’s not like I haven’t had a crush on this particular fish since high school, or anything.”

Sam didn’t have a response to that so he sat quietly with Dean for a few minutes.  “Let’s not waste the day, why don’t we head to the record store or something, at least, maybe grab dinner before we head back,” he offered.

Dean smiled up at him and stood, waiting for Sam to join him on his feet.  

Sam knew Dean could spend hours in this particular shop and he wasn’t surprised at all that his brother had made a beeline for the classic rock section.  As Dean began leafing through the boxes of old records, Sam could see that his brother already seemed to be feeling a little better.  They both knew that the distraction was only a temporary fix - a bandaid, so to speak - but it worked for now.  And when Dean wandered into the jazz section, Sam kept his mouth shut.

If you would like to be added to (or removed from) one of my tag lists, please send me an ask and let me know!  The lists I’m tagging for this fic are story specific and then my forevers and my Destiel tags (if anyone signs up for that one).

Centerfold Tags: @shutupiminlooove

ALL THE TAGS! (forevers): @deathtonormalcy56 @supernaturalyobsessed @roxy-davenport @sumara62 @ginamsmith @gallifreyansass @samwinjarpad @hexparker @thinkwritexpress-official @atc74

Destiel Tags from @mrswhozeewhatsis: @mrswhozeewhatsis @thinkwritexpress-official @deandoesthingstome @manawhaat @thegleegeneration @SinceriouslyAmellPadalecki @ferferelli @fangirling-instead-of-working @chrisatplay @faith-in-dean @mamaimpala @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @curliesallovertheplace @skybinx-blog @purgatoan @impossible-box @deansleather @faegal04 @sunriserose1023 @dr-dean @jelly-beans-and-gstrings @saving-things-hunting-family @jotink78 @i-dont-know-how-to-write @notnaturalanahi @howmanytuesdaysdidyouhave @mysaintsasinner @besslincoln-bruh @shelovesallthethings @klaineaholic @hexparker @rockhoochie

[theheavymetalmama]

For some reason tumblr doesn't let me reblog your post about cindy, so I hope it's okay to send my thoughts via ask. PART 1 - I haven’t read your initial review. I actually do agree that Cindy is a bit over the top. I also hope that FFXVI will be about four girls trying to reclaim the throne for a future queen. There is one point I have to disagree though.“ Never mind the fact that no free-spirited and outgoing person would spend their time at a garage in the middle of nowhere, “

“PART 2 - First, what choice does Cindy have? Crown City was not accessible, iirc? She was where her Paw Paw needed her to be. Secondly, yes, free-spirited and outgoing can also mean, being a mechanic and spending a lot of time in a garage. That’s not mutually exclusive. This point by you is stupid and very subjective. Otherwise, FFXV is not a feminist game and I knew that before I ordered it. It brings me joy, despite it being so male-centered.

PART 3, final part - What is a little feminist about it, is, that they show they boys having feelings and having problems talking about them, crying even at some points. That goes against toxic masculinity and I applaud it for this.”

I don’t mind at all, though I do find it strange that it’s not letting you reblog my post. Just Tumblr being Tumblr again, I suppose. Also, sorry for the delayed reply. I have precious little spare time these days.

To sum up my review, I like FFXV. I don’t love it, but I like it. The environment is gorgeous, the gameplay is fun, the story is a mess, the roles women play is woeful, and of the four main characters only Gladiolus is the one I find consistently likable while the rest flip-flop to “Yeah, he’s cool I guess” to “Oh fuck right off!” Seriously, Gladiolus should have been the main character.

As for Cindy being a bit over the top, I have to strongly disagree with you on that one. She’s not a little over the top; she’s off the freaking wall. Not only is she the only character who dresses like that, but her mannerisms are just absurd. Given the tone and setting of the rest of the game, her scenes feel like bits and snippets from Boogie Nights spliced into The Fellowship of the Ring.

And before anybody asks, no, I’m not slut-shaming Cindy. I’m stupid-shaming the game designers. Big difference.

As for Cindy not having a choice, I think she does. Now you can chalk this up to game mechanics and functionality if you want, but how much business does Hammerhead actually get? I mean, think about it. Not only is it located in the middle of nowhere, but as you mentioned Crown City was completely closed off. Both she and dear ol’ dad (or is it grandpa? I forget) seem to have lots of time on their hands. Cid spends all his time sitting in a lawn chair like a retired Hank Hill while Cindy seems to drop whatever it is she’s doing to either work on your car or come get you and tow the Regalia if you run out of gas or damage it beyond function. Hell, every time you go back to Hammerhead, she’s never working on anything. Not fixing a car or tinkering with an engine or Hell, even taking a lunch break at the diner. She’s always just standing in the driveway doing fuck all.

As for the male bonding angle, I agree. That’s something woefully underused in entertainment and especially in video-games. But there are two major issues I have with it in Final Fantasy XV.

One, these moments of bromance are too few and too far between. As of this post I must have poured over 80 hours into the game and I’ve seen six, maybe seven moments of actual male bonding (in case you’re wondering, my favorite is Gladiolus taking Noctis for a jog on the beach.) The rest of their interactions are just running commentary and an endless exchange of repetitive quips and one-liners. I’m told there’s a particularly sweet scene between Noctis and Prompto at the Three Z’s Motel, but I must have stayed at that place 15 times and it continues to elude me.

Two…how exactly would the presence of a woman in the party suddenly make these moments impossible? They only ever happen when you stay at an inn or make camp, it’s only between Noctis and one other character at a time, and it’s always when the others are either asleep or not around. And when they bring on a female guest member they don’t turn into a bunch horny blithering idiots or “act less sincere” as the developers said, so what exactly am I missing here?

There are two logical explanations. 1.) The developers chickened out on their own premise, or 2.) “An all male cast feels more honest and sincere” is bullshit and just another entry in the long, wearying list of AAA developers using flimsy, pathetic excuses for excluding women from having any role outside of either ‘eye candy’ or ‘love interest.’ It never fails to irritate me that the gaming industry pitches these wild, wonderfully insane ideas from toppling evil empires, fighting dragons and monsters, to taking on robots and mutants in a post-apocalyptic world all the way to exploring the vast reaches of space, but the second somebody brings up putting women into these roles then suddenly all those ideas die and are replaced with excuses.

And before I get the inevitable knee-jerk response to this type of argument (not from you specifically, just in general,) yes, games with female leads exist, but they’re hopelessly~hilariously~outnumbered by male-lead games. And of those female lead games that do exist, the majority them were still designed with the male gaze in mind. If gamers want to play a female lead game where the main character isn’t either sexualized or victimized in some way, shape, or form, well, those gamers are kind of fucked. Either they choke down the fan-service riddled boob parades like that of Bayonetta and the newest torture porn infested Tomb Raider games, or they go back and play Beyond Good Evil, Metroid Prime, and the early Resident Evil games for what feels like the billionth fucking time. And no, games that let you create your own character don’t count. They aren’t characters; they’re avatars.

Still not convinced? Okay, I got a test for you. Make a list of female leads from video-games. To clarify, leads. Not supporting characters, not villains, and certainly not NPCs, but leads. Got your list? Okay. Now cross out the ones that are either blatant sex symbols, bland, or haven’t been featured in a game in over a decade. That list just got a lot shorter, didn’t it?

Now to be fair, yes, the game industry is making at least a token effort to provide customers with more female lead games and more games starring people besides the usual generic brown haired white dude with a bit of stubble on his face in general. I’m excited for Horizon: Zero Dawn and I hope like hell that it’s a game changer (no pun intended) for both female lead games and gaming in general. Yes, it’s getting better.

But as I say time and time again, ‘better’ doesn’t mean ‘good.’ Developers still have to fight publishers tooth and nail just to have a female protagonist, publishers still cling to outdated info about how female leads don’t sell, and when we do get a game featuring a female protagonist more often than not it’s bogged down with achingly sexist tropes (impractical clothing/armor, more thought put into making her look sexy than being a good character, often plays the role of support class like medic, sniper, etc,) or in the case of AssCreedSyn gets left out of almost all the advertising and only gets half the missions and story prominence the male lead gets. Seriously, if Evie really was Ubisoft’s response to the backlash of their “Women are too hard to animate” bullshit then it was the equivalent to expecting us to forgive them for burning our house down because they baked us a cake.

[prepare4trouble]

Star Wars Rebels fanfic - First Steps, part 8

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

Zeb was in their room when Ezra rushed through the door in search of sanctuary.  He glanced up as the door opened, registered Ezra’s presence, and then glanced away again.  He looked back, less than a second later with a confused expression on his face.  “What’s with you?”

Ezra froze.  “What?”

“You look like you’re about to collapse.  Kanan’s really been putting you through your paces, huh?”

“Uh…” Ezra ran his hands quickly through his hair, and glanced in the mirror.  He looked… he thought he looked, completely normal.  “Yeah, that’s it exactly,” he mumbled as he pulled off his boots and climbed into bed.  “Jedi training, you know.”

Zeb made a disinterested noise and went back to whatever he had been doing, while Ezra placed his head on his pillow and faced the wall.  There was no way he was going to be able to sleep.  Even putting aside the fact it was far too early, his mind was still racing, spinning endlessly around snippets of conversation, things that stuck pointlessly in his mind; the way the overhead lights reflected in the shiny surface of the med droid’s head; the feeling of Kanan’s hand dropping from his shoulder as he fled; the click of the bathroom door as he locked it closed behind him and sank down to the floor.

“Early onset…”

“You sure you’re alright, kid?  Your breathing sounds weird.”

Ezra closed his eyes and pulled the blanket over his head.  “I’m fine,” he said.  “Just tired.  Like you said, Kanan’s been working me pretty hard.”

He got the impression that Zeb wasn’t convinced, but an unexpected wave of exhaustion washed over him and suddenly he really was tired.  He didn’t want to sleep, not really.  Sleep would mean dreams, and he did not want to relive the events of this day in any form at all.

Awareness crept up on him slowly.  Ezra shifted his position slightly and heard the mattress of his bunk creak below him.  As he moved, the blood rushed back to his left arm, which had been twisted underneath him, and the feeling began to return with an unpleasant tingle.  He rubbed it gently as he sat up.

He felt okay, and something about that didn't seem right.  There was something that should be bothering him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.  He very deliberately dismissed the thought and poured all of his concentration into what he was doing.

He climbed down from his bunk quietly in case Zeb was still sleeping, but when he checked his bed he found him absent.  He grabbed a fresh set of clothes and slipped into the bathroom to wash and change.  As the door clicked closed behind him, he froze.

Oh.

He was leaning heavily against a door, sliding his back downward until he was seated on the floor, Kanan and the droid outside, waiting for him.

No no no…

It was a dream.  It had to have been a particularly vivid dream.

Only, it hadn’t been.  The memories came back to him in pieces, spiraling out from that moment when had closed the door behind him and sank to the floor.

Forcing himself to move, Ezra went through the motions of washing and dressing.

It could have been a dream.  He had been having some pretty intense dreams lately.  And the fact that he needed to tell them had been weighing on his mind again lately.  It couldn’t be real, because there was no way he would respond like that.

Right?

He needed to see Kanan.  He couldn't come out and ask him, but his reactions would tell Ezra everything he needed to know.  If he was lucky, Kanan wouldn’t be around.

He dumped his old clothes in the hamper, opened the door and checked left and right for any sign of the Jedi before stepping out and heading to the lounge area to grab something to eat.  He walked through the door and stopped as he noticed Kanan sitting at the table. He wasn’t wearing his mask, and his hair was a mess, as though he hadn’t bothered to comb it or re-tie it back.  His eyes were closed and from where he was sitting, Ezra could clearly see the scar across his face.  He appeared to be deep into a conversation with Zeb, but he froze noticeably as Ezra entered the room.

He recovered quickly, and shot a half-smile in Ezra’s direction, though it looked more like a grimace, and in that instant Ezra knew without any doubt that his memories were just that.  He began to back away, ready to make an excuse and leave, when Zeb to turn to look at him.  “Morning, kid.  You must have been tired, you’ve slept half the day away.”

Ezra looked at him, trying to read the expression on his face.  Did he know?  Surely Kanan wouldn’t have… No.  Of course he wouldn’t.

Zeb grinned in his direction and Ezra tried to return the smile.  “Just remembered, I, uh…” He pointed at the door before making a swift exit.

Behind him as he fled, he could hear Zeb asking, “What was that about?”

Kanan could understand how Ezra had survived so long on the streets.  The kid had a real talent for not being found, as well as for slipping away at the last moment, just when you thought you’d managed to pin him down.

Of all the people on the base, Ezra, as a Force user, was the easiest to find.  His presence shone like a beacon to those that knew how to find it; he needed to work on disguising that better.  But that was a lesson for another day.  Today there would be no lessons.  But they did need to talk

Ezra, apparently, felt differently.

Seated in his quarters, Kanan closed his eyes and concentrated on Ezra’s presence.  It was easy enough to sense that he was nearby, but less easy to narrow that down to a specific location.  He found him, finally, by process of elimination, and by the presence of two of his pilot friends in close proximity.  Kanan had never known them to be far from the hangar bay, even when off duty.

He got to his feet, placed his mask over his eyes, and made his way there.

Ezra was gone.

“He was here maybe ten minutes ago,” one of the pilots told him.  “He said there was something he needed to do.”

Kanan frowned.  “Did he say what?”

“Nope.  Musta been important though, because I was offering him the chance to get in the cockpit of one of these babies.”  He patted the ship he was working on affectionately.  “I mean, I wasn’t going to let him fly it anywhere, but still, it’s amazing in there.”

“I’m sure,” Kanan told him.  “If he comes back, will you tell him I’m looking for him?”

There was no response, then an embarrassed “Oh, yes.  Sorry.”  Also known as “things people say after nodding, #3”.

Kanan thanked the pilot and left.

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“He was here earlier,” Sabine told him.  She was busily cataloguing weapons and explosives, noting down supplies that were needed and those that they could manage without for a little longer.  “Didn’t stick around for long though.”

Kanan nodded.  That seemed to be the theme for the day.

“He seemed kinda distracted,” she added.  “Is he okay?  There’s nothing going on, is there?”

Kanan hesitated.  “Nothing new,” he said.  It wasn’t exactly a lie, Ezra was in exactly the same position today that he had been in for the past year.

“Right.”  Sabine sounded unconvinced.

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“Hey, Hera.  You haven’t seen Ezra around anywhere today, have you?”

“Actually, yes,” she replied.  “It was the strangest thing, I asked him to clean the Phantom’s cockpit.”

Kanan shrugged.  “That doesn’t sound that strange,” he said.

Hera sighed, and in his mind’s eye he could see her lips pursed in irritation.  “No, what was strange was that he just went and did it without complaining.”

“So, let me get this straight.  You’re complaining that he didn’t complain?”

She sighed.  “No, of course not.  It’s just you said you thought there was something bothering him.  I’m wondering if you were right.”

Kanan shook his head.  “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” he said, and made a quick retreat.

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“Hey, Kanan.”  Zeb was striding toward him.  Kanan slowed to a stop and waited for him.  “You don’t happen to know where Ezra’s gotten himself to, do you?”

Kanan shook his head.  “I was about to ask you the same thing.  I haven’t seen him all day.”

Zeb paused, considering.  “Very funny.”

“No, I wasn’t…”  He resisted the urge to rest his head in his hands; he shouldn’t have to watch what he said like that.  No more than anybody else should feel like they had to watch their words around him.  But they did.

He didn’t want that to be something that Ezra ever had to worry about either, but it would be.

“I don’t know where he is,” he said.  “I was going to ask if you did.”

“Right.”  Zeb paused.  “Can’t help you, sorry.”

Ezra sat tucked into his second-favorite hiding place, wedged between two large bumps of a rock formation just within the perimeter of the base.  It was surprisingly comfortable, shaded by the large bulk of the rocks that hung overhead, warmed by the sun that had passed over there earlier in the day, and most importantly, quiet.  Nobody came that way; nobody would have any need to.

Kanan was searching for him.  He had seen him around once or twice, and been told by two people that he was wanted.  He had even considered going to find him, but decided against it.

He still couldn’t quite believe that he had told him.  And now that Kanan knew, things were supposed to be easier, not harder.  No longer having a secret should have been a weight off his shoulders.  As it was, everything seemed so much worse.

Sooner or later, he was going to have to tell everyone.

Kanan had kept his secret for him so far, but he couldn’t expect him to do that indefinitely.  Sooner or later, Kanan was going to insist that the others know.  He couldn’t do that if Ezra remained out of reach.

The idea felt less daunting now, having done it once, and knowing that the next conversation wouldn’t be immediately followed by a trip to the med droid.  That had been the worst part of it.  The actual admission hadn’t been so bad.

Actually, it had been horrible.  But he had survived it.  Right now he just wanted not to have to think about it.

The problem was, it was everywhere.  He had thought that if he could just stay away from Kanan for a while, it would be alright.  If he could be around people who didn’t know; who had no idea that there was anything wrong, he could forget it for himself too.  But every person he spoke to had been that difficult conversation waiting to happen.

He wanted to be alone.

Only, being alone left him with nothing to do but think.  He wanted to find something mindless to do.  Only, he had completed the task that Hera had given him and found himself with the same problem again.

And so, he wanted to be around people who didn’t know; around them but not interacting with them, because every conversation was tainted by the secret that he was carrying.

He wanted to start telling people now, get it out there so that it couldn’t be taken back.  Shout it from the rooftops if he had to.  He wanted to keep the secret forever.

He wanted not to have a secret to keep.  He wanted it not to be true; for the droid to have told him he was imagining the whole thing, or perhaps to contact him later today to say it had been a mistake.  He wanted to be kicking himself for worrying about something for so long for no reason.

He wanted it to be over, done with.  Not to be forced to watch the slow deterioration; to watch the view growing more and more indistinct.  He wanted it to be fast, and done with.  Like Kanan.

No.  No, he didn’t want that.  He didn’t want to even think about that.

He wanted it to be slow.  Slow like it should have been had the syndrome manifested at the right time.  Twenty years or more of sight.  He wouldn't quite be an old man, but it would have been enough.

But it wouldn’t, of course.  No matter how long he had, it would never feel like enough.

He wanted to scream.  He wanted to run; pick up a beacon, take off into the desert and not stop until he collapsed from exhaustion.

He wanted…  he didn’t know what he wanted.  It didn’t matter anyway; what he wanted was irrelevant, there was only what he had, and he couldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

Slowly, he extracted himself from his second-favorite hiding place and made his slow way back.  He was going to have to talk to Kanan again sooner or later; might as well be now.

Kanan sat on the ground in his favorite meditation spot, concentrating on the Force; feeling it moving through him and around him, connecting him to everything.  Through it, he could sense the people, the structures they had built and the ships they had flown there; he could sense the constant tide of emotion flowing through them; their passions, their fears.  He could sense the planet itself, the ground beneath him, the rocks, the air;, even, almost, its position within the solar system.  But on a smaller scale, drawing his concentration inward, he could feel the presence of every grain of sand beneath him.  It was too much detail for everyday use, but as a training exercise, it was fascinating.

With his concentration elsewhere, he heard footsteps approaching before he sensed the presence of the person attached to them.  Ezra.

Kanan did not react yet; he continued his meditation, concentrating on maintaining the steadiness of his breathing, feeling the Force surrounding both of them, as Ezra crouched down next to him and sat; silent, waiting.

Finally, Kanan took a final, deep breath and withdrew from the meditation.  “You’re a hard person to find,” he said.

Ezra sighed.  “I heard you were looking for me.”

Kanan nodded, and realized that suddenly, after following his trail for hours, he had no idea what to say.  He shifted into a more comfortable position, still seated on the ground.  “I thought you might want to talk,” he said.  “But given that you’ve been avoiding me all day, maybe not.”

“I haven’t…” Ezra began, then stopped.  “Okay, yeah.  I might have been avoiding you just a little bit.  But it’s not just you, the past few hours I’ve been avoiding everybody.”

“That’s… not really better.”

Silence.

“How are you doing?” Kanan asked.

A slight scuffing sound as Ezra shifted on the ground, presumably trying to find a comfortable position of his own.  “You know…” he said.

He didn’t, not really.  He had a good idea, but he was not Ezra and Ezra was not him.  Their experiences were not the same, nor would their reactions be.

“Fine,” Ezra added, unconvincingly.

“That’s good.”

“So,” asked Ezra.  His voice cracked slightly, “What am I supposed to do now?”

That was not an easy question to answer.  Not least because the question itself could mean so many different things.  In the long term, he would have to learn a lot, not only about using the Force to sense the world around him, but also the other methods that Kanan had picked up, some by himself, others by the suggestions of those around him.

He would need to re-master skills that he had acquired as a child and never even considered that he might one day lose.  There would be things that he had thought of already; things he had seen Kanan struggle with, and perhaps considered how to contend with for himself.  There would probably be many more that had not even occurred to him, things that would not, until the time came and he found that he floundered, caught between knowing what to do and an inability to do so because of the limitations of his body.

In the short term, he would have to begin to come to terms with what was happening, find some way to be okay with it; a task that no doubt felt insurmountable at that moment.  He would have other people to inform, people that cared about him: Hera, Sabine, Zeb, Rex.  And still others to whom his physical condition was important for other reasons: Sato, and anybody else that he might have to work with, or who might need to rely on him.

In the even shorter term, he needed to visit Enno-fifteen again, as Kanan had promised that he would.  He was going to have to lead with that one.

“We… you… need to visit the med droid again,” he began.  “He wasn’t finished yesterday, there were things he needed to talk to you about.  What’s going to happen, and… I guess coping strategies, or…” He didn't really know.

“I know what’s going to happen,” Ezra insisted.

Which was true, of course.  “There’s more to it than that though, he’s going to want to monitor you, make sure everything else is alright, give you timescales so we know what we have to work with…”

“That droid creeps me out,” Ezra told him.

That was fair.  “He’s the only one we have.”

Ezra sighed deeply.  “I don’t want to… I don’t want to have to do any of this.”

“I know.” But there was no way around it.  “Just… Come here.”  He reached out with one hand and placed an arm around Ezra’s shoulders.  He drew him in a little closer and gave him an awkward squeeze, an attempt at showing him that he was still there, that he would always be there, no matter what happened; whether Ezra could see him or not.  “Just give him a chance, okay?  One visit, if it’s not going to be useful, you’ll only have to go back for checkups.”

Ezra took a deep breath and exhaled a puff of air.  “One visit,” he agreed.

“For now,” Kanan added.

He had a feeling that sooner or later he was going to regret saying that.

(part 9)