#they are like. focusing on everything BUT the actual question being asked by whoever is the op

[clownattack]

scouring MANLY forums like car sites and knife sites etc to try and find out what the best epoxy glue is and these cunnies are just arguing over each other and nitpicking offhand takes in some weird glue knowledge dick measuring contests. Babes im just trying to narrow down my options pls just say what glue worked for u good omfg

[byproducts-of-my-imagination]

Everyone Hates Todo Except You

The best part about Todo is that you don’t have to put yandere in front of him because his normal behavior already screams delusional and obsessive.   You cannot convince me that he doesn’t sniff all your things as soon as you’re not looking.  He’s just so intense.  I love this man, need to catch up on jjk.

~1k words. Thank you to whoever requested this and I hope you enjoy!

At the Kyoto branch, nobody really bothers sticking their nose in Todo’s business.  But when there’s an enormous mound of trash bags outside his room that just keeps getting bigger, concerning glances and eyebrow raises no longer cut it.  Normally his antics earn a side eye or two, but lately it’s been a little much, even for him.  At the breakfast table the next day, the girls decide to draw straws to see who has to tell him to move his shit.

“It’s not fair!  Why do I have to do it?”  Miwa groans, cursing her bad luck for the thousandth time.  

“It is fair, you just happened to draw the short straw now go deal with it!  We'll back you up.”  Mai grins, knowing full well she rigged it.

Kasumi Miwa would rather be doing literally anything else at this moment.  She timidly knocks on the door, and says, “Todo?  Could you move all this stuff please?  You’re starting to block the hallway.”

“Yeah I’ll get to it whenever I get the rest of this junk cleaned up.  Don’t worry there’s no food waste so there shouldn’t be any smell.”

“B-but Todo…. It's been almost a week now…”  The only response was the muted sound of shuffling.

Miwa looks back in defeat at her so-called “back up” as they peek from behind the corner.  Their best bet now is to get one of the boys to convince him.  And if they fail it’s straight to Utahime-sensei.  

Todo looks at his room, emptier than it’s ever been.  He knew this was the likeliest outcome.  Takada-chan was a beloved idol, and even if she liked him back (which he thought she might have at some point) there was no way she could be with him.  He knew, but it doesn't mean it hurt any less.  There were years of carefully collected merch, thousands of dollars being stuffed into trash bags to be thrown away.  But instead of the despair he carefully denied for years, he didn’t feel any loss throwing away all the autographed posters and pictures.  No, he had something much better now, someone who could actually be with him in this wretched, boring world.  He had his wonderful, gorgeous, beautiful, perfect in every way girlfriend.  And while you weren’t aware that you were destined to be with him yet, he would make sure you’d know soon.  As soon as he finished purging his space of Takada-chan (it wouldn’t do to have pictures of an old flame) he’d confess.  

A few days later he was tying up the last trash bag, ready to enact his plan.  He asked you to meet him under the largest tree in the forest on the edge of the training field.  Several hypothetical scenarios floated through his mind, and he focused on the one where you’d enthusiastically said you loved him back and then he married you and had many children.  As he neared the confession site, Todo felt yet another arrow go through his heart as you came into view.  I’ll never get tired of seeing her.

“Todo, is everything okay?  What’s up?”  A shiver ran down Todo’s spine, goosebumps rising.  God, even your voice was perfect.

“I love you.  Promise me, y/n.  That we’ll spend the rest of our lives together.”  He got down on one knee like a proposal, looking up at you like a devout follower.

“Todo… I don’t know about the rest of our lives but why don’t we start with a date?  I like you too.”  While you were a bit taken aback by his forwardness, you brush it off as Todo being Todo.  You never disliked his honesty and unabashedness.

“My girlfriend!! I knew you felt the same!”  A single tear ran down Todo’s face.   

Back to the dorms, it wasn’t long before everyone found out and congregated at your room to badger you with questions.  

“Ugh that gorilla?  You guys are dating now?”  Nishimiya asked, firmly believing Todo to be an improper and inadequate boyfriend.  

“I thought he only had eyes for that idol Takado or whatever,” Miwa chimes.

“It’s Takada,” Mai corrects, not able to make eye contact with Nishimiya’s suspicious glance in her direction. 

“We’re dating now!  He just asked me out, and he’s really good to me.” you reply, thinking of how Todo insisted on carrying you back to the dorms, gently setting you down before running off saying he needed to ‘prepare’.  

“You can do way better than Todo, trust us.” The girls all nod in agreement.  However, Todo is outside your room balancing a tray of perfectly cooked lunch and a cold pitcher of water.  

“What are you guys talking about?”  he knows already, but wants to hear them say it to his face.  

“How y/n is too good for the likes of you.”  Mai minces no words for Todo.  With the uncomfortable tension rising, the Kyoto girls hastily make an exit.  

“My love, I made lunch for us.  I know I am not handsome, or come from wealth and a good sorcerer family like some of our classmates.  But I will be devoted.  I will never stray from you, I’d die if you asked me to.”  he says, as he sets the meal on your small desk, pulling out utensils and napkins.  His normal confidence seems to waver a bit, and it seems that not even Todo is immune to worrying about what other people think of him.  

“Todo, don’t worry about what they say and please don’t say you’ll die for me.  I like you a lot, I wouldn’t have accepted your confession if I didn’t.  I also think you’re quite handsome.”  

“You love me back?”  he whispers, kneeling at the edge of your bed, looking up at you.  While it’s a bit too early to tell, Todo’s hopeful, reverent look has you obliging him. 

“I do love you back.”  He embraces you, and you can hear his heartbeat in his bare chest.  It feels good to be loved so wholeheartedly, and you’ll give him all the love you have to repay him.  

[thecameronchronicles]

Office Christmas Party

TW: Smut. Language. Dom!Rafe. 

SUMMARY: Rafe decides you will be the one to entertain him at the office Christmas party this year…

WORD COUNT: 1900

REQUESTED

Anonymous asked:

🎄rafe and reader doing it in his office at his work Christmas party🎄

Office Christmas Party

You had only been hired just over a week ago and yet you were quick to learn that Rafe Cameron was not like any boss you’d had prior. To say he was intimidating was an understatement with the word itself needing a different definition of such intensity worn behind such kind eyes. But with your recent employment, came a surprising distance for what you should expect in being his assistant. He focused on any interactions with you through emails and demanded you’d never enter his office alone. Although they appeared to be bizarre requests, his reclusive existence had been an answer to any question you held in your reservations. 

But tonight would change everything. 

Since you had been chosen for the job, you had only met his gaze twice. The first had been when he welcomed you as part of “The Cameron Family”, a phrase actually spoken by his father as you shook both of their hands. But the second, the accidental connection of your eyes to him, had been as the elevator opened as you’d remained after hours. For just a moment, you had taken him by surprise as he explained he wouldn’t share the ride back down to the ground floor, leaving you to theorize that he didn’t like you. For whatever reason he had agreed to hire you, none of them consisted had been because he favored your presence. 

But as his eyes came to you now from across the annual Christmas party, a dull event he loathed throughout the entire year, he was focused solely on you. It made you question your existence entirely as he only showed this kind of attention to his computer screen. It meant that your fingers were always rushing over the fabric of your dress in correction and you made every excuse to check if you had something in your teeth as you would pass over any reflective surface. Yet, you would learn soon enough why you held his interest. 

“Come to my office, yeah?” His voice, melodic in its own way, had been enough to make your heart still and then accelerate as you followed his steps until the door closed at your back. 

“This is usually the part where I hand out those bonus checks…” He hesitated, hovering at a designated drawer of his desk harboring such things. 

“Would you get them for me?” You were beyond bewildered of how entitled he could be. He had already opened the drawer and hung over its parting and yet he wanted you to be the one to work it back into his fingers. And yet with the way his eyes followed you with such a deadpanned expression beneath, you were eager to obey. But as you rose from in front of him, his body was pressed to yours. 

“I knew I never should have hired you.” You attempted to turn to question him, but felt him press you harder to the edge of the desk, a swift motion forcing the drawer closed with a slam. 

“I knew you were going to be distracting…” He shook his head. “Those tight blouses and short little skirts,” He scoffed, “But to make matters worse, you can actually do your job…which makes being near you…difficult. I can’t focus on anything…so I’m going to give you a choice…” He pulled one of those envelopes from your fingers. 

“This is your check. Maybe you don’t necessarily deserve it like they do for being here longer, understandably. And you can take that and leave my office. Take the vacation days over the weekend and celebrate with your friends or family, whoever’s warming your sheets-” Your eyes widened as your gaze kept to him since he captured that envelope. 

“Or?” You asked with a mix of anxiety and excitement as he smirked to see such curiosity. 

“OR you can forgo this…this job…any expectation to be independent…” He pushed you into the desk, a hand on either side of your hips, as he enclosed you between his arms, “And you can let me bend you over and make you mine in the same way you’ve wanted since you accepted this job.” 

You swallowed hard. “If I…If I agree to the latter, it sounds like I’d be out of a job-”

“You misunderstand…” He moved even closer, lowering to you, as he was close enough to now smell the single drink he’d had now echo against your lips as an echo of a possible kiss. 

“If you agreed to it…I wouldn’t pay you. I’m not gonna pay someone I’m fucking. But I would expect you to come to me when I asked. And in exchange, you wouldn’t need for anything. But it would also mean nobody else exists for you. I am yours. And you’d be mine.”

“Mister Cameron-”

“IS my father….You better get used to saying my name because I AM going to make you scream it.” He moved even closer, “IF you choose to accept-” Something took over you from this moment. The reservation you had to cross that line was more than blurred, it was obliterated. The common sense pulling at you in remembrance of how messy could get was silenced when feeling him reciprocate. Such passion behind such intensity you’d longed for since you were employed. And even if it had only been a short while, it was enough to make you burn for him stronger than anyone you’d ever craved. And now you could act on it. And for that reason, you didn’t hold back against him. With a grin forming across his face, you were made aware that he favored this. 

“But I need you to be quiet for me until I’m ready for everyone to know you’re my favorite…” He teased, turning you against the desk. “And for now…You’re going to let me appreciate what’s mine…isn’t that right, baby?” Your eyes came closed as you felt him trace your curves. 

“I mean it. I don’t share and I don’t ask twice. You break any of my rules-”

“What rules?” You spoke quickly, needy to want to please him. 

“I’ll write it up tomorrow. For tonight, I just need you to be quiet until I tell you to come…Let me see what you like…and I'll show you what I expect.” He teased beneath your skirt, but would ultimately retreat and sit in his chair. 

“What CAN I expect Mister-Rafe?” He clenched his jaw as he motioned you closer to him. 

“I’m going to train you to me, sweetheart…”

“Train…me?” He nodded, petting the side of your hair before this sent you to your knees,a  silent direction making you acquiesce as your hands rested on his parted thighs. 

“How long can you hold your breath?”

“I-I don’t know…”

“You’re going to learn to breathe through your nose for me…I just know you’re gonna cry so pretty when you take me,” He used his finger marked by that signet ring he’d worn as a signature of his aesthetic, as he guided you to meet his gaze. 

“All the way,” He carried that cold metal along your throat, stopping where he would rest. 

“Here…” You swallowed hard. 

“But tonight…” That soft tease now altered to a harsh grip in the back of your hair, curls crushed in his cold grasp, offering you a preview of just how quickly he could contrast. 

“Since we don’t have a lot of time…I’m going to show you the worst of it…” You were taken back over the edge of his desk, his hand keeping you eating into the cruel corner as he bunched your skirt at the dimples of your back. 

“I’ll buy lace…” He explained, snapping the cotton fabric at your chilled skin beneath. “It’s easier to tear off…” You gasped as the sound of his belly unlatching behind you made your jaw clench. 

“Understand something right now. That even though I’m in charge, you’re in control. I’m going to fuck you, but you tell me how hard. I’m going to make you come, but you tell me how you want it. But if there’s one time I go to far or you can’t take it, we’re done.” He explained as he’d pulled you to face him, ensuring he had your focus. 

“Tell me you understand. You have to communicate with me or this won’t work.”

“I understand, Rafe.”

“Good. Now be quiet for me so I can make you come without being interrupted-” He was thrusted into you by his own submission. 

“You okay-just nod.” You bowed your head, offering this validation as he clenched his jaw to how you felt around him. 

“Stop tensing…I’m not gonna last.” You tried to ease. But when he noticed your struggle, he softened the moment by taking his hand to your breasts. 

“If you want me to get any work down after this…you’re going to have to give me enough until I can make you mine again…Every inch of this beautiful body…All mine-say it.”

“Yours, Rafe.”

“Good girl, still being quiet.” You blushed. “You like being told you’re a good girl? That makes you wanna come, doesn’t it?” You nodded. 

“I know you wanna scream baby…I promise you can…but…not…yet…” He gripped onto the edge of his desk as he pounded into you, words exchanged for the sound of skin slapping against skin. His stamina was impressive and almost aggravating as he would offer teasings of what he could bring you, edging you as he moved from adorning your figure to offering immediate pleasure. 

“I can’t wait to taste you…” He groaned. “Bet nobody has ever made you come that way…” You shook your head as he scoffed. 

“Don't worry, won’t be a position, a room, a fantasy you won’t come from because of me. You won’t be able to watch porn or have a wet dream with me being a part of your mind…You won’t need either of them…nobody else.” He became almost erratic with his thoughts spoken aloud as his motions increased, explaining to you how he was close. 

“You’re going to scream into my hand this time…I wanna feel the vibrations…” You nodded as he used this grip to pull you up into him as his dominant hand came around your face. “Now, baby…I’m close-I want to feel you drown it-I know you wanna be good, I know you wanna listen-” Your head came to a rest on his shoulder. 

“I’m-”

“You don’t have to tell me…just come-” You nodded, clenching your jaw before feeling that release, quick and sudden in contrast to the build up, but just as rewarding as his own as he turned you to face him. 

“Consider yourself fired, sweetheart. But I’m expecting you first thing on Monday morning. No panties.” He moved closer, that soft trace ascending your curves after returning your dress flat, now harsh at your jaw. 

“You do anything without me, I’ll know…” He explained, taking his fingers over his own cock. “I know how you taste now, baby…and I’ll know.” You clenched your jaw and nodded as he teased a kiss as a knock came to the door. 

“Don’t break any of my rules, baby…You won’t like the consequences, I promise you that.” He smirked as he moved out the door, redressed and satisfied. 

“Oh, and Merry Christmas.” He smirked. 

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @drews1love @belcalis9503

MASTERLIST 

CHRISTMAS MASTERLIST

[imababblekat]

Revali X Sheika Reader

Anon Request; "Hello! May I request Revali w/ a Sheikah!Reader who is extremely kind but also a skilled fighter alongside Impa? Thank you, good luck for everything!"

~xXx~

The first time Revali met you, he didn’t think much. The Rito champion assumed you were an acting guard for Impa, to which he honestly didn’t understand the need for considering her own impressive skill as a fighter. While boastful and full of pride towards others, neither of you rarely conversed. He honestly thought you quite boring, as compared to his own very stoic rival, Link. It wasn’t till the Sheika’s visit to his homeland that he realized just how full of color you truly were.

It was another restless night for Revali, full of tossing and turning in anticipation to get his signature move down right. It secretly irked him how gifted the other Champions were, having been blessed with magical abilities that came as easy as taking a breath. He’d get his move down right, one day, but in the meantime sleep and rest were not helping him get there. The Rito had taken to the skies not moments after making the final descion to get up and work harder, soaring over to the flight range in the dead of night. The chilly air during such a time was nothing to him, so it came as quite the surprise when his sharp eyes picked up the flickering lights of a fire down below.

The closer he guided down to the small hut, the tunes of a soft flute flited to his ears. Whoever had been playing it was so focused on their craft that they had not heard him land and make way into the range’s hut. Once his eyes had adjusted to the light of the cooking pot, Revali immediately recognized who had beaten him to the range. Your back to him, you had not a single clue of your audience as you continued to play the melody of your village so far from the Rito’s. It was melodic and mystifying, a sound that very few outsiders ever got to experience. Yet, Revali was ever so lucky to hear it himself as it resounded off the ranges peaks and be played by non-other than you.

So lost in the beautiful tune you spun, Revali couldn’t help but think back to the past week of your tribes visit. It had taken some time for you to adjust, showing that all the quiet moments of your presence being that because you were actually quite shy, but once you had opened up, Revali somewhat regretted thinking you so dull. You were quite cheerful and oh so kind. The children of his village adored you; always asking you to help them with something or to play or even watch as they awkwardly flapped through the air. Anytime they struggled, you were always quick to encourage them on with unending support. It was something the Rito Champion soon realized he truly admired about you, and he wondered if it was because he had never had someone there to support him.

The sound of a clearing throat made him slightly jump, and he wondered when you had stopped playing or had even taken note of his presence. With a soft smile and confused brows upon your face, Revali was quick to gain composer as to not make him seem off guard.

“Couldn’t sleep?”, you questioned with a hint of concern.

Revali shook his head, stepping forward to stand by where you sat before the ranges cavern.

“Hmph, sleep. Sleeping is for those who ignore their potential and take the easy route about life.”, he huffed, wings crossed as he watched you stand and dust off your Rito winter garb. An outfit he had to fight himself from internally thinking about how nice you appeared in.

“Rest, dear Revali, is what you need.”, you peered out to the ranges peaks before turning to point back at the bow strapped to his back.

“I’ve seen you train, better yet, I’ve seen what you like after.”

Revali reveled in the admittance that you’d seen him in action.

“Oh? An admire?”, he teased with a raised brow and slightly puffed chest.

“No”, you rolled you’re eyes but kept your smile, “Someone who is concerned for the Rito who acts all high and mighty, but staggers away when no ones looking and tries to hide fallen injuries.

Said Rito winced a bit at your statement. He was so careful to make sure no one saw his mistakes or how much of a toll his over training was taking on him. Revali was a prideful sort, he kept himself to high standards and worked hard to be where he was today, unlike most of the others he was assigned to fight alongside of. Last thing he needed was to be seen as weak.

Before Revali could angrily retaliate, you quickly stepped forward and into his space. You face had been inches from his, and he quickly took a step back with a soft squawk, his cheek feathers fluffing up in a bit of embarrassment.

“I know! I’ll challenge you to rest!”

It took Revali a moment to comprehend what you had said, but once he had any bitterness from before had been quickly replaced with intrigue. If there was one thing Revali was known for it was his eagerness to prove himself in competition. With a smirk, he stepped forward in challenge, wings on his hips and startlingly green eyes catching your unwavering form.

“Heh, and what do tell, are you proposing?”

“A shooting challenge.”, you confidently winked, pulling out your own bow.

This caused Revali to let out a heavy laugh, one that only made you smile wider.

“Are you serious?! You do know who you’re talking to right?”, Revali confidently grinned, taking out his bow and holding it as though it were a magnificent treasure.

“What? Are you a kokoo?”, you jested, making bocking sounds to only further ruffle Revali’s feathers.

With a huff, Revali stepped toward the end of the flight range’s landing, you quickly following behind him.

“There.”, he pointed to some targets set in the far distance. “Whoever hits all of those wins. Think you can do that, Sheika guard?”

Narrowing your eyes, Revali knew he tugged a string with the title he’d thrown at you, but was left confused when your dour expression changed to one of mischief.

“I’ll do you one better. If I hit those targets blindfolded, you have to rest. For a week!”

Revali smirked with a raised beak. You really had no idea what you were getting yourself into huh?

“Fine, but if you miss a single target, you will craft my arrows for the same amount of time.”

It was known that Sheika were skilled in the ways of crafting weapons, and Revali reveled at the thought of showing up Link with some new, quicker arrows.

With a nod of agreement you quickly wrapped a piece of cloth around your eyes, taking stance along the edge and drawing your bow. Just behind you, Revali held an already triumphant smirk. He knew the range better than anyone, and knew just exactly how rough and unexpected it’s winding winds could be. How could someone who couldn’t even fly be expected to hit targets, blindfolded, in such unpredictable situations.

And yet, just as how you had taken him by surprise when you’d first arrived and shown your true personality, you had once again done so in the form of archery. With a deep breath and senses he couldn’t even begin to comprehend that you were capable of on high alert, you fired. Each arrow seemed to be carried by the sharp gust of wind, as though you some how knew what direction it would take. Revali watched in awe as the arrows twisted and turned in ways he didn’t think was even possible, the sound of them hitting their mark dead on resounding in his mind. Just as the tune you played on your wonderful flute had moments prior. Was your playing a tactic to learn the ranges winds?

Removing your blindfold and shaking your hair back into place, you didn’t even bother to look at the targets you hit, instead turning to the awestruck Rito Champion with a smirk of your own.

“See you back at the village. Oh, and one more thing,” you brushed teasingly against him as you made your leave.

“I’m not a guard. I’m a warriors aprentice.”

Watching your retreating form, Revali felt a warmth blooming within his chest and let out a small chuckle with a shake of his head and a genuine grin, your admirable skills with a bow playing back in his memory.

You weren’t boring in the slightest.

[quotidian-oblivion]

for the Melrin ask - Worst thing you think Merlin ever did. im so curious about this one

I had to think so much about this one too.

I don't know. I love Merlin, he's my favorite character. I justify everything he does, even if it's bad. That's what happens with any favorite fictional characters.

I don't want to say "Not telling Arthur sooner" or "Mistrusting Mordred" or "Poisoning Morgana" or anything of the like because, to be fair, that's a given. It's something a lot of us will lament about. Mainly because the writers did not do their job properly (imo).

I'd say, the worst thing he did, to me, is be passive.

I'm bringing up my own values and morals here because I believe that Merlin ruined himself and all of Albion by being passive. By listening to the dragon and not doing his own research. By being whatever Arthur needed him to be. By taking things upon himself. By not trusting others because that's what he was told.

If Merlin had been a little more assertive and a little more sure of himself and what he wanted, then the show would have gone on in an entirely different direction. But he's passive. For the majority of the show. The biggest time where he's not is in the first scene where he challenges Arthur because he wanted to stay true to his ideals and values which was to stand up against bullies who prey on the ones who can't defend themselves against them.

If he had been more assertive, he would have told Arthur earlier, he wouldn't have poisoned Morgana, he would have trusted Mordred or even Gwaine and the others more.

But he let himself be led by Destiny and Kilgharrah and Gaius and whoever else advised him rather than take some time to think things through first. Like Arthur does.

The thing about Merlin and Arthur here is that Arthur really is bolder than Merlin, but in a different way. He is bold in a way Merlin lacks, which is with practical and tactical matters. He questions Merlin's judgement, questions his father's judgement, Gaius's judgement. Agravaine was a main villain for season 4 because of his perfect ways of manipulation and deceit in a way that it got past Arthur's critical thinking and assertiveness. Arthur doesn't take things at face value and is willing to consider different ways things can go and the show mostly shows that when it comes to questioning Merlin's judgement (like about Agravaine and the siege tunnels and about Gwen at first etc). But in the first few seasons, he questioned his father's judgement a lot too but the fandom mainly focuses on Merlin's opinions vs Arthur's even though he and Uther had met head-on-head multiple times.

Arthur doesn't take things at face value which is why it's possible for so many magic reveal fics to look and be accurate.

But Merlin does. Merlin takes a lot of things at face value. He took Kilgharrah's sayings at face value, he took Gaius's (good-hearted but misguided) warnings at face value. He took what the druids said, what Edwin Muirden said, what Julius Borden said, what that druid seer in the Diamere episode said, and so many others at face value. Just accepted it without thinking much about it and went forward.

Don't get me wrong, Merlin has a very strong moral compass and moral thinking. But he lacks critical thinking. Something which Arthur doesn't lack. They complete each other in this way.

But if we're not looking at all that then I'd say the worst thing I believe Merlin ever did was poison Morgana because- WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK MERLIN, DID YOU NOT THINK OF ANY OTHER FUCKING SOLUTION???? HOW ABOUT GETTING MORGANA OUT OF THE CASTLE? HUH? WHAT THEN? WHAT ABOUT TELLING HER THAT HEY, I'M GONNA POISON YOU BUT DW I HAVE THE ANTIDOTE SO THAT I CAN REVIVE YOU AGAIN WHEN MORGAUSE COMES AND LIFTS THE SPELL BC I KNOW THAT YOU DONT WANT THIS EVEN THOUGH YOU THINK UTHER SUCKS. I MEAN, THE USED THAT PLAN SEVERAL HUNDRED TIMES ALREADY, WHY COULDN'T THEY USE IT THIS ONCE???????

[tobiasdrake]

Are you officially gone from TV Tropes? Haven't seen you on any of the forum threads for a while now.

I pop in from time to time to lurk on some threads, but I'm not actively following things there the way I used to. I've been focusing a lot on Tumblr lately.

But I've always had less online time in general lately, as these last couple months have involved a substantial amount of adulting.

I'm finding I enjoy the format of Tumblr a lot better than internet forums. There's less pressure to respond to people here. I can shoot opinions out into the wild and people can take or leave them as they will, and then everyone just moves on.

In a forum, everybody's in one room vying to duke it out with whoever spoke last. Everything has to be such a debate. Everybody's always competing to prove how smart they are and how right their position on whether Batman can beat up Superman is.

And I just. I don't have the mental space for that anymore. I haven't for years. I'm in my late thirties now; I don't want to fistfight someone in the Denny's parking lot over Spider-Man movies.

And I'm also just so tired of long, drawn-out arguments with people who clearly aren't reading what I'm saying, and just respond to the general idea of my point that they've heard from others. Then make me out to be the bad guy because they've made it into an argument and dragged it out for pages on end.

"Ugggh, there goes Drake answering questions and clarifying misinterpretations of what he was saying again. Why does he always have to drone on and on about this every time people keep pushing the topic back onto him? Why won't he just drop the topic we keep responding to him about?"

TvTropes is an echo chamber governed by mob consensus. They like to say that they're just... pro-positivity towards media. "We are a website for celebrating media," is the pitch. Threads that exist purely to complain about a piece of media are forbidden and the general belief is that if a fan and a critic are arguing, the critic is always wrong.

But that's a lie, because the forum has plenty of complaining threads. The Sonyverse thread exists purely so everyone can shit on the Sonyverse and talk about how dumb Sony is for ever thinking these films could work. And also conspiracy theories about Venom's success being fake.

In actuality, TvTropes is governed by mob rule. The community has an opinion consensus about a piece of media, and if you disagree with the consensus then you're wrong. You're not supposed to talk shit about the MCU in the MCU thread but you're also not supposed to defend the Sonyverse in the Sonyverse thread, and either of these positions will incite the furious mob. It's an echo chamber.

For a long time now, it's become my policy on TvTropes to just say my piece and then fuck off and not respond to whoever gets uppity about it. Just fire off an opinion and then bail. Because I don't want to fistfight you in the Denny's parking lot, and if I actually respond to questions being asked then I put a target on my back.

And that's just. Not any fun for me. I didn't like the movie. Seven pages of screeching at me about it isn't going to make me like the movie. That's kind of the thing about media discourse? Even if you have the facts on your side, you're never going to change someone's mind by vanquishing them in the Arena of Logic.

No one has ever gone, "Oh, you're right, Black Widow's death technically does not qualify as Women in Refrigerators because she had agency in it. The scene is therefore good now. My qualms have been quelled and I will now defend this movie with my life." At the end of the day, we're just using words to describe how the thing made us feel. You might outmaneuver my words in a clash of verbal blades. But my feelings live on. You cannot slay them in semantic jousting.

And I've long given up on trying.

This is where Debate Bros will say "Well, my goal isn't to convince YOU but to convince ALL OF THE PEOPLE WATCHING US," as if sharing opinions on whether Batman can beat up Superman carries the same cultural gravitas as a Presidential Debate.

I use media discourse the way other people use fanfic. To express the feelings and ideas that are burning in my brain and need an outlet, need to go somewhere. On TvTropes, that always has to turn into a fight, because everyone in a forum environment has to have opinions about everyone else's opinions and we're all expected to civilly scream at each other until the mob consensus has been formed and the Official TvTropes Opinion is reached.

But on Tumblr, I can just throw my opinions out into the wild. And if people like them, they'll get Notes and maybe even start doing numbers. And if people don't, then they'll just be left to the void of forgotten statements. Either way, I can move on with my life after saying it, you can move on with your life after reading it or not read it at all, and we can all just go do something else.

That's basically how I try to use TvT these days, but on Tumblr that's actually the culture. It's what's expected. And so I find myself drawn more and more to the calming void of Tumblr over the combative civility of TvTropes.

[beautifulpersonpeach]

I know you always struggle to write about Suga Bpp but I'd really appreciate a review from you for D-day.

Sincerely, a follower who loves the space you make here.

Thank you for focusing on the music in the middle of the madness. I struggle with this a lot, but your posts always help.

Pls review D-day in any way you like or in that way you always do.

***

I'm losing my mind.

This album has put me in a high that hasn't come down since release. Overall, I rate the album a 9/10. I won't really get into the lyrics (Yoongi never minces words), but will tell you why exactly I think Yoongi is insane.

(Tsk... a problem)

We should all thank Yoongi. If I had his address I'd send him flowers and my nudes (me sitting pretty in a bucket of tangerines), for the blessing, the honour, the gift of J-hope Jay spitting the coldest bars of his entire career on HUH?!

His delivery??

Jesus.

Jung Hoseok, the man you fucking are.

There's no Korean rapper in the history of rap who has spit sicker bars, delivered so cold it feels like he just ripped eyeballs clean out their sockets.

(Son couilles est lourde)

HUH?! is the best song on the album

See, up until now, BTS had never done drill. And a part of me was always grateful because even on harmless boom bap beats, they been cutting niggas left and right. But Yoongi went there. On D-DAY, he went there. And Lord is it a revelation. Nobody should be surprised that D-DAY is now the highest selling rap album, in history. Yoongi is the first rapper to sell a million albums in a day in history. Not k-rap, not in Asia, but globally in the history of the genre - that was done by Min Yoongi with Jung Hoseok whipping up guts served cold on a platter.

If you're vegetarian or vegan I'm so sorry but this album is not for you. Because this album, HUH?! in particular, is an exhibit of cadavers split open and Hobi's delivery is of a man who didn't even bother washing his hands after doing what needed to be done. A man who doesn't feel a speck of remorse for the corpses left in his wake. Hobi's flow on HUH?! is psychotic. And think about what it means to have Hobi on a song like this to begin with. Yoongi said he hadn't done the genre before, and he trusted Hobi - who initially learned from Namgi but very quickly developed his own flavour and skills enough to earn the respect of his idol - Yoongi trusted his brother on that track and that alone nearly brings me to tears.

Then Yoongi follows it with Amygdala and I start actually crying.

(This was me on my third listen.)

Amygdala is the standout song on this album

The transition from drill rap to soothing acoustic trap is so beautiful, it alters your mind. It's so seamless. Everything about Amygdala cements Yoongi's genius as a force to be reckoned with among the greats.

(I love them)

When Yoongi showed Jimin this song in SOOP around the time he made it, he said he went through wild mood swings making it. And you hear it in his voice. When he screams so wildly he uses autotune to distort it, almost temper it, for our sakes and to drive home the point. The point being his pain, how overwhelming it was, how he decided to intentionally pull those memories out to process them. And he lets us hear the result. He lets us see the compassion he shows himself in that song.

Y'all...

*

Snooze

Yoongi's writing is the reason I fell in love with him. Just by the way. An Anon asked me this question almost 11 months ago now and I never responded, but Anon if you're reading this now, this is the answer to your ask. Yoongi's writing is what I think cemented him as my bias.

Have you heard/read the lyrics for Snooze yet? I cried when I first heard them. To think Yoongi made this for his brothers, for his juniors, for his fans, for anyone whoever hears it, for himself... that brought me to tears.

Repurposing the lyrics from So Far Away...

(I've been a mess since Friday)

With the context of the tragedy of the last week, I can't help but weep. I really hope these artists get the support they need, I hope the wider k-pop fandom quickly recognizes what is actually at stake here, and I hope you remember to always take care of yourself.

*

Woosung's voice on this track is perfection.

When it comes to vocalists, Yoongi has a type. It's my type as well, vocalists with a voice made for haunting rock anthems. The best examples being Jimin, Taka from ONE OK ROCK, Tyler from Twenty One Pilots, Adora, and now we can add Woosung from The Rose to the list.

The thing that gets me with BTS, is they could drop the pantie dropper album of the century and they'd still have substance to them. You don't get Ryuichi Sakamoto on your album, in his final years no less, if you haven't got a decent bit of substance to you.

Snooze is yet another song on the album that reminds us of the evolution of Agust D. It reminds us of why we're at this point, where we are in the timeline of his growth. It reminds us of why we should join him on the other side.

He doesn't let us languish too long in the feeling though, before moving to SDL - that groovy, sexy number that surprises me with how much I like it every time it comes up in my playlist.

[ I'm starting to ramble so I'll just say Adora on SDL makes me think they should get together.

The track is so good and Adora undeniably is the magic ingredient. And if we're being honest, Adora is his best female feature/adliber. We all know it. I'm just selfish and shameless enough to voice the desire we all have that they should always make music together. ]

*

Haegeum is where he repeats the pattern but we never learn if he's broken the cycle

I'll try to be ultra brief here.

Agust D is born of the anger, hatred, and pain Yoongi feels when looking at the world and at himself. He expresses his struggle with self-loathing, insecurity and greed in Agust D. Haegeum, meaning both to lift a ban, to say what had been suppressed, and a traditional Korean instrument he loves - Haegeum is the resolution before he reaches the acceptance he shows in People Pt 2. We hear Yoongi brutally criticize himself and his society while dissecting the system to get down to the root of what really ails us. K-pop stans have predictably made a ruckus about his lyrics referring to capital. And their criticisms yet again show why few people take k-pop and its fans seriously. Because exactly none, zero, zilch, not a single one of their criticisms are rational once the whole verse is viewed in full.

*

Haegeum is very much a read of himself as it is of anyone else. He confronts the shadow of him that represents those vices, and kills him. But just as it was in Daechwita, we don't know if that shadow will remain dead. Although in Haegeum it's clear Yoongi has grown and whatever shadow that remains is closer to Suga in likeness than Agust D, we don't know if the cycle is permanently broken. And that is how it is for all of us. We have to continue to evolve, to confront more complex versions of our shadows, each time better reconciling who we are to who we want to be, perfecting our characters.

Haegeum is a visual feast, somehow more vivid than Daechwita which is really saying something. It reminds me of Hong Kong neo noir films. It's cool Yoongi wrote the storyboard for the MV himself.

And as I've said before, Yoongi is messy killer. When I said this about him last year I got some of his akgaes in my inbox saying I should stop smearing the man. Lol. If you had any doubt before, after Haegeum it should be crystal clear.

He could murder you with chopsticks and look good doing it. Honestly, only Yoongi can tear down capitalism as well as Karl Marx does, looking 1,000x better.

*

*

In D-Day, SUGA gracefully ends the trilogy of Agust D. Yoongi has told this story of his wrestle with his greed, his anger and hatred, over the last 7 years, and his honesty and graciousness in how he concludes it in D-Day deserves a standing ovation.

I strongly encourage everyone to read Yoongi's Thanks To on the album. I'll post an English translation from Twitter below:

Credit: @/btsbaragi_jk

His sense of humour is one of my favourite things about him.

*

Yoongi has created a masterpiece. He worked so hard and it shows. His vocals on the album alone have elevated D-DAY to one of the best releases this decade. You can hear how much he has grown as an artist to the point I dare say he no longer has any obvious weaknesses. The impeccable production on D-DAY is a given. And to think he finished most of the album in 2020, but chose to wait for the rest of the guys to find their feet, for them all to decide on the timing for Chapter 2, to think he waited that long... sometimes, I wonder if people have a true understanding of the kind of group BTS is. Of the personal sacrifices each of the members in BTS have had to make.

When I see asks about this or that mistreatment complaint for this or that member, sometimes it pisses me off. Cause yeah, it sucks that Jungkook has to (possibly) serve now despite having 5 years more and being at his prime; I too hate that Jimin's sales were explicitly targeted, deleted without precedent, explanation, or accountability; I cannot for the life of me explain what the fuck happened with Jack in the Box's album roll-out, packaging, shipping, etc. But like, every member is making these decisions with their eyes wide open and taking these hits in stride with a team/company they say they trust. If Jimin trusts Bang PD with his career, on what basis could I begin to disagree with him?

Anyway I digress. D-Day is a gift. Pray you survive the live versions lol. And oh, about Yoongi (and the rest of BTS) being insane as I said initially, just listen to HUH?! again.

[scribblestatic]

Forsooketh

----

There was no explanation for the roses.

Narinder searched the library that the Lamb gathered in the temple. Books of the old arcane, letters, tapestries... It was quite the fanciful collection for a vessel to study. Now, it was efficiently passed down to their god. And though the materials themselves were not lacking, none of them contained any reasonable explanation for the roses he saw in Darkwood.

Parasitic life was actually quite well recorded. The Lamb had favored a follower named Dr. Sozonius, who lived out the remainder of his days post-fungal possession recording everything he remembered about such beings. Fungi were one thing, however, and plants were another. Fungi were not plants, and though parasitic plant life was also among Dr. Sozonius' writings, he didn't see anything regarding the type he saw.

So, he could only come to the conclusion this was possibly something new and previously unrecorded. That, of course, was cause for concern.

Narinder was not dull. With some time spent resting, he recalled what the Mystic Seller and Clauneck.

"Someone to fill the void..."

"The One Who Weeps"

It seemed that, while he focused on stabilizing his cult, someone else came upon a crown, much like Leshy stumbled upon his own. Not only that, but it seemed they had taken a liking to one of his names, mimicking it for themselves. A poor mockery of his actual excellence.

It was infuriating. Whoever this One Who Weeps was, he would ensure they continued weeping, only for different reasons.

"My lord?"

Narinder looked up from his desk, Maon entering quietly before bowing.

"I heard I was needed."

"Yes, you have work to do." He stood from his seat, walking over to the fox. Although he wasn't as tall as he once was, he was still a head taller than the old man. "I shall go crusade again soon. In the meantime, you must look for information regarding parasitic flowers in arcane magic."

"Understood."

"See to it."

As Narinder went to leave, the elder cleared his throat.

"My lord."

"What."

He glared back, finding the fox keeping his gaze to the ground.

"This lowly one wished to ask. Is there any trait to these parasitic flowers that were of particular import?"

He considered the question genuinely. It was indeed a reasonable request, though he should have simply asked it earlier.

"Hm... They intertwine themselves with their hosts irrevocably, to the point they would otherwise not function without its presence. All the ones I've seen so far appear docile unless otherwise provoked. I am unsure of how they propagate."

Maon nodded.

"Thank you, my lord. I hope to have a report ready for you upon your return."

"Hmmh."

Reading Maon's mind showed a similar sentiment to what he said, hoping that he could indeed have answers for him. Before, it was funny to watch the fox be two-faced, praising him with his mouth, crying out and cursing him with his mind. But it seemed resurrection after resurrection had tempered him into a reasonably useful blade.

However, he would only be reliable at looking into more earthly or mortal manifestations. The other strange items required a more professional eye.

-- -- --

"God of Death, we meet again so soon."

The Mystic Seller gazed down at him, rankling Narinder. However, it was true he needed the strange one's expertise. Asking it, however, would certainly strain his soul.

"...Mystic Seller, I have acquired an artifact that may be of interest to you."

"So you say. I do sense an unusual essence on your person..." The Mystic Seller's visible eyes narrow curiously as it bent down toward him. "...Hmm...it seems you have more than one such mysterious item. But what would I gain from defining such things for you?"

"If you tell me what these are, I will give them to you."

"Hmm... Very well."

Narinder pulled out the items, one that seemed to be a shard of something else, and another, smaller, self-contained little milky pink droplet. The Mystic Seller raised them both from his hands without revealing its own.

"Ah, yes, I know this well. The shard of a God Tear. Strength, longevity, and a mourning that stretches eternally. Found in the bellies of the foulest of beasts and villains... Tis only a fragment of its full form. Keep it. Complete the God Tear and return, and you shall receive a reward worth its price."

The shard returned to Narinder's palm, but the Mystic Seller gazed for a long moment at the small milky red teardrop.

"This, too, is a God Tear. However, a tear from a young god of immense power. I wonder why, for what reason, the First Gods cried, but I wonder not why this one weeps. The pressure and clarity of the emotions that formed it are as clear as a mirror. Its purity, immense. Small as it is, a God Tear of great value."

The Mystic Seller's cloak billowed, and above its head, a wheel appeared. It had familiar symbols on it for necklaces and holy talismans. However, the pink tear floated up, dissipating into a little burst of golden sparks, and the wheel changed, all of the results combining into a single option with a shifting symbol.

It clicked into place, and the center of the wheel opened with a clack, dispensing an item that floated in front of the seller.

As the light faded from it, Narinder stiffened at what he saw.

A single, curled horn, patchwork-made with pieces of several horns pasted together in varying colors and textures. A long, jagged crack ran from the open base to near the tip, where a smaller opening resided. It was held together by a golden band.

Horn of the Slaughtered. Blessed memories, turned to pain. Sing a song, harmful for those who hear it. Fragile.

"What is this?"

"A relic, fashioned of flesh ungodly. You paid the price for it. Use it as you see fit."

"But I don't know what this does! You've yet to tell me."

"Then, if you are unsure of when to use it as you see fit, use it when you feel you need it most."

Before Narinder could complain further, the Mystic Seller turned, it and its realm disappearing from view. The God of Death groaned irritatedly, tempted to throw the strange item on the ground and leave without it...

Fine. Whatever. He'd figure out what he needed it for.

-- -- --

When Narinder entered Darkwood this time, he brought a lantern. It was an archaic thing with no mystical attributes, but it did protect the flame within. Even if it was turned and flipped all different ways, a balancing mechanism inside kept the fuel and flame upright, ensuring it would not go out.

So, he entered the darkness, holding the lantern in one paw and his scythe in the other. In the satchel around his waist, the Horn of the Slaughtered waited for its time of use.

What a useless thing. "Fashioned of flesh ungodly." Didn't that mean it had no power at all? It wasn't as though a relic made of Maon's flesh and bone would yield results. So, what was the purpose of using an ungodly relic? And who made it?

Surely not Chemach, who only seemed attracted by the might of the gods and the godly. Of course, she did also have an obsession over followers, but only of followers of her own.

There would be no reason for her to use the parts of sheep. Only one of their kind ever attempted to reach godhood.

He could only hold onto one relic at a time, so perhaps he should use it as soon as possible. Just go ahead and get rid of the horn so he could use something useful... Still. It would probably be best to wait until he encountered another relic first before he got rid of it.

So he traveled through the brush once again, encountering more of those stumbling rose-worms along with their living compatriots.

In one location, he hid behind an overgrown log--not out of fear, of course. Instead, he studied, as closely as he could, the behavior of the worms. He had to lower the intensity of the lantern so he wouldn't be spotted too easily, but his night vision allowed him to at least see some things. Although it was too dim to view everything in full color, using his senses, the outlines became visible to him.

There was a rose-worm swaying near the center of the area. A normal chaser worm walked steadily near it before bumping into it. Although it made a noise of discontent, the normal worm did not attack its rose-bound relative. Instead, it walked more carefully, moving away from it, and the rose-worm stayed in place, swaying lightly without responding.

Was there some sort of pollen that shook off the rose-worm that would pollute the chaser worm in due time? How long would that take? Where were the seeds to parasitize the living until they died?

Unfamiliar and unsure. These were two feelings Narinder despised, yet they accurately described him.

...Perhaps it would be a danger, but when he returned the next time, he would need to bring something to contain parts of the rose. Perhaps he could use some sort of safety equipment? The medical team the Lamb began during their vessel days still retained knowledge about illness-based cleanliness, which Narinder further developed with time. Something there could be of use.

Decision made, Narinder brightened the lantern, attracting attention. But before the worms present could figure out what happened, he was already bringing his blade down upon their bodies.

-- -- --

Much like Amdusias, Valefar also appeared asleep upon their encounter.

Although the flesh around its face was rotting, camellias sprouted from it, covering the it. All five of its eyes were closed, and the bodies hanging off its numerous horns were adorned with vines and flowers.

The creature form once again only awakened after slashing it three times.

Its new attacks, even stronger than before, contained waves of thornless vines that would, for a moment, stay in place and sway after the worm hit the ground, swaying like tentacles before dissipating. Of course, Narinder understood that getting to close to them would likely prompt another of those strange visions.

He saw no reason to view Valefar's as well.

Although difficult and leaving him panting at the end, he finally managed to wear the wizened jumper worm down until he could slash at it ceaselessly, stabbing through its face until it couldn't heal further.

They to, in their fading breaths, pleased for Leshy.

"Please...end his suffering... Allow him rest...or allow him death."

Their body also faded away, leaving behind nothing but bones, horns, and camellias. Within their corpse, a fragment of a God Tear and one of the small pink God Tears that produced the still useless Horn he never used.

Narinder snorted under his breath as though his fur wasn't somewhat slicked with sweat.

How useless. But at least he got another fragment of the really useful one. It appeared he only needed two more. He didn't remember their names off the top of his head, but it was likely from one more of Leshy's most devoted disciples and, lastly, his witness.

He had yet to encounter Kuudai, but Clauneck's cards had once again benefited him. Though, in a sense, wasn't he benefiting himself? After all, though Clauneck pulled the cards, he was the one who chose them himself.

Narinder huffed, wandering away from the temple to return to his cult. He needed a bath, as much as he hated to admit it. Not that he was against baths, but he was still, unfortunately, out of shape.

-- -- --

He returned home, much to the muted but present joy of his followers. Aym and Baal greeted him at his quarters, having just finished their defensive rounds.

"Master, welcome back," they greeted in tandem, bowing respectfully.

"You've done your work faithfully," he replied, putting the lantern down on a nearby table. "Anything to report?"

"No, master, there were no invaders or dissenters," Baal replied.

"Maon has not yet finished his report on the flower, as you directed. Shall this one punish him?" Aym stood tall, paw firmly clenched on his staff.

"No, not this time. He did not claim it would be ready upon my return. Perhaps I shall assist him..."

Narinder paused when, upon setting his satchel down, it made a thunk sound. He turned back to it, confused.

It should've been empty of everything except the two God Tear shards and the tiny useless one. He'd already put the bones, wood, rocks, and camellias he'd gathered in the chest only he had access to. Moreover, only relics ever made his bag heavy, and they disappeared upon returning from the lands of the Old Faith.

Yet, when he opened the bag, the Horn of the Slaughtered stared back at him.

[watermelinoe]

don't say that i want to read your isekai opinions

i feel like i am being buttered up here but i will allow it bc i do love talking abt isekai hehe ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

so for context what made me think more abt isekai as a genre was finishing the main story chapters of saving my sweetheart, which i think is really strong for the first two thirds and then loses it in the last third for reasons i will explain shortly

and i've had this issue w other isekai/regression manhwa (i pr much lump these together under the isekai umbrella even though it is not technically the same thing) where things are just too easy, one that comes to mind off the top of my head is i shall master this family, which has great art and i like that it's less focused on romance but i ended up getting bored bc the protagonist just. never loses. she can always use her past life experience to perfectly predict what will happen and completely curbstomp whoever her opponent is.

"but isn't that the appeal of an isekai??" you may ask and you would be INCORRECT, yes the wish fulfillment element of isekai is about getting a do-over, but more than that my favorite thing abt the genre is how it plays with expectations and the idea of fate/any kind of higher power that decides how things are "supposed" to be. and oftentimes this force is an active character and antagonist. i've seen several manhwa now where the characters essentially have to beat "god" in order to get their happy ending. there are no predestined endings and true love is the love you make with the person you choose, not someone who is chosen for you. soulmates are made, not created. these are all themes that are extremely important to me and why i think isekai as a genre works so well. i'm someone who LOVES tropes - as tv tropes always says, Tropes Aren't Bad. isekai plays with tropes like i used to play with my dinosaur toys. it's supposed to be self-aware, it's supposed to subvert expectations, it's supposed to be fun and genre savvy and meta. it's really a treat for people who care a lot about the mechanics of storytelling.

the working isekai formula relies on establishing the wish being fulfilled - why is this person being reincarnated? and the answer to that question generally determines how the story first plays out, which is typically one of two ways, where the female lead either has to claw her way up through obstacle after obstacle, or the female lead is immediately welcomed and loved in her new life (but often there is still some underlying conflict that keeps her from being at ease and embracing Happily Ever After, such as her knowledge of what's "destined" to happen in the future). the latter is more of a hurt/comfort trope usually following a depressing first life. in either case, at the beginning the female lead can rely on her insider knowledge to score some wins early on, but the essential key is that there comes a point where her past knowledge means nothing anymore because the story has changed too much. and usually there will be an additional twist as well. this is to keep things from being too easy for the female lead, because even in a revenge story, it's not actually satisfying to watch someone win over and over with no meaningful conflicts. the archvillain's daughter-in-law also has a female lead who seemingly never misses, but the difference is that she thinks her father-in-law is planning to kill her so his son can remarry the royal princess (divorce is illegal), and honestly at this point in the story without spoiling anything that still seems like a reasonable fear. so the story isn't boring because you have this conflict of interests, she's attached to her new family but also knows she needs to be dead for her father-in-law to accomplish his overall goal. i shall master this family doesn't seem to have that extra layer, everything just goes her way.

saving my sweetheart does a great job with challenging the female lead for the first ~90 or so chapters and then in the last third, i swear literally every single obstacle is squashed before you can even start to worry about it. including the main looming death flag introduced at the very beginning of the story. it just no longer matters at a certain point. and obviously as readers we know that these types of stories will work out in the end, but for some reason this story decided that the characters should know that, too. in the third act. they literally solve things by showing multiple characters the future. sorry but if the main characters already know it's going to be okay... why am i here exactly lol it was like the story said yeah yeah you know what it's gonna be like huh??? what a baffling choice

and it's dangerously easy for stories that use gods as major players to eliminate any real challenge for the main characters because they literally have the power of god and anime on their side. there has to be some excuse why whatever divine power can't just stomp the bad guys with a giant foot monty python style. it's also just.... less satisfying for a story to have the Ultimate Objective Good on the side of the main characters. Good is often Boring. i liked how flirting with the villain's dad portrayed its god as more human and flawed, like a greek god.

what really left a bad taste in my mouth by the end of saving my sweetheart was that fate was never against them in the first place, it was the villain who upset the balance, and the two Good gods just give the main characters the answers because fuck it, you all know how it's gonna turn out anyway, who are we kidding. there's an especially laughable moment at the end and this will be a spoiler, but when a major character has to go to the land of the dead at the end to persuade another character to come back to life, this character worries bc in the happy future he originally saw, he wasn't in it. and for a split second you think there's going to be a nice message because the major character says smth like "i can't guarantee the future but i know we would be less happy without you in it" BUT THEN the goddess literally just fucking SHOWS the dead guy the future with him in it to prove it will all be fine and i am still not over it because WHAT WAS THE POINT THEN, what was the point of any of it, no one had to be uncertain for a single fuckin second because yknow power of god and anime

and i feel like an insane person bc everyone else was just like "this felt kinda rushed" but i had this whole rant built up inside me lmao i am aware i'm too into this genre but i think there's interesting parallels you can make here to like, christian media and why it's boring...

[keischreiber]

A Warrior (Once a Soldier)

A friend (Aevi) of mine, gifted me with another fic of Reiner and Kristina. I feel like I am being spoiled. I hope I can return the favor one day.

This story was penned by Andrew Anderson and his website is: https://ibelieveinahappilyeverafter.com

The action scene, the action scene~

Title: A Warrior (Once A Soldier)

Author: ibelieveinahappilyeverafter | Andrew Anderson 

Fandom: Attack On Titan 

Relationship: Reiner Braun/Kristina Qual (OC) 

Word Count: 2,213

Summary: Kristina has once again managed to stay late. This time, however, she has the bad luck to run not into Reiner Braun the Warrior, but into Reiner Braun, the soldier of the 104th.

---

Unable to help herself from signing the last of her paperwork with a gentle flourish, Kristina leaned back in her chair and sighed. It had taken her the better part of the day to catch up on all her paperwork for the Warrior program, but thankfully she had managed to get it done.

Pushing herself away from her desk and standing up with a light stretch (and a lot of cracks that told her she needed to up her personal exercise regime), Kristina paused as she looked around her office, the hallway that led out into the building, and then at her window. The ‘better part of the day’ had turned into late evening, which certainly explained why it had been so peacefully quiet as she worked.

Sighing and gathering up all her paperwork before sliding it into her desk, Kristina paused and then muttered a quiet, “Damn.” She had promised to meet Reiner in his office so they could discuss a couple of war strategies before presenting them to Commander Magath.

Finishing tidying up what she could, Kristina was quick to slip her outer jacket back on before leaving her office and locking the door behind her. She wasn’t sure if she hoped that Reiner had waited for her or if he had gone home like he no doubt should have hours ago. (The selfish part of her, of course, hoped that he would be there waiting for her with one of those soft smiles of his.)

Pushing that selfish part of her down, at least for the moment, Kristina quickened her pace until she was in front of his office door and then… paused. She couldn’t explain it, couldn’t even put it into words if she wanted, but something suddenly felt wrong. Cautious, she looked around the halls. It was as quiet and empty as it had been a moment ago.

Tensing herself, Kristina lifted up her hand and formed a loose fist (ready to either throw a punch or catch one) before knocking on the door.

“Reiner? It’s Officer Qual. You wanted to meet and discuss strategies?”

There was the very faint sound of movement behind the door, but no answer. That certainly narrowed down her choices on what to do next. There was definitely someone in there, but now the question was if it was Reiner or if it was someone hiding in his office when they weren’t supposed to be. Either way, it meant something was wrong.

Cautiously, and hopeful that everything was actually just fine, she knocked on the door one more time. When no answer came except more faint movement, Kristina took a breath and opened the door.

She was immediately dodging a fist.

Stumbling a few steps back before she regained her footing, Kristina silently cursed herself for slacking off on her training once again before she was lashing out with her own hit, leg coming up with enough force to hopefully knock down whoever had attacked.

When the faint pain hit, she focused to see that an arm had blocked her hit and the eyes of Reiner Braun were glaring into her own. She didn’t get the luxury of staring in shock or gasping, instead immediately moving when he lunged forward for another attack of his own.

She had been trained too hard to waste her breath on trying to ask him what was happening or what he was doing. No. The goal was to pin him and then ask him what the hell he thought he was doing.

“Marleyan scum! Where have you taken me!” Alright, she supposed they were talking, then-

Kristina’s arms ached as she managed to stop him in his tracks for just a moment, long enough to see a swirl of confusion and blankness in his gaze as he looked at her.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

“Who are you?” Kristina asked, breathless as they separated and Reiner looked at her with contempt. “State your name!”

“I am Reiner Braun of the 104th, soldier of the Survey Corps and of Paradis!” Soldier. He thought himself a soldier.

Before she was even aware of it she was already moving, throwing herself at Reiner and ramming into his center of balance with enough force to have him falling backwards. She heard his cursing and swearing, but paid it no mind as she kept with the momentum, both of them hitting the ground with enough force to make her bones ache.

A burst of adrenaline as he jerked under her was the only reason she found enough strength in her to pin him to the ground by his wrists, straddling his waist in an attempt to not let him get back up.

“Reiner Braun of the 104th is dead!” She winced as her words echoed through the halls, silently grateful that the building seemed empty. Her words were, at the very least, enough to give the man under her pause. “You are not that man. You are Reiner Braun, a Warrior of Marley!”

There was something so painful in his eyes, Kristina silently thought to herself. It was as if he was inches from a death that would never be granted to him. The confusion had cleared, though, and there was a clarity to his eyes that had her releasing him and sliding off of him so she could sit on her knees a few inches away. Reiner slowly sat himself up, that clarity turning to something tortured as he looked at her.

“You are a Warrior,” she repeated, voice quieter than before, enough that she was half-certain he couldn’t even hear her. “You are not one of those devils from Paradis-”

“They weren’t devils.” The words seemed to burst out of him. They were quiet, still, and soft in a way, but they were at the same time frantic. As if they had been burning in his chest and never said. “They weren’t- Paradis, the people there- They were just people. They were just people.”

Kristina swallowed, unable to find it within herself to say anything as those eyes looked at her. When paired with the bitter smile he now had, his expression was half-crazed as he ran a hand through short, shorn hair. “Soldier? Warrior? No, I’m nothing but a monster. Do you know how many I killed? How many innocent people I killed? If anyone’s the devil-!”

Silence fell between them, but Kristina could hear the unspoken I am! that lingered in the air between them.

Finally, Reiner’s gaze dropped from her and Kristina felt like she could breathe again. Whether it was from her relief that he seemed to be back to himself or her guilt that she had been unable to say anything, she couldn’t know. (She had an idea of which was to blame, though. She was well aware that they were all human. All of them just people.)

“Office Qual.” Reiner spoke up in that flat, empty tone, any trace of emotion once there wiped away. “I will accept whatever punishment you bestow upon me for my actions on this day.”

And she could punish him. She was well within her right, seeing as he had attacked her with obvious attempt to harm. Hell, she should be telling Commander Magath about what just transpired. Moreso now that it was clear he had some form of mental instability which could bring harm to future missions he partook in. Instead…

Instead Kristina sat up on her knees, leaned forward, and wrapped her arms around Reiner in a soft embrace. “It’s okay,” she whispered softly, remembering a young boy smiling at her and an offered piece of candy. “Everything is alright, Reiner.”

It was faint, but she felt the man in her arms shift, a hand slowly and hesitantly landing on her back. Kirstina didn’t even try to stop her smile or the way her voice softened even further. “I know, Reiner. I know that the people of that island aren’t devils.” Everything around her went still before there was something between a shiver and a jerk, Kristina having a rough idea of what was happening when she heard the wet gasp of breath.

“How could I not know? Aren’t all of us human?” Of all people, she should know best that there truly was no difference between them. She had read the reports, seen the stories, was in love with one, and heard the first hand accounts. It was a truth that they — her people — didn’t want anyone to know or understand. “I know that they aren’t devils.” Taking a soft breath, she shook her head.

“I believe you,” she finished with a whisper, smiling faintly as she heard another hitched breath and felt Reiner wrap his arm around her in return and pull her closer. She felt his head rested against her shoulder, a drop of something warm and wet hitting her skin that she pretended to not notice.

“I believe you, Reiner.”

Slowly, after what felt like hours of the two of them curled up on the floor, Kristina finally began to move. Their fight, short as it was, had left her tired and faintly sore, and sitting on the floor for so long had certainly done her knees no favors.

Reiner was still silent, gaze locked onto the floor. Kristina didn’t force him to look at her, but she did pull on his arm and force him to his feet. “Come on,” she said softly, leading him into his office. “The building should be empty, by now, but that’s no reason to sit in the middle of the hallway.”

She heard a soft sound, something that could have almost been a laugh if it were any louder. She decided she would take what she was given and go from there, which meant pretending it really was a laugh and Reiner was no longer in danger of having a mental breakdown.

Still, she made sure to be careful as she gently steered him towards his desk chair, sitting him down before looking around the room. It was neat and tidied perfectly, far more than her office ever was, but that just meant it was easy to check and see if there was anything on his desk, any paperwork he had been told to do, that triggered… whatever that had all been.

“It’s not the first time,” Reiner spoke softly, startling Kristina and making her snap his gaze to him. She wasn’t certain if he had managed to know what she was thinking, but it answered some of her questions. “It… happens, sometimes. The haze. It’s as if I’m torn between two lives and in the moment I’m… never sure which is the real one.”

“But you seemed to come out of it quickly enough,” Kristina pointed out as she took a seat in one of the chairs sat in front of the desk. Somehow, with the desk between them, it felt far more professional and cold than she would have liked it to. (It felt lonely.) “Has this ever happened around people?”

“Once or twice. Only when I was in Paradis and only when I was with my team. The people who knew me as a Warrior. It’s rarer, these days, and usually only happens when I’m alone.” There was more he wasn’t saying — obviously there was more, but, still. He had said enough for Kristina to be reassured that this was something that likely no one else would see, and it was only bad luck that Kristina had discovered what was happening. “Officer Qual, please believe me that I never would hurt you on purpose, I-”

“I know,” Kristina cut him off, proud that her voice was softer and warmer than she once would have made it. “You’re kind, Reiner Braun. That’s why this is a problem, isn’t it? You’re kind, but that means the guilt hurts all the worse.” The desperate look she was given begged that she truly understand. “Alright, then.”

Filled with that warmth and softness that she didn’t dare push away, not yet, Kristina leaned forward and wrapped one of Reiner’s hands up between her own. His skin was cold and clammy, something that made Kristina squeeze all the harder. “I suppose that if I ever see you like that again, then I’ll just have to pull you out of it. As many times as necessary.”

There were no words to describe the look in his eye and it would almost be a disservice to say it was something as simple as gratitude. The wet sheen told her more than enough, however.

“Thank you.” His voice was a whisper, but his hands were steady when he brought up his other to return her hold. The way he ducked his head and rested his forehead against their clasped hands was the thing to finally make her feel that damning warmth in her cheeks. She couldn’t find it within herself to be too upset, though.

“Thank you, Kristina.”

“Of course. No matter what, everything will eventually be okay.” She didn’t know if that was true, and she knew it likely never would be, but it didn’t stop her from letting herself believe (if only for a minute) that everything really would be okay.

It couldn’t hurt to hope, after all.

[my-monologues-to-my-brain]

You ever think of how Laurent acted like he was amused by painfully killing his horse cause he was ashamed and angry at the fact that he did it to protect Damen, all while in the midst of the shock of his uncle straight up attempting to murder him for the first time? Of how it was easier to play it nonchalant and make Damen be disgusted with him than to face the fact that he had chosen to protect him? Easier than to face the fact that his uncle was going for the kill starting now? Cause i do. Boy, i do.

Fuck me but i keep thinking of this. When reading Captive Prince and getting to that part i was genuinely as sick to my stomach as Damen was, and i truly couldn't see how any development of Laurent's character or of his dinamic with Damen was ever gonna get rid of that bitter taste in my mouth of He brutally killed his horse. He brutally killed his horse and even if he didn't enjoy it, he didn't even mind it. Cause even if the horse is "his toy", even if being rich enough to get replacements of anything with no trouble has you unworried about it, it's still a big leap from that to mutilating an animal with no empathy for their pain. Knowing that we weren't meant to think this of Laurent forever, knowing that Damen wouldn't, i figured the story would have Laurent gain some humanity, get him to a point where he would no longer do something like that, and i was dreading it. As Damen in this scene, i thought it too cruel to ignore, even as i knew the plot would walk away from it.

Boy oh boy was i wrong. And not even wrong in a way i could've guessed.

Props to C.S.Pacat, writing a character with actions so hateable and with attitudes to said actions that really make him dig his heels in, and then humanizing him not through change but by revealing that we had not in fact seen what was truly going on. Damen doesn't fully react the way he does to the killing of the horse until Laurent's words, what he did to the animal being terrible but not outstanding until Laurent's attitude tells him and us that Laurent couldn't care less. But the point is, we assume wrong. We don't come to root for Laurent cause he has changed, we just realise that what we saw as cruelty was something more, that everything when it comes to Laurent is not what it seems. It's scattered through out the three books, small and big discoveries of a truth we weren't aware of.

We don't learn until later, in Prince's Gambit, that the incident with the horse was the first time that the Regent attempted to murder Laurent. It's not until Damen and Laurent have to come to a point in which they are answering truthfully to the questions asked by the other, even if they're still both lying by omission when they need to- like Damen answering with the truth about Jokaste but skiping his own identity, or Laurent admitting to being caught off guard when his uncle poisoned his horse but skipping over their twisted dinamic leading to it that had him unsuspecting of an actual attempt on his life. And of course Damen has questions, the poison that had the horse fractious and covered in sweat not being what had killed it in the end.

A lot of things reframe the way the reader looks at Laurent through out the trilogy, the biggest one yet to come at this point, not to be revealed until Kings Rising that Laurent was perfectly aware of Damen being Damianos of Akielos since the very beggining, but this thing with the horse did something to me. Call it what you want, selective caring or whatever else, but i'm the type of person to find in movies animal deaths often more terrible than people's (god bless whoever started doesthedogdie.com, my anxiety goes through the roof when i'm worried about the dog to the point where i stop focusing on the actual movie)- maybe it's the fact that you can't really slap human morality onto animals in order to categorize them as Deserves To Die or Doesnt Deserve To Die the way we kinda do with people, but i think it's about how a person can understand the way an animal won't, the way there's no final telling them they are loved, or a way to make them not die afraid or feeling betrayed by loved ones or feeling like it's their fault. Call it what you want, but violence and killing animals hits as something specially devoid of empathy, even when the same action as applied against a person is already severely lacking in empathy (and we sure get a good taste of that with the themes of slavery in the trilogy). And so, Laurent. I didn't skip through the violence towards Damen, only half explained when we think that at the very least it's directed at him this way because he is a reminder of Auguste dying by akielon hands and at worst simple sociopathic cruelty, either way violence that can't be retaliated against since it's the violence of a master against their slave. But it still get's accentuated by having Laurent casually and painfully killing his horse. It is, in a way, the most on the nose representation of the violence of royalty: Laurent kills a being so loyal to him that they wont even break away while in pain, so beyond understanding that there isn't a choice to be made, all conception of the world defined by their relation to Laurent and their inherent obedience to him, and then he doesn't even have the humanity to care about what he has done. It was what i thought was a nail in the coffin of my sympathy for Laurent, a display that i wasn't all too sure i'd be able to walk away from.

It fits, where it's revealed in the story. By then, we have already begun to realise that we lacked vital context when it comes to Laurent, to his real character, and to his actual treatment of people. The horse incident starts to look somewhat out of place and then it's confirmed to us that it is. And, kill me why don't you, Laurents attitude after the hunt makes that much more sense.

Laurent comes back after having killed his horse in a bloody mess, and having done so not only while struggling with this charming new development in his uncle but while knowing he was covering up the murder attempt to protect either Damen or any akielon slave whose framed involvement was likely to drag Damen with them. And he is fucking pissed about it. I don't know how he wouldn't be, knowing what i know now. By the time of the hunt, of the deal with Torveld with the akielon slaves, Laurent is no longer trying to get Damen straight up killed like he was in the beginning, he is starting to see something with honor and rooted in good where he was sure to only find bloodlust and brutality and the reason his brother is dead. But protecting Damen, choosing to protect Damianos of Akielos Princekiller, is quite a leap foward. I'd argue its the first time where maintaining Damen there requieres not just tolerating him without trying to maim him, but action. It's the point where Laurent has to admit to himself what he had avoided admitting until then: Damen is no longer this killer of legend, this myth that he has built in his mind ever since Auguste's death and that he has prepared himself to kill in rightful retaliation. Laurent chooses a course of action and in that has to admit that he is willing to protect Damen, the man who killed his brother, cause that is what's right, cause he has found in Damen someone not just guilty, not just a murderer, but also someone deserving of more than what he is about to get in the crossfire of this conflict between Laurent and the Regent. So he does what he does, he kills his horse and makes sure to maintain a casually arrogant demeanor when facing his uncle, the interaction of two men who know that the other is aware of what has been done but won't say it out loud... to then face the scapegoat he's pointed all his ire towards all these years, knowing he has now upended his ways for him. Yes Laurent is fucking pissed. He won't backtrack any of it, it's not his way, but he can distance himself from what he's done by acting like this role he parades with in court when he needs his defenses up, play it up and watch Damen's disgust while he distances himself too. He won't backtrack, but he will play up the image he knows he has, to Damen and to others, he will revel in the illusion of this rather sadistic glee, and going over it again it strickes me so much as a self destructive response that it tears at my heart.

So much of Laurent strickes me as self destructive upon second read, and has me honestly in awe of Pacat's storytelling. With context it's clearer and clearer how Laurent's way of interacting with people and his way of making decisions and planning ahead is a result of abuse, but also and more specifically the result of this self destructive instinct caused by the abuse. It goes from blaming himself for that first attempt on his life while recounting it to Damen, saying he provoked his uncle into it, to keeping everything and everyone at arms lenght for what is more than just safety reasons. He might want what things could be like, but why ever allow himself a normality he doesnt he doesn't deserve? A normality that doesn't fit someone who will never clear the stain of what's past?

Laurent came back from the hunt knowing the terms of this hidden war with his uncle had changed, seeing it as something brought upon him by himself, his fault, his failing, and having admitted to himself his failing with the Princekiller, his failing to do justice to Auguste by extending more mercy to this murderer than had been afforded to his brother, an unforgivable fault cause what kind of brother chooses the killer over his murdered kin, to hell with what is fair or right. But Laurent doesn't backtrack any of it, it's not his way. His way is foward, unyielding and proud, back to the hunting party. Into a death trap at border duty. Into a death sentence at the Kingsmeet.

And i guess the difference for Laurence ended up being the same as it for the rest of us cause, don't we all survive our self destruction by being followed when proudly marching foward? He wasn't alone in the end. No one is.

[silvfyre-writings]

The Boy with Emerald Eyes Final Pt. (BSD Fanfic)

Crossposted from AO3 because apparently I just forgot to ever finish it here lmao.

It was February 2nd , and three days had passed since he accepted Mori’s offer to stay at the clinic, and for the first time in his life, Edgar didn’t feel like he’d made a terrible decision. Sure it was awkward, to be staying as an actual person and not a patient, but somehow it felt… right. Of course, it did help that he was still staying in the room that he’d been in as a patient—although he did feel a little bit guilty about being happy about that, considering the only reason he was, was because Ranpo was unwell and Mori didn’t want him to strain himself, and also didn’t want to risk making him worse by bringing Edgar up. Even Fukuzawa had been thrown out and told to handle Mori’s patients, which made Edgar question just how sick Ranpo was in the first place.

Not that he had much time to think on it, because as it turned out, a worried Fukuzawa, was a restless Fukuzawa.

The first day after his and Mori’s agreement, which coincidentally was the same day that the older man was barred from his own living space, Fukuzawa forced Edgar out of bed—again—and dragged him out of the clinic to go and deliver medicine to the families that needed it. Which was a lot apparently, for Edgar definitely remembered not visiting as many families as the two of them had the other day. But it was almost pleasant—as pleasant as dealing with sick people could be—to watch as Fukuzawa spoke with the families, smiled at the children, and gave them the medicine that Mori had made for them. Sometimes, the families even spoke to him which was a new experience all on it’s own, because Edgar wasn’t used to being acknowledged on his own; usually it was whoever happened to be standing next to him that got acknowledged first, and then him, and even then, it wasn’t really an acknowledgement. It was more… a tilt of the head before the approaching person would engage with who it was they actually wanted to speak with.

It was something that Edgar was used to, so he never said anything about it, even though he had always wanted someone to approach and talk to him and him alone. When he’d been an active author, he’d had a taste of what that felt like, but it’d been years since that part of his life, so he’d forgotten what it felt like.

But now he was getting another taste, and he wanted more.

The second day wasn’t nearly as eventful, but just as tiring. Fukuzawa came into his room before the sun was even up this time, and dragged him out of bed again, giving him some fruit to eat this time instead of porridge—for which Edgar was grateful, because while the porridge wasn’t the worst thing he’d eaten in his life, it was bland and tasteless, which made sense considering this was a clinic for sick people. Most of the patients probably didn’t care what they were eating, just that they were eating.

And speaking of the patients…

That was Edgar’s job for that day; to help Fukuzawa around the clinic with cleaning and making sure that the patients currently staying were fed and comfortable—that was more Fukuzawa’s job, the older man had explained, but since Ranpo was out sick, and Mori had focused on taking care of him, he needed to do Mori’s job as well as his own, and that was simply too much for one person to handle, hence why Edgar was being roped into helping out. Not that he was sure he’d be of any help, considering that he’d never done a chore in his life, but after everything that Fukuzawa and Mori had done for him, it was the least he could do.

Besides, Fukuzawa was more than understanding—if a little annoyed from the way he had to explain the simplest of chores multiple times for Edgar to even understand what was being asked of him in the first place, which in turn, brought Edgar’s mood down even more. It wasn’t like it was Edgar’s fault that he didn’t understand, how could it be when he’d grown up differently? Sure, his adoptive parents had had servants, and they’d taken care of the houses he’d grown up in, and sure, he could’ve picked up a little bit by taking the time to watch them, but was it really the end of the world if he couldn’t make a bed?

Apparently so.

“You’re still not doing it right. It’s uneven. A patient is going to pull it over themselves like that.” Fukuzawa said, frowning as Edgar once again, failed to make a bed.

Edgar sucked in a breath through his nose, and fought the urge to just throw the sheets at Fukuzawa and call it a day. “I’m trying, okay?”

“I know you are.” Fukuzawa stepped forward, and after Edgar stepped back, he straightened the sheets. “Most nobles wouldn’t even be able to get the sheet on the bed, and if this was a normal bed, it would be fine.. It’s just in the clinic, they need to be a certain way—”

“So why don’t you just do this?” Edgar snapped, frustrated, and tired, and feeling the very strong need to go to a bar, which did nothing but make him feel even more miserable. “You know I don’t know these things, so why ask me to help?”

Silence followed his words, but Edgar refused to raise his head, unwilling to see what kind of face Fukuzawa was making. He knew it wouldn’t be anything good. But then there was a hand on his shoulder, and after a gentle squeeze, he slowly raised his head to look up at Fukuzawa; there was a concerned look on the man’s face, and before Edgar could even attempt to stop them, there were tears forming in his eyes. Fukuzawa’s expression softened even more. “I ask you to help because it keeps you busy, keeps your mind occupied and away from the thoughts that first brought you to us. But if this work is causing you more harm than doing you good, then I can find something else for you to do.”

“I—I just—” Edgar bit his lip and scrubbed his eyes to prevent the tears from falling, but if one or two slipped free, Fukuzawa said nothing. “I don’t know… I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be. Not knowing is as much of an answer as knowing.” Fukuzawa stepped away and placed a guiding hand on Edgar’s back. “Come with me.”

Not that Edgar had a choice to begin with, but still, he followed Fukuzawa, confusion growing when the man led him towards the stairs that led up to his home. His confusion continued to grow when Fukuzawa didn’t hesitate in guiding him up the stairs, and into the living room. Edgar froze then, watching Fukuzawa step around him and walk straight towards the bedroom, slipping through cracked door and leaving him alone. He continued to stand there, heart pounding within his chest as he tried to understand what was happening, but everything his mind conjured up wasn’t really… the best. But he knew that if he left, he’d be tracked down, and that wasn’t something Edgar was particularly keen on experiencing, and it wasn’t something he’d put past Fukuzawa or Mori to actually do.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long, for Fukuzawa slipped out of the room a few minutes later, and walked back towards him, stopping beside him for a moment to give his shoulder a squeeze before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him. But before Edgar could even begin to stress at being left alone, the door to the bedroom swung open, and Mori stepped out; Edgar straightened up immediately, and dropped his eyes.

“Mr Poe, you don’t need to look so afraid, I’m not going to murder you where you stand.” Mori said as he crossed the room—the bedroom door was shut, preventing Edgar from seeing in, but also preventing a certain annoyance from seeing him. Although he was curious as to whether Ranpo was feeling better or not.

“I know.” Edgar murmured.

“If you know that, then stop standing over there. Come and take a seat. I have a job for you.”

Edgar frowned, but edged his way across the room and did as he was told, sitting down at the table, wordlessly placing his hands on the table. He wanted to ask just what kind of job it was that he was going to be doing, but Mori didn’t give him a chance to ask, the doctor disappearing out the front door and leaving Edgar alone. How many times am I going to be left alone today? He couldn’t help but think, and sighed, stretching out to rest his head against the table. I wish they’d just give up on this farce. I’m nothing more than a nuisance to them.

The sound of something hitting the table jerked Edgar out of his thoughts, and he shot upright, eyes meeting that of Mori’s, who’s brow was creased as he studied Edgar carefully. The doctor didn’t say anything, just opening one of the boxes he’d brought back with him, revealing various kinds of plants and scraps of paper with foreign writing on it. “You’re going to help me mix some medicines. Don’t worry about the paper—I’d be surprised if you knew the language, just do as I say.”

“I can’t make a bed, yet you think I can mix medicine?” Edgar scoffed, pulling one of the plants—rosemary—out of the box and holding it in front of him. “I’ll probably poison someone.”

“Fukuzawa has high standards for bedmaking; there’s a reason why I leave him to clean the clinic.” Mori’s lips twitched, and after removing the pieces of paper, tipped the box upside down, spreading plants everywhere. “And high standards is something you don’t need right now. Mixing medicine is simple. I will tell you what plants to mix, and you will mix them. It’s as simple as it sounds.”

Edgar hummed, and watched as Mori produced some kind of tool from the second box, some stone contraption that Edgar felt like he’d seen before, but couldn’t recall the name of in that moment. Whatever it was, it looked simple enough to use, and he took it when it was offered to him, grunting a little at the unexpected weight of the device. “This is one of those things you use to crush herbs and stuff, isn’t it?”

Mori nodded, rummaging through the box. “Looks like our resident noble knows what a mortar and pestle is, even if he didn’t know their names.”

“Don’t mock—”

“Relax, Mr Poe, I’m only teasing. Most people wouldn’t know what this is unless they had an interest in plants.” Mori said. He reached over to select a few plants and passed them to Edgar. “Here, mix these ones first. Make sure the paste is smooth.”

As simple as it was, Edgar found that grinding the plants—plants he surprisingly knew because he’d seen servants using them every now and then—was actually rather soothing. There was just something about grinding the fragile plants in the bowl into a thick paste that was soothing. It was mostly a mindless action, requiring little to no thought, and one would think that would make his thoughts run wild even more, but in fact, it did the opposite. The more that Edgar ground the plants that Mori gave him, the less he thought. It was strange, a new experience for him. He couldn’t remember the last time that his mind had ever been so quiet; it was a welcome relief.

Edgar still felt awful, but at least he wasn’t feeling awful alone.

The third day was when it all came to a head, and that good, hopeful feeling that Edgar had had was gone, leaving him with nothing but the usual despair and melancholy that drove him to trying to take his own life in the first place; the only difference this time was that he was already in the hands of the people that would help him. Edgar was woken by Fukuzawa, as he usually was, but it was like his ears had been stuffed with wool; the older man’s voice muffled, and any words that did get through to him, he didn’t register in the slightest. At some point, Edgar thought he felt hands on him, but it was rather hard to tell; regardless, he didn’t move.

At some point, Fukuzawa vanished, and Mori replaced him, and Edgar should’ve been worried because he remembered being told that Mori wouldn’t be as lenient if he didn’t get out of bed, but honestly, in that moment, Edgar could care less. He’d take whatever Mori gave him, whether it wound up with him doing some kind of task he would fail at again, or being thrown out onto the street like he’d been waiting for this entire time. But instead of doing either of those things, there came an incessant tapping against his cheek, so annoying in fact, that Edgar had no choice but to focus on it. He opened his eyes to see Mori crouched beside his bed, an unreadable look on his face.

“How are you feeling?” Mori asked, shifting his hand down towards one of Edgar’s own, still tapping away.

Edgar wanted nothing more than to smack Mori’s hand away from him, but he couldn’t move; his limbs felt like lead, like they’d been tied down to the bed itself, and no amount of force was going to get them to move. He probably could move if he tried, but Edgar was done trying. He wanted to close his eyes and never wake up again. So, instead of answering Mori’s question, he grunted.

Mori hummed in response, letting out a groan as he rose and then sat on the edge of the bed. “If I push you enough, can you talk?”

“Yes, of course I can talk.” Edgar grumbled, ignoring how quiet his voice actually was.

He was grateful when Mori didn’t comment on that. “How about walking? Can you manage that, too?”

Now, that was something Edgar wasn’t too sure he would be able to do, so he shrugged, and closed his eyes with the full intention of going back to sleep. Whatever game that Mori was playing at, Edgar wasn’t about to play it. Not until he knew all the rules of course.

Only, he didn’t get a chance to, because just as he was drifting off, he found himself being raised from the bed. His eyes flew open, and he flailed a little until Fukuzawa’s voice echoed right by his ear. “I will drop you if you keep moving. You aren’t being hurt, be calm.”

Those words shouldn’t have worked as well as they did, but they did, and Edgar relaxed into Fukuzawa’s arms and just lay there, watching as he was carried up the stairs and into Fukuzawa and Mori’s home once again—really, for being told that he wasn’t allowed up here because Ranpo was unwell, they certainly allowed him up here a lot. But Edgar said none of that, just silently watching his surroundings move as Fukuzawa took him towards the couch and deposited him onto it; a second later, Mori dumped a blanket over the top of him, and then crouched before him again. Edgar stared at the doctor blankly, seeing him, but also not, mostly because it was too much effort for him to do so. He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep, but he needed to know why he’d been brought upstairs in the first place, yet his words weren’t working to ask such a question.

Not that he needed to have the words, not with Fukuzawa around.

The older man sat on the edge of the couch, shared a look with Mori, having some kind of silent conversation with the man before turning to look at Edgar. “You can rest today, Mr Poe. But we will wake you for lunch.”

Edgar hummed, and blinked, and then finally, he found his words. “What about… Ranpo?”

“He’ll be fine. He’s on the mend, so it won’t do any harm if you’re up here instead of down there.” Mori explained, pushing himself upright. “Fukuzawa and I will alternate between the two of you. I’d much rather have you here, where we can keep an eye on you, when you are feeling like this.”

“Because you think I’ll run off and try to kill myself again?” Edgar couldn’t help but ask.

The forced smile on Mori’s face told him everything he needed to know.

Edgar sighed, and just closed his eyes, allowing the sleep that had been clawing at him, to finally take him.

“Can you pass me the potato, please, Mr Poe?”

Edgar nodded and passed one of the potatoes he’d finished peeling, watching from the corner of his eye as Fukuzawa began to dice it up. He’d been dragged out of bed—well, off the couch really—after several days of just sleeping and feeling sorry for himself, and forced into taking another bath, which he could thankfully take on his own this time, and then told by Fukuzawa that he was to help prepare meals for some of the orphan kids in the area. At first, Edgar hadn’t quite understood what the older man had meant, but he soon realised when he was given a sack of potatoes and told to peel all of them.

And well, so far, Edgar hadn’t screwed up with that job.

Although, he had questioned just how many orphans Fukuzawa planned to feed, and the man had only looked at them with that expressionless stare of his that he often received whenever he asked a stupid question. Because just like how he was expected to peel each and every potato, Fukuzawa clearly planned to feed each and every orphan that he could. It left him feeling both warm yet cold at the same time; there’d been many a time where he’d often seen the orphans in the streets, watching the nobility with discontent and anger. Some dared to lash out, earning a prison sentence, or even death, for their efforts, whilst others begged and cried, trying to gain the sympathy of the few nobles that had bleeding hearts.

Nobles like Edgar.

Quite often, he’d regretted that he’d never reached out a hand and offered help to those people. Quite often, he’d brushed them aside in order to gain the favour of the nobleman or noblewoman that he happened to be accompanying at the time, because wasn’t that always the case? Gain favour and rise up in the internal circle of nobility, crushing anyone and everyone just to gain a few inches. Edgar had never quite understood it, but it never stopped him from doing it, no matter how terrible it made him feel afterwards. And despite that terrible feeling each and every time, he continued to turn a blind eye, even despite knowing that he actually had enough status to start a change.

But that was Edgar all right; money and fame, but a complete and utter coward.

And yet… here in this little clinic, it was just so much simpler.

There were no expectations for him here, and although Mori and Fukuzawa, and even Ranpo, all knew who he was, whether it be former writer or lord, none of them ever brought it up, not unless it had something to do with his current situation. He wasn’t fool enough to not notice the questions that they wanted to ask, but refrained from doing so; humanity’s natural-born curiosity was often its biggest fault when combined with people that couldn’t hold their tongues, so Edgar truly did appreciate the way that this little wayward family didn’t pry into his business. It was a much needed relief from the pressures of society that Edgar didn’t even realise he needed.

It was enough to make Edgar wish that this was the life he’d been born into, instead of living the life he had. Sure, being in the working class had its negatives, and it was probably just Edgar desperately clinging to the small amount of kindness he’d found in the world, but he figured living this kind of life would’ve been much better than being adopted off the streets of America and brought to England on a boat. At least he might’ve had a chance of being happy, instead of the misery that he’d brought upon himself.

“Fukuzawa…” The raspy voice was what dragged Edgar back to the present, but it was the coughing fit that followed that made him look over his shoulder to see Ranpo, clinging to the doorframe of the bedroom, looking like death warmed over. This was the first time he’d seen Ranpo in ages and if he’d ever had any questions about how sick the other man had been, well his current appearance answered all of them and then some. But despite his sickly appearance, Ranpo was staring at him with wide eyes, almost as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing—Ranpo probably thought him a hallucination or something.

Fukuzawa dropped the knife he’d been using to cut the potatoes with in an instant, wiping his hands on a rag faster than Edgar had ever seen him move before making his way towards his ward, scolding gently. “You are supposed to be resting.”

Ranpo coughed again, sagging into Fukuzawa’s grip, wheezing a little. “I woke up and no one was there. I can’t breathe properly.” And then he lifted his head to look directly at Edgar. “Why is Mr Poe here?”

Instead of answering, Fukuzawa guided Ranpo over to the table and sat the younger in one of the chairs before wordlessly moving to one of the cupboards by Edgar. He watched as Fukuzawa pulled out a bottle of medicine, recognising it as the one that Mori had poured down Ranpo’s throat to stop his asthma attack that day he’d almost died—and from the way Ranpo’s face scrunched up, he remembered it too. But even so, he willingly swallowed the teaspoon that was offered, and then sagged against the table.

Alarm filled Edgar at that moment, worried that Ranpo had passed out, but then he held himself back, watching Fukuzawa’s reaction instead. The older man rolled his eyes and shrugged off his… cloak? It looked like a cloak at least, and draped it over Ranpo’s shoulders, brushing a few strands of hair out of his eyes. Fukuzawa murmured something that Edgar couldn’t hear, and Ranpo said something in response—that language of theirs that Edgar didn’t know—before Fukuzawa moved back to join him in the kitchen.

“Is he alright…?” Edgar tentatively asked, unable to tear his eyes away from Ranpo’s still form. He couldn’t help but worry—it was in his nature to, after all—but Fukuzawa just smiled fondly at the potatoes.

“Your worry is appreciated, Mr Poe, but Ranpo will be fine. Once the medicine kicks in, he’ll go back to bed and rest.” The last sentence was said louder, so that Ranpo could hear it, and Ranpo groaned in response.

“But Fukuzawa—”

“No buts, Ranpo. You need to rest or you’ll never fight this off.”

“I think you missed the part where I don’t.” Ranpo called out, tilting his head to look at them. “I know you forget things in your old age, but surely you haven’t forgotten that.”

Fukuzawa sighed, and returned to cutting the potatoes. “I haven’t forgotten, no. I remember even back home, your illness caused problems.”

Back home? Edgar frowned as he peeled another potato. Despite knowing these people for not even month, he felt like he’d come to understand them quite well, and this was the first time that any of them had willingly offered up the slightest bit of information as to what home was. He knew that England was not the land they’d been born in—although Mori had mentioned studying in China, and had an established clinic here, so perhaps he’d left his home country earlier than Fukuzawa and Ranpo had? Edgar wanted to ask, but he also didn’t want to seem nosy.

Luckily—or unfortunately, he didn’t yet know—he happened to look over his shoulder and make eye contact with Ranpo, who raised an eyebrow before a look of understanding dawned on his face, and he spoke. “You can ask questions, if we don’t want to answer, we won’t.”

“Oh, um…” Edgar racked his brain for a question to answer, one that was simple and easy, and would satisfy this sudden curiosity of his. “Where are you from?”

“Japan.” Fukuzawa answered, and Edgar’s eyes flew open so wide, he was certain the other two would be able to see them, even through his bangs.

“Japan?” He repeated, and both Fukuzawa and Ranpo nodded. “But… isn’t Japan in isolation? Or, um, something like that? That’s what all the nobles that deal in international trade are saying at least; they aren’t happy about it either way.”

“I’m not surprised. The nobility seek to line their own pockets after all.” Fukuzawa was the one to answer again after glancing towards Ranpo who had turned to stare at the table. Interesting. “But to answer your question, yes, it is. But although Japan is still isolated from the rest of the world, there is a factory owned by the Dutch that provides a path from there to England. It was the merchants that traded with that factory that allowed Ranpo and I to get here, although not without a lot of bribery and begging.”

Before Edgar could stop himself, he blurted out. “Why did you leave?”

Surprisingly, Fukuzawa answered… not that it was really an answer to begin with, and his voice was filled with a hidden pain. “There were some… problems that prevented us from staying. I managed to get a letter to Mori who is a very old friend, and he helped get us here. The only downside is that we cannot return.”

Edgar wanted to ask why, why they couldn’t return, why they’d fled in the first place—what problems that caused them to flee, how Mori had ended up in England despite the isolation, but he kept his mouth shut. Because he was sober and could easily see the tension lined in both Fukuzawa and Ranpo’s bodies, and he knew from experience that pressing on sore spots only led to pain, and the last thing he wanted to do was burn the only bridge he had left. So, he nodded, and returned to peeling the potatoes. “Thank you for telling me. I’d like to know more but… I won’t push.”

The tension left Fukuzawa’s body. “Your consideration is appreciated, Mr Poe.”

A heavy silence filled the air for approximately three minutes before Ranpo let out a groan and sat up. “Ugh, Fukuzawa, I’m hungry!”

“I’m about to start cooking, Ranpo, be a little patient please. In fact, go back to bed and rest. I will fetch you when lunch is ready.”

Ranpo’s face scrunched up. “But you and Edgar—” Since when did I become Edgar to him? “—are out here, and Mori-sensei isn’t back yet, so I’m so lonely.”

“Ranpo—”

“Besides!” Ranpo powered on as if Fukuzawa hadn’t tried to speak. “I haven’t had a chance to ask Edgar what he’s doing here in the first place.”

A sigh came from Fukuzawa, and Edgar fought the urge to do the same. He was almost certain that Ranpo just wanted to hear the words from Edgar himself, and that he knew wholeheartedly the reason why Edgar was currently in his home, cooking with his guardian—he was proven right when he looked over his shoulder to see a smug grin on the others face. Edgar didn’t hesitate to glare, which made Ranpo laugh, and then cough as his lungs spasmed. “Come on, Edgar, tell me!”

“Will you rest if I do?” Perhaps he could bribe Ranpo into doing what Fukuzawa wanted if he answered the question.

“Maybe.”

Edgar sighed that time. “Dr Mori offered to… try and help me, is the simple way of putting it. Instead of going back to an empty house and being alone, he offered me a place here… although I’m not entirely sure what he plans to do, really. I’ve been like this for years now; a new environment isn’t going to change that or make these feelings of mine go away.”

“You’re right, it won’t.” Ranpo agreed, face falling into one of seriousness. “Although it makes you feel better, doesn’t it? To know that when you’re struggling, there’s someone there to help.”

Edgar shrugged. He wasn’t quite sure on how to answer that question, although his mind did drift back to that day where he hadn’t been able to get out of bed and do anything, and instead of pushing him, Mori and Fukuzawa had simply plonked him on the couch and let him sleep away the day in their company. And well… he had felt better after that. The last time he’d had a day like that, before he’d turned to alcohol, John had dragged him out of bed and told him to work, that there weren’t enough hours in the day for him to mope about and do nothing, even though Edgar had wanted nothing more than to curl up and just wither away into nothing.

Frances had been a little understanding in the matter, but ultimately she too, had thought it silly that he wanted to stay in bed all day for no visible reason.

It had hurt, but Edgar hadn’t expected any less.

“Dr Mori said I had an illness.” Edgar said, peeling another potato, the final one, finally. “But he isn’t giving me any medicine.”

“That’s because there isn’t any—well there’s opioids, but Mori-sensei says they do more harm than good, so he calls the doctors that use them, stupid, but he’s been working on creating something.” Ranpo explained, and then muttered. “Not that he’s telling us anything.”

“Neither of us are doctors, Ranpo, we don’t need to know. We just need to support him.” Fukuzawa interjected gently, and then glanced at Edgar. “What Ranpo means to say is that there is more to illness than medicine. Your illness is a lifelong one, like Ranpo’s, but also like Ranpo’s, it can be managed, and that’s what Mori-sensei and I intend to do.”

Edgar nodded slowly; he was pretty sure that he understood what Fukuzawa and Ranpo were getting at, but he was struggling to believe it was as simple as they said it was. Manage my illness? Is that even possible?

There was a part of him—the optimistic part that was slowly creeping out due to his sobriety—that hoped it was true, and that his affliction could be managed, and before he knew it, there were tears in his eyes once again. “You know, if you and Dr Mori had been my adoptive parents instead of John and Frances, maybe I wouldn’t be so miserable.”

Fukuzawa didn’t say anything, but the embrace he drew Edgar into said more than enough.

After a brief cry, and another asthma attack from Ranpo, lunch was finished.

And it was the best meal that Edgar had eaten in his life.

“I want to go outside; it’s been weeks since I last saw the sun.”

“It’s England, the sun doesn’t exist here.”

“You know what I mean, Edgar. Come with me won’t you?”

Edgar shouldn’t have been surprised that the moment Ranpo received the all clear to leave the clinic, he walked up to Edgar and demanded that he accompany Ranpo on his first adventure outside. And really, who was Edgar to say no? It wasn’t like he’d left the clinic in recent days, preferring to spend his days helping Fukuzawa clean, and Mori prepare his medicines, rather than outside and dealing with people. Most would chalk it up to his melancholy—or depression, as Mori had called it on Edgar’s last bad day—but Edgar had always been opposed to social interaction.

Ironic, considering he was a noble and expected to engage in conversation with people he wasn’t comfortable with all the time.

But even so, he’d felt a sort of… craving, much like the kind he felt when he wanted alcohol, towards going outside and into the streets, so going out with Ranpo was the perfect excuse to do so. The only obstacle was Fukuzawa, who watched every interaction between the two of them like a hawk, and was so overbearing towards Ranpo that he’d actually witnessed Ranpo get angry at the man, shouting in Japanese at the older man before storming off and slamming the bedroom door behind him. Edgar and Mori—who he’d been mixing medicines for again—had watched with wide eyes, frozen mid-action. They’d rushed back to their tasks though when Fukuzawa turned on his heel, snarled something at Mori before leaving the room himself, but down towards the clinic.

“Don’t worry, this happens sometimes.” Mori had said. “Fukuzawa-san worries a lot about that boy, even though Ranpo’s an adult that can make his own decisions.”

“Why? I understand Ranpo is his ward, but why does he worry so much? Surely it’s not the asthma.” Edgar had asked.

Mori had looked at Edgar and hummed, bringing a hand to his chin, and stroked at the stubble there. “I truly do wonder. He’s known the boy since he was young, so it could be something to do with that, but what would I know, really?”

“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”

“And risk them both teaming up to drown me in the river? No thanks. If you really want to know, ask them.”

Edgar knew he could ask, because Ranpo had told him as such, but he also knew that if he did, he wouldn’t get an answer. So he said nothing, and simply picked up the next batch of herbs he was supposed to mix together.

And now, here he was, leaving the clinic with Ranpo energetically hopping about like he’d never been sick in the first place aside from the slight rattle of his breathing that Edgar had been told, not so subtly to keep an eye on by Mori and Fukuzawa. He’d even been given some of the ephedra just in case they needed it while they were out—which, Edgar hoped they wouldn’t, because he’d already had to help with one asthma attack, he wasn’t keen to experience another one so soon. But he’d still taken the medicine, and promised that he’d do his best—and really, Mori and Fukuzawa were placing so much faith in him, and that wasn’t daunting at all. It wasn’t like Edgar wasn’t going to struggle either; the temptation to drink had been strong since he’d woken up that morning, not that he’d told anyone of course because there was no alcohol kept in the clinic for him to steal and drink in silence to begin with, but the feelings still left him feeling miserable.

“You’re thinking too hard again.” Ranpo’s voice dragged him back to the present, and Edgar glanced at the shorter man. “Having second doubts are you?”

Edgar frowned. “What makes you think I’m having second doubts.”

“The fact that you’ve had that… dearly? Dreely?—” Ranpo broke off, a frown on his face as he stumbled over his words.

Edgar’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Do you mean… dreary?”

“Yes! That word!” Ranpo grinned at him, eyes squeezed shut, and smile wide. It was just a little adorable to have that look turned on him. “But anyway, you’ve had that dreary look on your face since we left the clinic.”

“I’m just…” Edgar trailed off with a sigh, taking a moment to gather his words before he continued. “I’m just not sure it’s such a great idea for us to be out like this. You aren’t completely well, and I’m just… not having a great day.”

Ranpo hummed and came to a stop—which forced Edgar to stop as well since Ranpo had been in front of him—and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Mori-sensei would say that’s a good reason for the two of us to get out for a bit. After all the work he went to, to get us out of the clinic, I doubt he’d let us in if we went back now.”

“I’ve never met a man that meddles so much. Not even the nobles I’ve dealt with have meddled so much in someone’s life.” Edgar complained, although it was the truth. He truly had never met someone so keen to interfere in someone’s life, and while it was doing Edgar a load of good now, in the beginning, when they’d first met, it had been annoying and frustrating. Even now, he still didn’t understand why Mori was the way he was, and he feared that he may never get an answer for it.

But then he looked over at Ranpo and suddenly he doubted his words. Because right now, the younger was wearing a contemplative look on his face with a hint of… grief, and suddenly Edgar was frowning. “Ranpo?”

Ranpo chewed on his bottom lip. “Mori-sensei has a reason behind his interfering nature, but it’s not something he spreads around, ‘cause people always think less of him if they know. But if you ask me, it just makes him an even better doctor.”

Now Edgar was curious, too curious to keep silent this time. “Is it okay… if I ask what happened?”

“No, not really.” Ranpo said, and then shrugged. “But if you’re living with us, you’re bound to find out soon anyway, so might as well tell you now. But don’t you dare say that it was me that told you otherwise I’ll make Fukuzawa believe you upset me again!”

What kind of threat is that? Edgar screamed internally, only blinking outwardly in response. But then he repeated the threat again in his mind, and decided that yes, it was very Ranpo-like threat to make, and also yes that, threatening to turn Fukuzawa against him was a very good threat. He’d already had the man unhappy with him once before and those days were awful, just because every time that Edgar spotted the older man, it was immediate stress on his side.

So yes, he would like to avoid that from happening again.

“I promise I won’t tell.” Edgar said softly.

Ranpo rocked on his heels, deep in thought before he nodded. “Okay, follow me then.”

“W—wait, Ranpo! Where are we going?” Edgar stumbled over his words as Ranpo grabbed his hand—he ignored the way that Ranpo’s warm hand entwined with his own made his heart beat faster—and began to drag him down the street. He didn’t resist, or try to pull his hand free, just following behind Ranpo as the younger guided him down street after street.

He tried to ask again, once they’d turned down yet another street, but still received no answer, so Edgar resigned himself to just following behind like a dog. It… wasn’t the nicest comparison to make, but it was the only one he could think of in the moment. Edgar shook his head, choosing to focus on his surroundings instead so that, should he need to, he could navigate back to the clinic; he refused to let himself be caught off guard this time if he needed to rush back to the clinic.

Which was highly likely considering the way that Ranpo’s breathing was becoming shorter and shorter the longer they walked.

But just as Edgar was about to suggest that they take a moment, Ranpo suddenly stopped, and then dragged Edgar through the gate and towards a bench in the courtyard. Edgar stopped dead in his tracks. “Ranpo, this is someone’s courtyard—”

“Relax, Edgar, it’s an orphanage.” Ranpo gestured towards the massive building that Edgar had failed to notice at first, before he sat on the bench, and then broke into a coughing fit. “I’d appreciate if you sat with me though, and gave me that medicine Fukuzawa forced you to bring with you.”

“Oh, yes, right!” Edgar rushed over to the bench and sat next to Ranpo, rifling through his pockets until his fingers knocked against the small glass container. He pulled it out and held it out towards the other man. “Here.”

Ranpo let out a wheezing breath before he took the vial and downed the medicine within.

“Do you need anything else?”

Ranpo shook his head. “I’ll be fine in a minute. When I am, I need you to just listen, and not say anything.”

Edgar found the request a little odd, but understood that it meant the conversation they were about to have, was a serious one.

He continued to watch Ranpo carefully, eyes focused on the others chest, watching as it began to rise slower as Ranpo’s breathing returned to normal, and he couldn’t stop the sigh of relief before it happened. They’d managed to avoid another incident similar to the one with Orwell—thank god.

But even though Ranpo’s breathing had returned to normal, the younger still didn’t speak; Ranpo just stared at the ground and scuffed his shoe against the dirt.

Even so, Edgar waited.

“Mori had a son.” Ranpo began, lifting his head to stare across the yard. “Well… not really a son; it was more like the bond that Fukuzawa-san and I have—a child that he took in and cared for.”

Edgar nodded slowly, understanding what Ranpo meant—and also the fact that he said that Mori had had a son. He wasn’t stupid enough to not understand the implication behind those words, and his heart clenched. He had a feeling he knew what kind of story he was about to hear.

“His name was Osamu Dazai, and he was a few years younger than myself… or at least that’s what he used to say, but none of us really knew how old he was. I think one day he just got asked how old he was and picked a number. Mori picked him up on his travels one day, although neither of them could ever tell you where it was they’d first met.” Ranpo huffed a laugh, and bowed his head. “And well… he was like you a lot, but also not at all like you.”

What does that mean? Edgar frowned, holding back from speaking the words aloud.

Ranpo lifted his head and looked directly at Edgar. “I didn’t know him for long, a couple of years at the most, but like you, he was unhappy in this world, miserable with the hand he’d been dealt with, and like you, he chose self-destruction, but in a different way. He never acted like it though. Always wore a smile, and joked about with the children, played with them, taught them—really, looking at him, you wouldn’t have guessed just how much pain he was hiding.”

Edgar couldn’t resist then. “But you knew, didn’t you?”

Ranpo flashed him a pained smile. “Yeah. I knew the moment we first met. I think Mori knew as well, because it was obvious how much he was hurting the moment you looked at him, yet I seemed to be the only one willing to bring it up, so… maybe I was wrong and he never knew. Dazai was a good actor after all, and very good at redirecting attention from himself. So maybe I really was the only one that saw his true self.”

There was a sigh, and Ranpo’s expression dropped entirely, no reminiscing look, no pained look, just nothing. “Dazai killed himself four years ago, on his eighteenth birthday. I was the one who found him because Mori and Fukuzawa had gone to buy him a cake.”

Edgar swallowed uncomfortably, but forced himself to keep listening.

He did reach over to take one of Ranpo’s hands into his own, however, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“He got into Mori’s medicine stash, and drank enough until his heart stopped. They told me it wasn’t a painful death, and I believe it because he looked so peaceful laying there on the floor, and well… Dazai always wanted to die peacefully, in a way that wouldn’t inconvenience the people that needed to clean up his corpse. But what the damn idiot didn’t think about was the people he’d be leaving behind.” Ranpo’s hand squeezed Edgar’s so tight it was painful. “Instead of opening up and letting us help him through his problems, Dazai chose to keep them to himself, chose to suffer silently and withdraw from us, and when it got too much, he ended his life. Mori was devastated, the most emotional I’ve ever seen him since I first met him ten years ago. Fukuzawa-san was too, but he had to take care of me… I was a bit of a mess that day.”

I can only imagine. Edgar’s heart clenched as he pictured the scene in his mind; a much younger Ranpo going upstairs to his home in order to wish Dazai a happy birthday, only to find him on the floor, dead. His mind went further to imagine Ranpo crying and begging over Dazai’s body, and he squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears back. He swallowed again. “I apologise if this is insensitive, but… why?”

“Why am I telling you this? Why does Dazai’s death relate to you?”

Edgar gave a small shrug. “Both, I guess.”

“Because both are the reasons behind why Mori-sensei treats you the way he does.” Ranpo said. “I’m telling you this to understand our family a little more. I’m telling you this because Dazai’s death changed how Mori-sensei approached medicine forever. But most of all, I’m telling you this because that night at the bridge where you first tried to kill yourself, all I could see was Dazai. And when I say he was like you… the reason why he killed himself is similar to the reason why you want to die.”

Oh… Edgar knew then, what the missing puzzle piece was, and he ducked his head. “He too, was attracted to men… wasn’t he?”

“He was.” Ranpo let out a sigh and dropped his head to rest against Edgar’s shoulder—the action so affectionate that he couldn’t stop himself from stiffening—and the younger turned his head to stare up at Edgar’s face. “Dazai loved a lot, but thought himself unlovable. He thought himself not even human most of the time, all because he loved men, and society loves to preach how that if you exist outside of what those in the inner circles consider normal, that you are less than human, or not human at all. He deserved better.”

Ranpo’s words were so accurate that Edgar felt them go straight through his heart. Being on the noble side of society, he’d witnessed what Ranpo had spoken about firsthand. Especially from those within Duke Orwell’s circle of friends and acquaintances; beggars were viewed as rats, starving children as snakes, and prostitutes as filth. It was cruel and inhumane, and Edgar absolutely did not agree with their views. But he’d also never done anything against it, and that was what made him feel disgusted the most. Sure, he might not have been a duke, but authors were influential enough, and his own title was enough for his words to have some power to them.

Maybe in a different life, one where he wasn’t a coward, he would’ve done something against it.

“I understand.” Edgar said after a while. He squeezed Ranpo’s hand again. “I know it probably means nothing, but I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“It was years ago—”

“That doesn’t mean the memories aren’t there still.” Edgar interrupted before Ranpo could finish, not wanting to hear Ranpo say that he’d moved on when he clearly hadn’t. “All it takes is one day to bring back the memories that you think you’ve moved on from, and suddenly you’re miserable and sad, and you feel like nothings worth it anymore. And people will tell you to focus on the good, but how can you when the good is no longer there? Dazai is gone, yes, and has been for years, but that doesn’t mean you’ve moved on from his death, nor should you force yourself to. You are allowed to be sad, you are allowed to be angry, you are allowed to grieve.”

Ranpo was silent for a moment before his lips stretched into a smile. After a moment he lifted his head from Edgar’s shoulder. “Some wise words. You should put then into your next book.”

“What—? Ranpo—I’m not an author anymore.”

“That’s what you think.”

Before Edgar could question what it was that Ranpo meant, his attention was drawn by the sound of a door opening, and lifted his head to see a group of children run out into the courtyard, with the caretaker of the orphanage following them out. The caretaker looked over in their direction, a look of recognition dawning in her eyes. Edgar watched as Ranpo lifted a hand and waved, which had the unfortunate side effect of attracting the attention of the children as well.

The children that didn’t hesitate to rush over.

“Oh wow, look! It’s Mr Poe!”

“We have the best author in all of England sitting in our orphanage!”

“Mr Poe, hello!”

Edgar blinked as the cries of the children began to meld together, and he turned towards Ranpo for help.

Ranpo merely chuckled at his astounded look. “You’re quite popular amongst the working class, Mr Poe.”

He couldn’t believe it, no, he refused to believe it. He shook his head. “No—no—I can’t be—”

He couldn’t be popular because his books had all been discarded the moment his life fell apart.

He couldn’t be popular because Edgar was Edgar and people didn’t just like him, not like that.

“You are popular, Edgar.” Ranpo said. “Who do you think it was that got to read your books once the upper classes decided you weren’t worth their time? Down here in the lower classes, we don’t care whether you like men, we don’t care if you are prone to melancholy. You write good stories, stories that the kids in this orphanage enjoy very much. Be proud of that, instead of freaking out.”

Edgar narrowed his eyes, and fixed Ranpo with a look. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

Ranpo’s head slowly turned away from him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You absolutely do, I hate you so much right now.” Edgar muttered under his breath before his attention was captured by the children again.

It was overwhelming at first, to be bombarded by questions about his stories, especially when it had been so long since someone had even asked after them, that he almost didn’t know what to do. But the children were patient—for the most part—staring up at him with hopeful eyes as he tried to find the words he needed to answer their questions. And… after a while, it became easier, and he found himself starting to smile a little. The children were so genuine with their questions and their thoughts—and sometimes brutally honest; it was refreshing, and warming to listen to them.

Most of the questions had to do with plot devices he had used in his works, twists and turns, and metaphors well beyond the ages of these children, but considering that they’d even taken the time to read his stories and try to understand them, he did his best in turn to explain and help them understand further. Occasionally, one of the children would ask a question that Edgar couldn’t answer, and in that event, Ranpo or the caretaker would step in and redirect the attention, for which Edgar was grateful.

Ultimately though, the children ignited something within him that he’d thought long gone.

The urge to write.

That evening, after he and Ranpo arrived back at the clinic, Fukuzawa approached Edgar and set down a box in front of him. Edgar had looked up at the man in confusion, but Fukuzawa didn’t say anything, only gestured for him to open the box. Which he did, and froze upon seeing a brand new quill, some ink, and sheets of paper—enough to write a novel with.

“This isn’t us pressuring you to take up writing again, but Ranpo told me about the orphanage, and I took it upon myself to get the supplies, just in case you did want to write something.”

Edgar didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. He looked up at Fukuzawa with teary eyes, and the moment he saw the understanding look on Fukuzawa’s face, he knew that he didn’t need to say anything.

Just accepting the gift was enough.

Of course, the moment that Edgar started to feel good about himself and have some kind of enjoyment regarding his life, he was hit with a bout of melancholy so hard that the moment he opened his eyes, he wanted to close them and never wake up again. Which was exactly what he did. He was on the couch in the living space above the clinic, wrapped up in many blankets because even though winter was finally leaving them, the nights were still rather cold. They came in handy though, allowing him to hide beneath them until he was nothing more than a lump on the couch, not even human shaped from how tightly he was curled up.

He wasn’t sure what time it was that he woke up, but the sun wasn’t shining through the window like it normally did, so it must’ve been early, and Edgar prayed to be able to go back to sleep, but alas, he wasn’t that lucky. Instead his mind continued to race, bringing up memories he didn’t want to remember, and the emotions associated with those memories. Really, the world truly was a cruel place to do such a thing to him. At some point, he heard the door to the bedroom open, and soft footsteps pad across the floor—Fukuzawa, because Mori scuffed his heels against the floor all the time, and Ranpo was just incapable of walking quietly.

Edgar squeezed his eyes shut as the footsteps approached him, listening as they stopped right by his head. A hand came to tug the blankets away from his face, and he had to fight the urge to drag them back over his head, simply allowing Fukuzawa to readjust them until the blankets were tucked under his chin rather than over his head and slowly suffocating him. You’re a cruel man, Fukuzawa.

He continued to listen as Fukuzawa stepped away, still quiet, and set about making breakfast for that morning as he usually did, although Edgar wasn’t sure he would be able to eat any of it. His stomach was rolling uncomfortably, bringing with it nausea and tiredness, and while eating may have actually helped, he just couldn’t. The question was if he’d be allowed to forgo food for the day, or if he’d be coerced into eating.

At some point, Edgar must’ve drifted off, because the next thing he became aware of was Ranpo’s weight settled on his legs; the younger looked comfortable, a thick blanket around his shoulders and eyes slowly slipping shut as sleep tried to claim him again. It was quite amusing to watch, Edgar’s current position allowing him to see the other man completely. He didn’t move, lest he disturb Ranpo, but his eyes fell towards the book in Ranpo’s hands, and stiffened.

It was one of his novels.

Ranpo’s eyes opened, and glanced towards him, the two of them making eye contact. Neither of them said anything, and after a minute or so, Ranpo turned his attention back to the book and continued to read. Edgar’s heart pounded within his chest at the sight. Why is Ranpo reading one of my novels? Is he enjoying it? Can he even understand the words? Can he even read? What am I saying, of course he can read! What if he isn’t liking it? That book was one of my first ones, it’s not that good, but then again, none of them were really that spectacular. I’m not that good—

A sudden pinch on his thigh caused Edgar to jerk and leave his thoughts unfinished, and his eyes shot towards Ranpo again. What was that for?

Ranpo raised an eyebrow and sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly and shrugging his shoulder towards Edgar. Breathe, before you pass out.

Oh. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d been holding his breath that entire time, and slowly released it, finding that some of his oncoming panic eased off. Edgar closed his eyes and continued to breathe like that, just slowly relaxing into the couch again. Once his mind felt clear, and the rolling in his stomach returned to how it had been when he initially woke up, he cracked open an eye, and just watched for a moment as Ranpo ignored him, reading silently—he never would’ve thought that Ranpo was capable of being quiet—and closed his eyes again.

And went back to sleep.

Edgar awoke the next day to a hand gently shaking his shoulder, and rolled over enough to meet Fukuzawa’s eyes, that steely blue studying him intensely like they always did. Normally, Edgar would’ve said something, but even after sleeping, his mind was still sluggish and reluctant to do anything but try to sleep more, even though he had a pressing need to pee, and his dry mouth was screaming for him to drink some water—not to mention is stomach threatening to escape his body with its desire to obtain food. Really, he should get up and take care of his needs, but he couldn’t be bothered, he didn’t have the energy to do more than just lay there.

Fukuzawa’s eyes softened just a little like, they always did whenever his concern for Edgar grew. “Another bad day, then?”

Edgar gave the slightest of nods. That was all he could bear to do.

“I’ll get you some water and a few biscuits—” Edgar opened his mouth to try and refuse, but Fukuzawa pushed through before he could. “—there will be no refusing, Mr Poe. You can have your day, and accept the water and small amount of food, or you can get up and push through this day by helping me or Mori. It is your choice.”

Now, Edgar was scowling, and he rolled to face the back of the couch again. “I’ll have my day.”

“Alright.

The day after, he’s dragged upright and immediately out of sleep by Mori this time, who doesn’t hesitate to shove a change of clothes at him and demand he get dressed, ignoring Edgar’s protests whenever he tried to, well, protest.

“The sun isn’t even up, Dr Mori.” Edgar grumbled as he slowly changed clothes in the hope that the doctor would get annoyed and just leave him behind instead of dragging him out to whatever adventure he had planned.

“That’s because we’re leaving the city today, Mr Poe.” Mori said, leaving him alone to grab the wooden boxes that were sitting on the table that Edgar had somehow failed to notice until literally right then. And then he registered Mori’s words and did a double take.

“Excuse me?”

Mori glanced over his shoulder. “A family has asked for my assistance in the countryside, so you will come with me, get outside, and get some good fresh air. A day away from the city might help you to feel better. And no, before you ask, I’m not giving you a choice, so hurry up and get changed will you?”

Edgar glared at Mori’s back, but shoved his legs through the pants he’d been given. Maybe he could throw Mori off the carriage and just run away from his meddling. But then he remembered the story Ranpo told him, and squashed that urge down.

He has his reasons, just deal with it, Edgar.

For days, Edgar dealt with Fukuzawa and Mori—and on the odd occasion, Ranpo—showing him all sorts of kindness. Seldom was he left to wallow in this bad day, well, bad week at this point, on his own. Instead he had to deal with the two older men being nosy and meddlesome, and caring, and it was just too much. He was overwhelmed, which just made him feel worse. It warmed his heart that they cared about his wellbeing and were actively trying to help him, he could understand that. But he just wanted some time to be sad.

Ranpo on the other hand, never forced Edgar into doing anything, or tried to make him take care of himself. Sometimes Edgar would simply wake up from a sleep to see Ranpo sitting on his legs, reading a book. Sometimes the books were Edgar’s own, other times they were books in Japanese—Edgar had taken an interest then, and managed to drag himself upright to learn more about how the other country’s novels worked, and he’d found it interesting. Ranpo had even read it aloud so that he could understand the sound that each character made.

But that was his only good moment in the midst of his bad days.

The urge to drink, and the urge to try and kill himself had returned as well, and were sitting there, in the back of his mind, just reminding him at every turn of what he was, and the only thing he would ever be: a thorn in someone’s side, a mess of a person, somebody who was just broken.

It was painful, and Edgar was just tired.

“Mr Poe, are you alright?” Fukuzawa asked; the two of them were cleaning the home together since Mori was working downstairs, and Ranpo was… somewhere.

Edgar clutched the rag in his hands tight, and spoke through clenched teeth. “Yes. Fine.”

Fukuzawa frowned, clearly not believing him, but he didn’t say more, for which Edgar was grateful.

The silence didn’t last long.

“If there is something bothering you—”

“Everything is bothering me, that’s the problem!” Edgar snapped, throwing the rag onto the ground, and swirling to face Fukuzawa. “I appreciate the help and the care, but it’s too much! I need to do nothing sometimes. I need to wallow in my thoughts and self-pity. Everything that you and Dr Mori—and even Ranpo, are doing, is just too much! I can’t handle it anymore, so please, just stop! I’m broken, you can’t fix me. Even though things have been good, I still want to drink, I still want to die, so just save yourselves the effort and give up!”

“Mr Poe—”

“Just leave me be!” Edgar snapped before he fled, storming out of the house and down the stairs, but he didn’t leave the clinic entirely. He wanted to, but the moment he reached the door, he froze, hand on the handle, because he knew if he left, he wouldn’t return, and who knows what he’d do instead. Edgar worried his bottom lip, before be spun on his heel and fled towards the room he used to stay in. He shut the door behind him, grateful that the room was empty, before he crawled underneath the bed and curled up into a ball there.

And that was where he remained for an unknown period of time.

The door to the room creaked open at some point when the room was dark, too dark to see anything, and he listened as footsteps crossed the room, stopping by the bed. He heard someone get on their knees, and then proceed to crawl under the bed to join him, and Edgar uncurled immediately with the intention of fleeing, but before he could move, there were hands grabbing at his own. Soft hands. Warm hands.

And in the darkness of the room, there were green eyes staring right at him.

Ranpo had found him.

The younger squeezed Edgar’s hands and crawled closer, slowly wrapping his arms around Edgar until he was drawing him against his chest. Edgar froze, listening to the steady heartbeat underneath his ear as Ranpo help him close. There were no words spoken, and Edgar was glad for it. It meant that he didn’t need to think about what to say, or drag forth apologies he didn’t mean, and it wasn’t like he needed to say anything whenever Ranpo was around; he always seemed to know what Edgar was thinking. It was strange, but right now, it was the most useful thing ever.

He registered Ranpo’s hands moving, one coming to rest against the back of his head, and pull him even closer, and the other moving to run up and down his back. It was soothing, and it was calming, and Edgar melted into it, focusing on Ranpo’s heartbeat.

After a while, Ranpo spoke. “They’re worried, but I told them not to be. I told them to leave it to me.”

Edgar gave a little snort. “I guess Mr. Fukuzawa is probably stressing even more, then.”

“Hey!” Ranpo tugged at a strand of Edgar’s hair. “I can comfort people if I really want to! But that’s not my point.”

Edgar hummed, a little curious as to what Ranpo was getting at.

Ranpo’s face buried itself into Edgar’s hair, an action that made him both flush, and feel happy. “Fukuzawa told us what you said, about being broken, and that you can’t be fixed, and while both the old men upstairs would like to say that you can be fixed, or healed, or whatever, I wanted to say that it’s okay to be broken.”

“What?”

“It’s okay to be broken, Edgar. But you don’t need to be broken alone. Me and my little put-together family? We’re all broken in our own ways. My parents died in an accident, and Fukuzawa-san fled his previous life, and Mori-sensei lost the closest thing he had to a son, and you lost your entire livelihood.” Ranpo squeezed Edgar that little bit tighter and curled up around him, providing a little protective bubble. “All the good people are broken, and it’s those good people that wind up dying because they can’t find other broken people to be broken with.”

Is that so? Edgar thought, and after a moment, he brought his own arms up to wrap around Ranpo’s form. “And… you’re saying that I can be broken… with you?”

“You can.” Ranpo said, tugging at his hair again. “You can be broken with us, Edgar, but only if you want to.”

For a while, Edgar was silent, thinking it over, reminded of Mori’s offer before this all began, and well, he had to admit that he liked Ranpo’s way of putting things better.

He gave a nod. “In that case, I’d love to be broken with you and your family, Ranpo.”

[sorcerous-caress]

I’ve come bearing more gifts! (Cause god am I fucking degenerate for the human kink tag)

Masked Human Leader! W/ Performer background, not just any kind of performer, a sexual dancer kind of performer~

Let me set the scene:

(Pre-Reveal) It’s a covert mission where they are all stuck in some underground club/bar for non-humans and they need some kind of distraction. Leader hesitantly tells them to give them an hour and they’d have the ideal distraction. About an hour later a human in scantily cladded clothing is on the stage now starting to dance.

They notice that instead of focusing on the objective the party’s eyes are all on the dancer who just so happens to be the leader. They just look so mesmerized with how their eyes just seem to follow the sway of their hips so perfectly with the music of the band behind them as they show off just how flexible and bendable they are.

It’s been forever since the leader had danced like this, they had forgotten how somewhat empowering it felt to see others especially nonhumans that typically looked down on them get so aroused by a few simply movements. It was almost funny seeing their party members not being able to think straight because of them. Maybe they could try teasing them? Making sure to keep eye contact with their party as they danced until one of them finally snaps out of it and gets the rest of them going.

Afterwards when the leader comes back to their group and asked what they thought about the distraction, they are immediately bombarded with questions about who that human was with the only answer being, “Just an old friend I ran into that I definitely owe big time next time I see them” before walking off.

Like hell that was going to satisfy them. That human was going to be the party’s masturbation material for gods know how long. Most of them are going to have wet dreams about that human for nights on end and pester the leader endlessly about the human for weeks, asking for at least an introduction only to be met with ‘no’.

Imagine their surprise that upon secretly seeing their leader disrobe that it’s that same damn dancer from before.

Imagine the revenge fucking they’re gonna pound into their leader for knowingly messing with them like that. Taunting and teasing them with that perfectly fuckable body, they’re going to have to pay them back tenfold.

-🦑anon

Amazing as always anon <333

I like to think the place they went to doesn't have any humans? Like bear with me, imagine a dance club for the most dangerous and shady criminals ever, it's full of drows, demons, duegers, orcs, and even some mindflayers. Just a place where all the races that are deemed "evil" and run the underground black market spend time.

And because of that, no human comes here, even the ones in the same line of work. They know better than to walk into a hungry den of wolves who haven't seen a human up close in so long.

So when the leader goes to the club stage manager, they barely have to do any convincing to get on the stage. Once they announced they were a human the dragonborn stage leader immediately canceled whoever was up next and sent the human to the changing room with a makeup team.

A human? In an underground club? This is actually unheard of. No way in hell they are wasting this opportunity especially when they have an important group of devils at the front seats tonight.

Literally the attention of everyone in the club gets stolen by the human who walks on stage with such tantalising clothes, the prettiest of makeup, and the most delicious looking body.

All eyes are on you, following the sway of your hips, from your toes to the top of your head everything is throughly watched and observed. You can see their hungry looks whenever your lewd clothes almost slip and expose more skin, whenever you bend a bit and your ass is more on display.

Fuck your party companions are especially stunned, they barely remember that their mission here was to observe the group of devils and sneak into the private vip room to gather evidence of their involvement with a new blackmarket trade.

The same eyes you've saw look at you before with nothing but utter respect and devotion, faces that would never even think of disobeying you. Now openly lust after your flesh, looking at you as if you were nothing but a delicious slap of meat, as if you being a human gave them every right in the world to ogle you openly.

And the contrast is even more apparent when you walk off stage and come back to join them in your cloaked form, they're embarrassed by their leader seeing them lusting after a person so openly so they avoid your gaze.

Clear their throat and try to act with some dignity, asking you who that human was, do you know them? How did you get them to agree to do this and....maybe can you bring them along one day?

You wave them off, tell them they're none and it's nothing. But even later that day they keep bringing it up, saying you've definitely slept with that human before if you managed to get them to convince them to do that so easily, pestering you about how the human felt, how did their moans sound?

As their leader, it only takes a stern "stop" for them to immediately drop the subject and respect your authority, still you hear them talking about it amongst themselves.

[ishipgenfics]

Happy STS! But oh no! One of your characters has been stabbed! What chaos does this bring about? Who's been stabbed, who did the stabbing, who yanks the sword out without thinking, etc.? ♥️

Oh this is a fun one!

Birch(Your Human): Gets stabbed. It is a teenager with no experience in self-defense, if someone is trying to stab it with any degree of skill, they are almost certainly going to succeed. Plus it has bad experience with needles, so it might end up freezing up.

Rhy'cd(You): Panics. Panic panics panics. Someone tells them not to pull the sword out and they go, "Well then how long do we leave it in?Forever?! Besides, maybe you can pull them out for humans." She is informed that you in fact cannot, and starts panicking even harder. Eventually has to be dragged out of the room because her pacing around asking questions constantly is doing more harm then good.

Your pilot: Holds its hand. They're awkward and uncomfortable at first, people lash out when they are hurt and they know how dangerous humans can be, but all it is doing is screaming. So they whisper softly to it, and hold its hand as tight as they can, and hope everything will be alright.

Your engineer: This is not her job. She doesn't know how to do this. She focuses her energy on fighting off whoever stabbed them, on getting them off her ship. Later, she thinks something might be wrong with her, that the instinct to try and go help didn't even occur to her. She is wrong, but she will think it anyway.

Your scientist: It knows how this works. Its species might not have blood, but lots of others do, and its been doing research. Makes itself burn bright bright bright and cauterizes the wound after Rhy'cd pulls it out in a panic. It feels good about itself for being able to do something useful.

Bonus!(characters that have not yet been introduced)--

Alex: Alex is that kid who's really sure he knows a lot about first aid. He's just so sure that he knows what he would do if he got stabbed, but in reality he watched like two Red Cross videos and took a CPR course and that is the extent of his knowledge. He really thinks he's being helpful. He is not.

Ciralarus: I think Ciralarus probably has some actual medical experience. At the very least she's helped with kids before, so she knows how to tie up wounds and what to do in an emergency situation. She'd probably be the most helpful out of anyone.

[firsttarotreader]

For a reading, how does Pedro feel about being single for so long? What are the things he likes and doesn't like about it?

Hello! That’s an interesting question. I did a few pulls to answer it and broke it down in separate questions. First, I asked how he might possibly feel being single for so long. The first pull was the King of Teacups reversed, Page of Teacups and 6 of Teacups.

You see, the King of Teacups reversed has his cup empty, with nothing to give. He might be selfish, cold, ruled by ego and using his emotional intelligence for his own desires only. The Page of Teacups followed by 6 of Teacups points to him actually feeling like a boy, like he is not even mature enough to NOT be single. He feels like a young spirit, kind of naive, navigating through life with the eyes of a child, sometimes nostalgic, intuitive and creative, always fresh and renewed. It reminds me of his teenage years and that feeling of discovering life for the first time. We can also think of those children who are not open to others, who are still enjoying their childhood and not really caring about making meaningful connections that could lead to romance further down the road, they’re still “selfish”, living in their own world and thinking of having fun and discovering new and exciting things in life.

The next pull was the Ace of Teacups reversed, King of Hedgehogs and Knight of Hedgehogs. That is another interesting aspect of the situation. Again, Ace of Teacups reversed shows him with an empty cup, no love to give, disconnected from romantic emotions, ignoring them if he has to. The King of Hedgehogs is worried about building his stability in life and this is very much linked to the material, work, career, money. He wants to be in a situation where he can feel stable, confident, reliable, wealthy and prosperous. And the Knight of Hedgehogs points to him working for that. That man is working everyday to get what he wants in life and he is focused on that.

Then I asked what he might like about being single. The cards were the 7 of Spears, 7 of Teacups and 8 of Spears. 7 of Spears is curious because it represents a few different possibilities. One of them is Pedro doesn’t have to face dishonesty, lies and deception or be dishonest himself. Another possibility is he might feel like he’s able to sneak away from any situation he doesn’t want to stay on. He can go solo and casually leave by the side door. We know he doesn’t like to commit anyway. 7 of Teacups means he likes to be able to have all the possibilities available to him. This card is about being able to choose whatever, if he wants to go for someone he can, if he doesn’t want to he also can choose to not do anything, and he can also thirst freely on whoever he wants. He has ALL the opportunities and possibilities open to him. 8 of Spears is basically the opposite of the 7 of Teacups, it’s about feeling trapped, smothered, suffocated, tied up, and honestly it might be that he doesn’t want that, the feeling of having no choices. I would say this man is SO afraid of cutting down his options in life and being trapped to whatever.

I asked next what he doesn’t like about being single, and the cards were the 10 of Flowers, 8 of Teacups and 8 of Flowers reversed. 10 of Flowers means it might be a little overwhelming to be always single, like he has to carry way too much weight on his own and he has to decide everything and he has to take all the responsibilities, which may be tiring at times. 8 of Teacups means he could possibly feel kind of frustrated for never staying, always leaving everything (or everyone) behind, like there is nothing that makes him want to stay and that is overwhelming too. 8 of Flowers reversed means this hectic pace of his life can be kind of confusing and anxiety inducing. Some things go too fast but others go too slow, sometimes he needs to slow down but sometimes he needs things to change and rock his world.

So we can see that he is really not emotionally ready to not be single, he’s building his material life, he likes the way he is free while being single and he could dislike having to decide everything on his own, along with that need for a change that doesn’t really happen.

[38sr]

What’s the best way to get noticed by the animation industry resume wise? #industryQs

Ah, this is a very good question ‘cause I remember back in college when I had no clue how to go about crafting a resume haha. But before we begin, I must preface that everything I state below is from personal experience from breaking into animation in addition to being on the other side or looking at applications for applications and such. These are not absolutes you have to follow since everyone’s experience will always be different.

And with that, let’s answer the question! What’s the best way to get noticed by the animation industry resume wise?

If I may be honest and candid, portfolios are what are looked at than resumes. There’s nothing wrong with having a resume (in fact yes please do have one for the recruiter sakes so they know your job title, contact info, experience, and so). Make sure that your resume is easy to read and not too long (usually 1-2 pages) while also including all the important information I mentioned in the previous sentence. But even if you had the longest resume ever known to mankind, if your portfolio doesn’t quite match or have the potential to be a good match for a production then the people hiring will look for someone who matches the production’s sensibilities more. And I’m only saying this ‘cause this happened to me haha.

Back in….I wanna say 2021 a friend of mine asked if I would be interested in working on the Proud Family series on Disney+. I said yes ‘cause I love that show and it was super influential to me as a little black girl from Jersey. So, I sent off my work and excitedly waited to hear if I could work on the show. Much to my surprise the show runner took a pass on me because he felt like my work didn’t fit with the show.

In his defense, my work is very anime leaning so I don’t blame him for worrying whether or not I can adapt to a more cartoony style haha. But at that time, my resume stated that I had been in the Nick Artist Program, worked on Star Trek Lower Decks, worked on Rugrats, and worked on Critical Role Legend of Vox Machina. I would like to think my resume would have been a good reason to hire me but my portfolio was more so the deciding factor as to why I was not chosen. From the show runner’s perspective, I did not match the show’s style and sensibilities even with a good resume.

So my point is, the actual physical you work make (the portfolio) matters a bit more when it comes to grabbing the attention of those in hiring power rather than the resume. They will still ask what previous works you have done (whether personal, indie, or professional) as part of the formal process. But what I’ve learned now that I’m on the other side and have done the application evaluating myself, the portfolio really is the thing that helps us decides whether or not you’re a good fit for the job. Even if you have no experience in a big Hollywood studio and have only done personal projects…or just nothing at all! If your portfolio showcases that you have the skill of an industry ready artist then you can be taught to adapt to the production. Again, even if you don’t have the most robust resume. That’s why so many of us in the industry make it a point to tell new, emerging artists to focus on making a good portfolio rather than being hyper focused on the best resume/cover letter. Your art will speak for yourself.

Again, please do make a resume for the recruiter’s sake haha. But if you want to grab the attention of industry professionals, crafting a solid portfolio is what we’re really look for. Social media has been a great tool to do that ‘cause industry pros just like looking at cool art at the end of they day. And if you happen to be looking for work (or are eligible to work), we will take the time to save your work and hand it off to whoever is in charge of hiring or put it in a talent pool for future projects.

In a previous IndustryQ, I went more in depth about my personal take on what makes a good portfolio and you can find that here. But again, this is all from my personal experience and opinion so do what feels best for you! I hope that answered your question!