#where they find solace in each other's flaws and make something beautiful together out of their individually ugly lives n pasts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

asphora · 4 years

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Marigolds | csc

wc: 5,569 | angst, hanahaki disease, seungcheol x reader, f!reader, non-idol!verse, cursing, character death, tw:sickness, tw:death

a/n: I’ve been in a slump and in a really bad place recently, but out of nowhere this came to me and somehow writing it made me feel better? idk. Also, I recommend listening to Yiruma’s Prelude in Gm. It’s such a beautiful piece. Anyway, thank you.

Love can often look like so many things that don’t seem like love.

The night the world stops spinning is the night you see her for the first time. You’d known of her existence long before you’d even had the misfortune of laying your eyes on her, from stories and various retellings enthusiastically recounted to you by your group of 13 male friends. Their words had made her something of a phantasmagoric collection of enchanting and enigmatic quirks and traits, something otherworldly; brave and spontaneous, fun but equally intelligent. But for all their praise, you figured their words were just that.

Nodding along as Seungcheol prattled on about her ardently, you silently listened, finding some semblance of solace knowing that there was no person without flaws. To you, she seemed more like a Monet than anything; something beautiful to behold, but only from a distance. The closer anyone got, surely the more the cracks would start to show and for all her magic and mystery, you figured soon enough the boys, particularly Seungcheol, would soon realize the truth: that there was no such thing as magic. Only real people, with their flaws and undone seams, haphazardly strewn together.

That night the music blared in your ears, despite coming from the next room where Soonyoung was drunkenly DJing. Around you were throngs of people, a mix of strangers and friends alike, bodies danced intoxicatedly moving to the beat reverberating through the walls of the frat-house.

When you see him, you can’t fight the smile that spreads on your lips. Your hand is already raised, ready to wave him down and wrap him in the embrace you two always shared. You don’t know it yet, but that night is different from all the others; the beginning of the end.

It only takes him few steps more for you to see that his hand, which is usually stuffed into his pockets, is prettily decorated by her dainty one; milky skin seemingly unmarred by the harsh yellow lighting in the crowded living room and her ring finger ornamented by a big bright rock you recalled seeing at Seungcheol’s apartment a week prior.

Immediately your hand falls to your side and you take a step back, disappearing effortlessly into the crowd as your watchful eyes are trained on the couple. She with her red silk dress that seemed to accentuate and hug her body in the most complimentary way, and him in his usual all black ensemble that definitely did not betray the senses, showcasing his toned body through the fabric. They looked more like they belonged on the front of some expensive travel or style catalogue.

You would have described the pair as one that stuck out like a sore thumb, but that wasn’t the case. As they waded through the waves of people—his arms wrapped gently around her, never faltering in their protective hold on her—they seemed to put everyone else to shame. It wasn’t that they didn’t belong at this party, it was that they made everyone else look like they shouldn't have been there.

As you watch them laughing and dancing, whispering, faces always close to each other’s, you realize that she is not the mirage you had made her out to be in your head. She’s everything they said she was, and even more, she bore his heart.

“Seungcheol!” the bellowing voices of 13 other boys pull you from your thoughts and suddenly, you go from a passive by-stander simply basking in the glow of the couple, to the forefront of all the excitement as Mingyu finds you in the crowd and pulls you by the arm to where Seungcheol and the others are standing.

Dark chocolate irises that you’ve known all your life and have practically memorized at this point meet your own and that’s the last color you register along with the sounds of cheering and shouting of joyous congratulations, before everything becomes a blur of motion as your legs will you through the halls of the frat house you practically lived at. After that all you see is orange—bright, fiery, blazing orange.

As you sink onto the floor of Jihoon’s bathroom, vision bleary from the pain, you press your cheek onto the tile taking whatever comfort you can from their soothing coolness.

‘Marigolds,’ you chuckle at the irony of just how fitting it is, the sound coming out more of a garbled cough than a laugh due to the burning in your throat, 'in the language of flowers, it meant despair, grief and jealousy.'

As you shift in and out of consciousness, the alcohol in your system working too well with the pain in your chest and throat, forcing you under, you reach your hand out, fingers trying to grasp at the orange blossoms. You hadn’t even made it to the toilet.

‘Sorry Woozi,’ you think in your last moments of consciousness, ‘promise I’ll clean it later. It just hurts too much right now.’

And that’s how the said male finds you.

Once the party is done, Jihoon retreats to his quarters only slightly tipsy since he wasn’t much of a drinker anyway like the rest of the guys. There you are, passed out in the middle of his bathroom floor, lying in what at first glance seemed to be clouds of fire.

If he hadn’t know exactly what he was looking at, he would’ve thought the sight to be beautiful, immaculate even; your limp form swimming in a sea of marigolds, hands outstretched and gripping some of the fresh blooms in your hands, dark hair splayed out across the flowers in stark contrast to the vibrant orange beneath, and your face though tearstained was adorned with loose petals sticking to your skin.

His bathroom had never smelled so nice, he thought despite knowing you’d vomited these flowers. Never in his life had he seen Marigolds as vibrant as these, so alive and in full bloom, as though spring had come in the middle of winter to take up residence in his bathroom; the sight would put Demeter to shame. But he knew the truth of it; this sight was anything but that of life. You were dying.

***

“You have to get the surgery, y/n.” Jihoon sighs the words onto the skin of your forearm where there are various tubes sticking out of you, seemingly the only things keeping you somewhat alive.

You can tell by the way he says it that he’s beyond exhausted, that these are words that he’s tired of saying, that this is a plea he and all the other 11 boys from your friend group are tired of begging you for. You don’t say anything, and your silence only makes him more irked.

“If you aren’t going to get the surgery, at least tell him the truth,” Jihoon attempts to reason with you, “he deserves to know the truth, or even just the chance to save his best friend. You can’t avoid him forever, and you sure as hell can’t just suddenly die and leave him wondering how the fuck that happened.”

Jihoon’s crass words make you laugh, a breathy quiet chagrin that slips from your lips sounding more like a cough than mirth. He’s so fed up with you that he doesn’t even bother to choose his words wisely, not like how he was when this all started a month ago.

“He hasn’t even tried to visit me.” At that he rolls his eyes.

“Because you won’t let him. You won’t even let us tell him that you’re in the hospital. As far as he knows your back home with your parents getting better, not here in Seoul, in a hospital, fucking dying.”

This time, it’s your turn to roll your eyes and admonish him, albeit weaker compared to his display. “I get it Woozi, I’m dying, I don’t have much longer to live. Tell me something the doctors haven’t, I get it—”

“No, you don’t!” His booming voice suddenly cuts you off. For the first time in your long friendship with him, he raises his voice at you.

“You don’t get it,” you watch him as he shakes his head, “you say you get it, that you know you’re dying, but you don’t. You’re acting like this is a small thing, that it’ll go away sooner or later, but it isn’t. It’s either you get the surgery or you’re dead, done, gone forever. There won’t even be anything left of you to love that oblivious, unworthy asshole you call your best friend.

“A real best friend would be more worried about you, would be here, breaking down doors and begging me and the rest of the guys to let him see you, he’d at the very least, demand to be able to visit you and not be running around having fun with his whatever-she-is while you’re dying.”

Tears fill Jihoon’s eyes as he paces, arms angrily flailing as he rants to and at you. That’s when Wonwoo, seemingly forgotten in the corner, ever the quiet spectator and your next closest friend after Jihoon and Seungcheol, steps in to place a calming hand on Jihoon’s heaving chest.

“Jihoon,” Wonwoo’s thick baritone pierces through the sound of Jihoon’s angry breaths, “that’s enough. Look at her, she’s crying.”

You hadn’t realized it until Wonwoo had pointed out, but your face was hot with moisture, and your patient’s gown was soaked down the front with the tears that had run off your face. Jihoon seeing this seems to snap out of his trance, his stance relaxing and his eyes growing soft.

“Sorry, y/n, I-I didn’t mean, I—”

“It’s okay Jihoonie,” you hadn’t used that nickname in a long time, not since Seungcheol had practically thrown a fit, banning you from calling any of the others by cute nicknames, “it’s okay, don’t be sorry, I get it.”

Giving him and Wonwoo the warmest smile you can muster in your weakened state, you open your arms out for them, their strong sturdy forms quick to bend to fill the tiny space of your arms, wrapping your frail form in their own warmth.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper the words onto the tops of their heads, petting the hair there, “I get it, I do. You don’t have to be sorry. I’m scared too.”

The admission of your own fear wracks a brand-new sob through your chest that you hadn’t known you were holding back, and immediately you’re crying a fresh batch of tears onto the fabric of their shirts.

“I don’t want to die,” you wail despite the scratching of your throat as you clutch the fabric of their shirts into clenched fists, “but I can’t, I don’t want to—I can’t do it. If I get the surgery, I’ll forget, and I can’t—

“I can’t live in a world where I don’t know Seungcheol, where I don’t know his smile or the sound of his voice and his laughter, where I don’t know that he’s a cry baby and that his favorite kind of movies are romcoms, even though he’ll never admit it to anyone but me.

“I’m scared too, but it’s not just dying,” you sob, “what kind of life would it be if I stopped knowing him? If I couldn't even remember the only love I’ve ever known?”

***

Weeks pass in a blur of burning orange speckled with blotches of vibrant red; hospital bins filled to the brim with orange marigolds drenched in bile and blood; nurses carrying and disposing more and more beautiful bright bouquets of marigolds each passing day.

“The marigolds are really pretty, at least.” Soonyoung absentmindedly remarks as he watches a nurse file out of the room, two trash bins in hand, brimming with freshly puked flowers.

Seungkwan who stands beside him gives the hin a look of complete outrage, nudging Soonyoung’s side a little too harshly with his elbow, making the blonde yelp in pain. Jihoon who’s sitting at your bedside only rolls his eyes at the insensitivity, while the rest of the boys stand around awkwardly and apologetically.

The tense sight of almost all your closest friends standing around as if they were at your funeral rather than just your hospital room only makes you laugh into the receptacle on your mouth, cursing the restraining contraption despite it being the only thing that’s managed to help you breathe throughout this whole ordeal.

Shifting up weakly, you move to sit up in your hospital bed to get a better look at the boys. Jihoon’s hands are quicker than your frail body though, as he tries to keep you lying down.

“C’mon, Hoonie, I’m dying, not losing my sense of humor,” you shrug his hands away and Mingyu’s takes their place to sit you up, “what Soonyoung said was funny.”

“I’m not offended, it’s funny. I mean, they are pretty, right? It would suck if I was dying and the flowers exploding out my gut were fucking ugly as shit. Could you imagine puking roses? Ugh, how generic,” you chuckle, upping the dramatics and giving Soonyoung a wink along with a mirthful grin which he sheepishly returns.

You glance at Seungkwan who’s trying to bite down his smile and you offer him your own wide one, “bet you never had a flower shop for a friend, huh?” And at that, the others who’d spent most of this time awkwardly standing around, the same way they did every week when they came to visit, finally let out their laughter.

You laugh along with them as much as your lungs will allow and you shake Jihoon’s shoulder, as if the gesture will shake the frown off of his face as you whine, “C’mon, please don’t be mad, Jihoon. I’m dying, you’re not allowed to be mad at me.”

“She kinda has a point, Hyung.” Vernon, feeling more relaxed after your joke, takes a seat at the foot of your bed and shrugs at the older male.

“Dying friend trumps angry friend,” you shrug, smiling brightly at Vernon who just pets your leg affectionately. Despite his irritation, Jihoon watches the exchange and visibly softens, patting your head just as sweetly and giving you half a smile. “Whatever, you’re stupid.”

“By the way, where’s Wonwoo?” Mingyu asks, changing the topic effectively, “isn’t he supposed to be here, too?”

“He said he’s running late,” Jihoon checks the clock, noting that the male is never usually this late, “he said he had to pick up something before—” as if on cue, the male in question rushes through the doors of your hospital room, panting and sweaty.

“What the heck, Woo? Did you run all the way here?” you laugh at his disheveled state, “don’t you have a car—” just as quickly as he makes it through the door, your words die on your tongue, finally seeing just what it was he had to pick up, rather who.

“Seungcheol.” The world seems to stop for a moment when your eyes meet his, and everyone in the room becomes as still as statues, the playful mood from earlier quickly dissolving into wordless tension.

It feels like eons before someone breaks the palpable stiffness in the room, but it’s Wonwoo’s voice that slices through it and breaks the trance you and Seungcheol are locked in, “I’m sorry, y/n.”

“What the actual fuck, Wonwoo!” This is the loudest your voice has ever managed to be since you arrived at the hospital and the strain burns your throat so much that you start coughing violently, gasping desperately for air as a fresh wave of nausea hits you and the rest of the boys can tell right away by the panicked look in your eyes.

Vernon, who’s closest to the new trash bin is quick to grab it, placing it in front of you on your lap, while Mingyu’s hands efficiently remove the breathing receptacle from your face. Jihoon reacts like it’s his second nature to pull your hair out of your face and hold it behind you, while Wonwoo moves to your side to gently stroke your back, cooing soft encouraging whispers into your ear as bright orange starts to assault your senses, blurring your vision and filling the room with sickly sweet scent of marigolds along with the sounds of your violent retching. Soonyoung and Seokmin are quick to leave the room, saying they’ll call a nurse for an extra bin while the rest sit to the side, not even an inkling of panic on their faces.

It all happens so fast, with such lighting precision and rehearsed accuracy that Seungcheol is sure that this isn’t the first time his closest friends have been through this. He realizes quickly that he’s the only one who hadn't known.

Once you're done unloading your flowery guts into the bin, Minghao is already ready with a moist towelette to wipe away any dribble along your lips. Your weak gaze manages to meet Seungcheol’s confused but visibly enraged ones, but you don’t speak. Not for lack of ability to, but because there was nothing left to say. The jig was up, he knew.

“What the fuck, y/n?” Seungcheol’s voice is booming and you almost laugh at how often you’d heard those words in the span of time you’d been in the hospital, but his next words cease any coherent thought you might have, “who is he? Tell me, y/n, who the fuck is he, I’ll kill him.”

Confused, your eyes dart from the angry eyes of the subject of your affections, to the bespectacled ones of your other best friend who was still standing beside you, hands unwaveringly rubbing gentle, soothing circles onto your back.

“Woo?”

“I thought you should be the one to tell him.” He explains, eyes apologetic.

“I swear to god, y/n! Is this where you’ve been the past two months?” Seungcheol, ever the impulsive and quick to anger person he is, doesn’t even register the moment that passes between you and Wonwoo, “Why didn’t you tell me? I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell your best friend! We’ve been through everything together, and I would do anything for you but you were just going to go through all of this, all alone, without me?”

You only laugh at how he was exactly the same Seungcheol you’d always remembered. Two torturous months had passed and while the time had seemed to trudge on slowly for you, the time feeling like eternities without him, it had flown by for him and he had emerged from the other end practically unscathed; you were dying, and in a way, he was literally killing you with heartbreak but all he could think about was how you could have the audacity to leave him out of your own illness and death.

Classic Seungcheol. It might have seemed unbearably selfish of him, but this was also part of why you loved him so dearly. He was so innocent, so caught up in his own heart that he barely registered anyone else’s, but it also meant that once he treasured someone, he would do anything, sacrifice anything for them. His one-track mind and heart would never let him be or do anything less; if Seungcheol had to give you the world just so that you might live, he would die trying to get it.

It was exactly why you had wanted to leave him out of it. You knew that he was too kind, too self-sacrificing to the point of selfishness, too caught up in his own emotions that he would never understand your choice to not have the surgery—to die.

“Sorry, Cheolie,” you try to smile despite the sob that gets caught in your throat, “I just thought it would be better this way.”

At your words, he immediately unclenches and finally all the anger that wracks his body seems to dissipate from him until all that’s left in his irises is confusion and hurt. "You don’t have to do this. You can just have the surgery,” he coaxes, walking over to your bedside where he takes your hand in his, gently rubbing the skin there with his thumb before gently pressing it to his lips, closing his eyes as he does so.

“But I can’t, Cheolie, I can’t forget—” you almost slip up and say ‘you’, but you swallow it down and Seungcheol is quick to take the reigns of the conversation again.

“You can! You can forget that bastard! Whoever he is, he doesn’t deserve you, your love, or your death.” He pleads, tears pricking the edges of his eyes.

“You don’t know that Seungcheol,” the first time in a long time you’d used his first name, “he doesn’t deserve me, he deserves better, you just don’t know—”

“I don’t want to know! If he really loved you, he wouldn’t be letting you die here all alone—”

“But I’m not alone!” you try to argue, but Seungcheol isn’t having any of it, he’s too riled up again, too in his pain to let you explain anything to him.

“No, y/n! For fuck’s sake, listen to me! If he can’t love you when you’re fucking willing to die for him, then he’s not gonna love you even after you’re dead! And there’s no use dying just to remember someone who doesn’t love you!” he heaves, “isn’t it better to just be alive not remembering someone who could never love you?”

Everyone stood around you, eyes wide and tensely watching, awaiting your response with bated breath. His words hurt. More than anything, they felt like a death sentence, an indirect confirmation that Seungcheol could never and would never return your feelings. Fighting the marigolds bubbling in your chest threatening to spill out, you can only shake your head, smiling at him as tears finally spill from your eyes.

It takes everything in Jihoon not to punch the lights out of Seungcheol as everyone watches you cry, but Wonwoo’s firm grip on Jihoon’s arm is warning enough that you wouldn’t want them fighting with each other.

“It’s okay,” you finally manage the words, and everyone but Seungcheol knows that the words are more for everyone else in the room, “I know you don’t understand, and I don’t expect you to.

“You’re not meant to; it’s not for you to understand. This is mine.” Seungcheol meets your eyes and in them he sees a finality that he has never seen before, a certainty unmarred by fear or sadness. “So, I don’t care if you’re mad at me, or if you don’t agree. You don’t have to, you just have to be my friend and sit this one out, okay?”

Your eyes scan through the room, meeting the eyes of all your closest friends, asking for their silent agreement to both keep your secret but also to no longer question your decision. “Just be my friend and sit with me till—”

“Till the end.” Wonwoo finishes when you’re unable to, voice shaky from overuse and the emotions.

The night the world ends is the day your heart finally stops. For three days prior you’d been in a medically induced coma, the doctors explaining to Jihoon and all your friends that it would be too much, too painful to keep you awake while your body slowly failed; your lungs slowly filling with blood, fluid and marigolds, its roots constricting the far too weakened organ tighter and tighter until your system would eventually crash from the lack of oxygen. Ultimately suffering from a long and arduous suffocation.

When you go, it isn’t peaceful or serene like the books or the movies often say it is. Your body is a mess of convulsions and painful retching fits. Despite being sedated, you're gasping for air; your body seemingly clawing onto life and fighting to preserve itself despite your heart telling it to let go. As the last of your struggle and life dissipates from your body, you’re surrounded by the same friends who’d kept you company throughout this whole ordeal.

Till the end, even on the days you could no longer talk, or wake up to even see them, they had stayed. Some talked to you, sometimes telling you stories, reading you your favorite books, and even saying their goodbyes one by one. Even Seungcheol, who despite his bursts of anger and frequent tantrums that had him walking out, always returned to keep his promise and just sit with you.

That night, there were no marigolds like when Jihoon had first found you, it was not beautiful or immaculate. There was no portrait of you sprawled in a field of bright golden flowers. Instead, there were only bloodied, wilting petals scattered at your bedside and sticking to your skin and robes, the orange barely visible through the blood that stained them. Your frame was the smallest they’d ever seen it and you were completely pale, the only color on you was the blood that had caked and dried at your lips and wherever else it had splattered, along with the mess of withering petals.

When the flatline finally echoes through your tiny ICU room, with 13 cramped bodies, not including the doctors and nurses, no one says anything. Wonwoo is the first to crack, taking your limp hand in his, pressing the lifeless limb to his lips then falling to his knees and finally breaking down completely for the first time. Everyone else follows suit.

Your distant relatives had settled the arrangements for the funeral, deciding to have it in Seoul where you would be surrounded by all your friends and most beloved ones. They are kind and understanding, despite not having been close with you and they thank everyone who attends graciously. All your friends attend, Seungcheol even brings his girlfriend for moral support and she does just that. You would’ve been happy that he had her shoulder to cry on, Jihoon thinks as he watches them.

The night Seungcheol’s world stops is a week after your passing. Jihoon invites Seungcheol to go out with him and Wonwoo. When he meets the pair at the park, sitting on a bench, all three of them almost laugh at how much of a similar state they’re all in; eyes puffy with dark circles underneath to match, and faces swollen from sleepless nights spent crying.

“If y/n were here, she’d laugh at how bad we look,” Wonwoo laughs, the first to break the silence, “she’d never let us live it down.”

“I miss her.” Seungchol breathes out the words into a puff of cold exhalation. At the words, Jihoon feels his fists clench, a sudden rage washing over him, but Wonwoo is quick and takes it upon himself to perform the difficult task at hand instead of Jihoon.

“You should know, Seungcheol,” Wonwoo sadly meets the gaze of his friend, forcing the words and choking down the tears in his throat, “it was you.”

“Y/n didn’t want us to tell you, she was kind that way,” Jihoon runs a hand through his locks, fighting the tears, “but we’re not as kind.”

“We thought you deserved to know.” Wonwoo clarifies, not letting Jihoon’s anger cloud their actual purpose.

“She was in love with you, she always has been,” Jihoon sighs, recounting the conversation he had with you a few weeks prior to you being comatose.

“There’s still time, y/n. I know I said I would drop it, I’m sorry, but you can’t blame a guy for trying to save his best friend, right?” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“It’s okay, Hoonie, I understand.” Till the very end, you were kind despite your pain.

“You know why marigolds?” your eyes look to Wonwoo sitting by Jihoon then trail off to the view outside your window. “When I first arrived in Seoul, he was my first friend. I met him in a field of marigolds. I’d fallen and scraped my knee. It was really bad actually, I had to get stitches after. I remember trying so hard not to cry, because I was a big girl and this was the big city and I just felt like there were no room for tears here, y’know?”

You laugh at the memory, “out of nowhere this big kid comes running at me asking if I’m okay. While I tried not to cry, telling him I was okay, he took one look at the gaping wound and all the blood on my skirt and he started crying so loudly.

He was so dramatic that it almost made me forget how much it hurt, and I could laugh even just a little at him. So overly emotional, that boy.” You shake your head. “Anyway, I ask him why he’s crying, and this obviously much older and taller boy bawls at me saying ‘it looks like it hurts, doesn’t it hurt? And you’re not crying so I’ll just cry for you’.”

“He cried so much that his parents eventually found him and me, and brought me to the hospital to get stitches. I’ve been with him ever since. We were so young back then. I’m sure he doesn’t even remember…”

Finally looking back at Jihoon who now sees the fresh tears in your eyes, “but I-I don’t want to forget, Jihoon. I don’t want to forget him or who he helped me become.”

“And I knew, you know?” chuckling mirthlessly, your eyes shift to Wonwoo’s sad eyes as they watch your sadder ones, “I knew he couldn’t feel that way about me, I knew he didn’t love me, but I adored him anyway. There were times I thought, maybe, maybe he’d finally see me...”

Turning back to Jihoon, you could only shrug, “but we all know how that turned out.”

“She always loved you, Seungcheol,” Wonwoo interjects, ending Jihoon’s retelling and watching as the older male’s eyes fill with tears.

“But why didn’t she—why couldn’t she just have told me? She could’ve just been honest.”

“We all know that wasn’t an option,” it’s Jihoon’s turn to interrupt this time, “you were engaged, and she wasn’t going to ever let herself get in the way of that.”

A silence passes between them at his words. It was true. No matter how Seungcheol looked at it and flipped it around in his head, you were far too selfless to do anything so cruel, and knowing you, the last thing you’d want was to make it any harder on him. You were no angel, but you were a good person, the best he knew, but he also knew you could be selfish to a certain extent. Instead of just going through with the surgery, you suffered painfully till the very end, and all to preserve memories of someone who he now knew didn’t even deserve to be remembered, all because he was too blind and too wrapped up in his own heart to see it, to see you.

“I love you; I’m waiting for you unbearably.” Wonwoo’s eyes are closed as he whispers the words into the emptiness of the starless night sky. The two males stare at him wordlessly as if waiting for an explanation and after taking his time, letting the moment pass, he does.

“It was a quote y/n really loved, from a book she recommended to me a while back.” He smiles fondly at the memory, “during her last days, sometimes she’d whisper it in her sleep.”

They sat there in silence for what seemed like hours, wordlessly comforting each other by just being there. As they stayed there, basking in the stillness and calm that seemed to envelope the rest of the universe; your death felt like the world had ended, but here it was, continuing to spin through the vastness of the cold October night sky; blissfully ignorant of your passing. Even in that emptiness, there was comfort and somehow, they could almost feel you; just there, sitting with them till the end.

Seungcheol is the first to stand to leave, whispering a hoarse thank you to the two before turning to head to his car and driving off, home to his fiancé. Wonwoo and Jihoon don’t say anything more. It’s Jihoon who decides when it’s finally time to leave. He turns to Wonwoo, beckoning to the male with a nod.

“Let’s go, Woo.”

“Do you think it will hurt?” Jihoon doesn’t look at him as he drives, but quirks his brow, confused by his question.

“What, the surgery?”

It takes a moment before Wonwoo can respond. He’s perfectly calm, looking out the window at the streaks of passing light as he shakes his head, “no. Forgetting.”

The words take Jihoon by surprise, but he doesn’t show it, not wanting to worry him any further. Instead, he gives him a comforting smile, the first hint of sincere softness on his face since you had been admitted to the hospital, and shakes his head.

“No, I don’t think so. I think it only hurts when you know you’re forgetting. But once you’ve forgotten, then there has to be some relief in that, right? To be able to be a blank slate. A new start, she would have wanted that for you.”

Wonwoo only nods, closing his eyes as he takes in the younger’s words.

“Don’t worry, Wonwoo,” Jihoon’s hand is a comforting warmth on his shoulder, “even when you can’t remember her anymore, I’ll remember her for the both of us.”

Fin.

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hanibalistic · 3 years

Text

#A1123B | HAN JISUNG.

genre | fluff, friends au

word count | 1057

warning | none

note | because i think soulmates might just be a little overrated.

"i can't believe you don't think soulmates are real."

you looked away from the fire burning within the dome-shaped hole that jisung's mansion-like home has opened up in one of its walls. the blanket around you fell past your shoulder, just barely grazing against the skin of your roll-up sleeves, and you stared at him in confusion.

"excuse me?" you asked him to repeat politely.

he frowned, pulling his legs away from his chest and crossing them on the carpeted ground. attempting to scoot closer to you, he shook his hips a few times before settling on the new spot. and then he sighed, not so much in defeat but in preparation to get into a heated conversation with you.

because, so far since he has met you as his partner for the final english project, you both have only had passive-aggressive arguments where your opinions differ greatly from each other. he knew this conversation would likely turn out to be no different than the rest.

"how can you not believe in soulmates?" he said, changing his phrasing but ultimately leading to the same darn topic, which was you not believing in soulmates.

you spared him a glance before returning your attention to the fireplace before you. he must have gotten the information from a slip of the tongue you made yesterday in class when you were discussing a book with someone else in your class activity group.

how surprising that he caught on, and the fact that he was annoyed enough to ask you about it as well was nothing short of amusing.

"i just don't," you said with a shrug. "i don't like the idea that we have to find the right person. it makes love sound like an unreachable privilege, and it shouldn't be. love should be open to everyone, not sacred."

"alright, so you simply don't like the textbook version of a soulmate," he hummed with a nod, his features somewhat more relaxed upon the idea that you could be swayed from your stance. "care to enlighten me with your opinion about built soulmates?"

"soulmates that grow to become soulmates?" you quietly clarified, and when you saw him beam a nod at you, you shrugged. "they're better, but i still don't like them."

jaw dropped open, jisung let out a strangled sound of protest as he waved his hand at you, annoyed. the way he was so fed up over such a trivial matter was undoubtedly getting on his own nerves too, but he was often far too passionate about romance to let something like this slide. how dare you! not liking the concept of soulmates? only the devil could do that!

"why, though? there is not a single bad aspect of having a soulmate!" he exclaimed, counting off his fingers and pointing at the middle of his palm to emphasize his arguments. "doesn't the idea that there is one person out there made specifically for you give you solace? doesn't it give you hope that someone out there will love you unconditionally?"

you shifted to face him better. the blanket around you was starting to feel more hot than warm because of the fire burning before you both, but you did not attempt to point that out as you looked ahead at jisung's agitated state. he seemed far too caught up in this than you thought was necessary, and despite your lack of interest in his ideals, you couldn't help but dig further into it anyway.

"do you believe in soulmates?" you asked him instead, and you watched his face morph into confused impatience.

"yes? did i not make it obvious by bombarding you with my bewilderment?" he pointed out, looking at you with deadpan eyes.

"well, that's good for you then," you said. "why does it matter if i don't?"

trick question. why?

jisung fell silent, knowing the answer to that immediately yet was unable to voice it loud enough for you to hear. how was he supposed to tell the truth when he couldn't guarantee your enthusiastic response? he couldn't possibly go ahead and tell you he was so frustrated in your disbelief of soulmates because he thought you were his.

you two have only met each other a week before, but you have been the most compatible person he has ever been with. call him instinctive or hot-headed, but if he was going to have a soulmate in his life, he would think the person was you. he was sane enough to know you wouldn’t think that just yet; given the short time and the acquaintance-like relationship you two shared.

it was love at first sight, he thought. maybe he should ask you about that as well.

hearing the silent response, you pursed your lips together and looked toward the fireplace. the redness illuminated on your skin, glowing up pretty patches of blushes on your face, and the way it glowed in your eyes were daunting to look at.

it has taken jisung a while to realize this, but you looked beautiful. you always have, silently and tentatively.

"it's not that i don't like being loved by people," you muttered, eyes wise and old. "i just don't understand why two people have to be deemed soulmates for them to be worthy of an intimate relationship."

you looked at him, brows furrowed in thoughts and blanket falling off your shower on this cold, late night. "can't two lovers just be two lovers?"

not 'perfect for each other,' not 'one true pair,' not 'soulmates,' just people. people who are flawed in their ways of affection yet determined to continue, people with hearts of gold embracing each other's shortcomings despite its consequences, people who are soulmates on their own terms.

jisung didn't blink when you looked into his eyes, but he did blush a great deal at the overwhelming gaze you placed upon him. thankfully, the lighting in the room was enough to hide his bones with silhouettes and ashes. he couldn't have explained the way he felt for you now, the swirly and newfound attraction that you have taught him something new.

and he could entertain the idea that soulmates needn't exist, at least not between you two.

you two could simply be people, good and honest people with good feelings for each other.

people who are an 'us.' just that.

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yurimother · 4 years

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LGBTQ Manga Review - Fragtime (Complete Series)

I recall reading the first few chapters of Fragtime on Manga Cross and not being very impressed. I did not care for it much, as, other than the time stopping element, it was mostly generic and had a few too many unsavory elements. I was content to let it rest and be forgotten along with a hundred other girl-meets-girl school Yuri romances until Tear Studio and the people behind the excellent Kase-san and Morning Glories OVA announced an anime adaptation of the work, a full five years after it ended. Inevitably an English adaptation of Sato’s original manga was announced, and so here I am, somewhat reluctantly reading and reviewing the two-volume series. It may sound like I am pessimistic or already had my mind made up, but that is not true. I went into Fragtime with as open a mind as possible, and I am happy to say that I did find several favorable aspects that appealed to me. Sadly, the manga mostly lived up to my poor initial impressions from all those years ago.

Fragtime follows timid high school student Moritani Misuzu, who can stop time for three minutes a day. While using her power, she attempts to look up the skirt of one of her classmates, Haruka Murakami. To her horror, Moritani discovered that Haruka is the one person immune to her ability. The two form an unlikely friendship and spend those few minutes when all others freeze together. As Moritani’s feelings for Haruka grow, her powers begin to fade, throwing their time together in jeopardy.

At first, this story appears to have some promise, along with some obvious issues. The supernatural aspect of Moritani’s powers and its connection to her emotions and relationship with Haruka provide excellent possibilities and avenues to explore the series’ romance and characters. Sadly, Sato delivers an unwieldy story with unlikeable and inconsistent subjects, a poorly paced narrative, and far too many sleazy moments to excuse. This last point is the most prominent of all and will be a turn off for many readers, myself very much included.

Moritani begins the story by “upskirting” one of her classmates. It is later revealed that she reveled in exploring the time-frozen school to pry into people’s most intimate moments, many of which frankly do not happen in schools nearly as much as the story would like to believe. Following this event are multiple scenes with characters flashing each other their panties, or else stripping to whatever the opposite of readers’ delight is. These moments are not sexy, and while a few of them appear to have been attempts at comedy, they will elicit few laughs. These factors create an overwhelming blanket of immature perversion that stifles any enjoyment in the audience and characters.

Another egregious element is a plotline where Haruka is continually sexually abused by her teacher, something used by her to manipulate Moritani, then joked about, and never resolved despite being referenced a good half-dozen times throughout the manga. More than anything, this speaks to Fragtime’s inability to treat its characters with any respect or focus on a plot arc and complete it satisfactorily. For indeed, even if one undergoes the arduous task of shrugging off the uncomfortable fanservice, there is not much noteworthy content left underneath.

Fragtime’s highschool Yuri romance plot is pretty unextraordinary. Even though it did attempt to include a few interesting plot points, like when Haruka and Moritani begin dating partway through the series, it is not awful, but too often, these plots are picked up and then never resolved properly, such as Moritani struggle to avoid the ping-pong club, and her discomfort after finding out about Haruka’s boyfriend. Yet, there were some positives along the way, sweet moments between characters or satisfying actions taken by them. It is just hard to find one uninterrupted by an unwelcome twist or panty flash. The one unconditional plus I will give is that I really liked the ending. There is a fantastic scene of role-reversal where the usually quiet Moritani confesses all the mischief to her and Haruka committed to the class and reveals the truth of their relationship and her feelings for Haruka. Afterward, a stunned Haruka is forced into a crisis of character and her true self is seemingly revealed. It is appropriately dramatic and delivers a fulfilling ending for the characters. Sadly, these revelations and character arcs are not supported by the rest of the story.

A manga like Fragtime lives or dies by its characters. Readers will sympathize with likable characters met with appropriate challenges and growth, or else they will laugh with endearing figures who try their best despite their flaws. Sadly, Fragtime’s Haruka is neither. Haruka is instantly dislikable, manipulating Moritani upon their first meeting, and does little to improve. She often jumps between ignoring Moritani and controlling her, demanding that she only use her powers at her command. These traits are never addressed, and the whole time readers are expected to accept that she is an unreachable beauty, and we should love her alongside Moritani. She is hopelessly inconsistent, apparently changing personalities and acquiring new traits at the drop of a hat so that Sato can shoehorn a new element of drama into the convoluted romance. The ultimate motivation behind her character, how she tries to please everyone and do what they want her to, is contrary to half her actions, and everything we have learned about her up to that point, making the reveal in the penultimate chapter, which is well-executed, feel forced.

Even through all the misery, convolution, and smut, there were, thankfully, some great moments sprinkled throughout Fragtime, mostly from Moritani. I loved seeing Moritani in the moments when she struggled with jealousy and accidentally stopped time, or else was uncertain about how Haruka would react when she confessed something to her. It was really human and relatable, and if only she were not going around looking up girls’ skirts, she would have been an excellent character. It also helps that her journey is also much more believable than Haruka’s, as Sato mostly keeps her story and development moving at a steady pace.

Moritani is much more consistent than Haruka. She starts the series as a timid and quiet girl, using her ability to run from confrontation or frankly, any form of human interaction. Once she meets Haruka and the solace of those frozen minutes is taken from her, she is understandably confused and traumatized. She even has a few moments of growth through the series, taking more confidence in herself as she plants a pair of panties (yup this again) on Haruka’s cheating boyfriend’s head. It is almost enough to sell her eventual ending and deliver a complete character.

Finally, we come to the art, which is good though not extraordinary. Characters have distinct designs and are consistent. Backgrounds and details are well managed, and nothing ever caught my eye as warped or out of place. However, there is not much that jumps out either for its quality. Sato uses very basic paneling, which is easy to read by also just slightly dull. The time-stopping elements were crying out for some sweeping panels of objects frozen mid-movement, but we never got any such content. In fact, there is no noticeable change in the art during those movements when time is stopped, other than Misuzu and Haruka acting like a pervert and exhibitionist respectively. If the writing did not specify when time was stopped or started, readers would have no idea.

Fragtime has an interesting concept but neither the grace nor charm to pull it off completely. The story is meandering and clumsily tries and fails to incorporate heavy topics and complex characterization into a generic Yuri school romance. The characters, particularly Haruka, are mostly unlikeable and wildly inconsistent, and readers have to force themselves to cheer for them or event finish this two-volume series. Most of all, Fragtime leaves an unpleasant and unsettling feeling with all its sleazy fanservice and perverted set pieces, clearly attempting to cater to specific audiences while utterly misunderstanding how teenage girls, or frankly, sane human beings, act. Any silver linings in its more relatable moments and competent presentation are whisked away by a mixture of contempt and disgust. Sadly, I do not recommend this manga, although I do appreciate that Seven Seas published the whole series in one omnibus volume so that it takes up less space on my bottom shelf.

Ratings: Story – 3 Characters – 4 Art – 6 LGBTQ – 2 Sexual Content – 7 Final – 3

Review copy provided by Seven Seas Entertainment

Purchase Fragtime in paperback and digitally today: https://amzn.to/32mzVmg

Purchasing manga legally supports publishers and creator. YuriMother makes a small commission to help fund future content.

#yuri #reviews #fragtime #anime #manga #lgbt #lgbtq #wlw #girls love #gl #gay #queer #romance #lesbian #lesbians #lgbtq+

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babypaulchen · 4 years

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babypaulchen’s fanfic recs

Most of these fanfics are shippy, some are gen (no ships). Please feel free to recommend me some fics as well!

Firstly, The Other Side of Midnight is my favorite Rammstein fic! “Till and Paul tell each tales to pass a sleepless night.” Paul and Till share stories about how they fucked Schneider, basically. I really like this one because one of Paul’s stories takes place in Feeling B era and I soak that shit up like a sponge. Plus it’s written beautifully. Like, this is one of those fics that makes me envious it’s so damn good. Read it or else!!!!

Fried Eggs and Honey - “Feeling B are just becoming established, but Paul wants more. He doesn’t know exactly what it is that he wants, though - not until he meets the shy, mysterious Till.” A super cute fic that I read all in one night. It’s written so realistically and casually that you can’t help but feel like you’ve lived the moment. I love fics that actually feel genuine. And Till is adorable. And Paul is so Paul. This fic literally had me punching the bed because they wrote Paul so spot-on. His faults and flaws, when he was young. Read this one. It’s so cute and perfect and the romance is written so realistically and ahhhh

Heroic & Durable by @zigratbites - “Paul has an accident on stage, but decides the show must go on anyway. This leads to some yelling, h/c and kissing.” Another great, wonderful, perfect fic where they capture Paul’s personality well. He’s a dedicated dumbass who will do whatever it takes to get something done well, and this shows in this fic. The side of Chrispaul does not hurt one bit, either. Love this one so much!!!

My Girl. by @till-hammer - “Frau Schneider comes out of her shell, but only for him.” this is Till/Schneider! this fic is SO GOOD I want more like this. exploration of character and gender is a favorite of mine. def recommend this one. love love love it

führe mich, halte mich by @slashs-head-is-fuzzy - “Paul and Christoph impulse fuck after leading each other on with regular cuddling sessions.” LEGIT ONE OF MY FAV FICS AHHHH this fic is for me and naturally I requested Paul topping. I adore how Paul is written, and the smut is sehr gut ahhh

sehnsucht ist so grausam by @lunarcorvid - “As they wrap up the shoot for Du Hast, Till finds himself staring at the pistol that Schneider still has tucked into the back of his pants.” A++++ this is so hot lmao gun play can be so good if written well

Lied der unruhevollen Jugend by @wiener-blut - “After spending some time at a party, Christoph and Paul meander back to Paul’s flat, wasted, to have some more fun.” I LOVE THIS FIC another Feeling B era fic, done by the lovely Lily, for my birthday ;w; It’s so cute and fun and she is always so spot-on when it comes to portraying their personalities. Def read!!

Scent - “Paul is careless; Christoph gets mad.” I love this one. It’s short, but so so sweet. I’m a sucker for fluff. And they wrote them both well, too. It’s so cute ahhhh

You Make Me Perfect by @krispy-posts - No summary, but basically domestic Schneider and Paul being cute before delving into smut. I am sooo weak for the beginning domesticity, and also the mention of chubby WHDT era Paul. I’ve reread this fic so often. I adore it ;o;

Jetzt hab’ ich dich by @wiener-blut - “Attending a sophisticated ball, a particular man catches her eye.” A DRSG ‘98 AU where the reader is attending the ball and Paul approaches and dances with you ahhHHHHH I LOVE THIS ONE IT MAKES ME MELT

ich will eure blicke spuehren by @lunarcorvid - “Till and Richard need to work off some post-show adrenaline when they get back to the hotel room. Richard has an idea involving cigarettes.” I have a thing for smoking and Richard casually lighting up while sitting on Till’s dick is super hot lol

Rock Star - “Till overhears things on the tour bus.” Paul and Schneider flirt, with Till sitting in another room, hearing it. It’s from Till’s perspective. It’s really cute and funny!! Inspired by this pic:

rein, raus - “ Paul could never shut up, especially at the most important of times. Like when fucking with Christoph on a tour bus while their band mates are sleeping.” summary says it all LMAO I think this was the first smutty Rammfic I read and actually enjoyed.

All My Marks On Your Skin - “Paul can’t remember when seeing Schneider’s claim on his skin became such an essential part of his life.” Post-concert fic where they stand in front of a mirror and Schneider touches his bruises! It’s Good™.

the strings that change the faces of men by @slashs-head-is-fuzzy - “Richard initiates something with Ollie. Schneider joins in on the fun. It all remains among friends, of course.” a very nicely written threesome fic!! I adore how Richard is written in this and the smut is EXCELLENT

Fluffy Slippers by @writing-rammstein (go and read all of her fics honestly, they’re all cute and perfect) - “For the prompt: ‘can u hook a gal up with some good ol reader/paul hugging?‘” A request made by me LMAO This is super cute and sweet, I love it so much T__T

Herr Lorenz - “ After an inconsiderate joke, Flake feels insecure. Paul might just have the solution to it.” Feeling B era!! This was one of the first Rammstein fics I ever read…It’s so sweet. I love their friendship so much ahhhhh

Broken Machine by @iinchicore - “This story is set in 1994, during the time Rammstein stayed in Eichwalde to work on the songs for their first record, Herzeleid. The plot mainly focuses on Flake's struggle dealing with his speech disorder.” This one is so relatable and touching. I love this dynamic between Till and Flake and the writing is BEAUTIFUL ackkk please read!!

So seid recht gut auf allen Wegen (So be good in all your journeys) by @prismabird - “Far from home for the first time, Till finds solace from the unfamiliar in the arms of the familiar (based on Till, Richard, and Oli’s first trip to America in 1993).” So far, this fic is REALLY enjoyable to read. I love the element of friendship and reliance on each other. It’s a fun read, albeit sprinkled with some angst. I have laughed a couple times, and I related to Richard’s struggle with language.

Scar Tissue - “While Till and Paul attempt to get on with their lives and repair an alreay damaged relationship, the band are also dealing with their bandmate who is suffering from a serious addiction.” This one is really, very good. I love the TillPaul aspect, but it’s very bittersweet. This fic is so sad, it nearly brought me to tears hhhh

Du riechst so gut - “Paul finds Schneider's scarf while he is cleaning up the hotel-room he's in for the moment. He really had just intended to use it to block out the light but- well, he's not going to complain about what happens instead.” this writing is excellent, and the smut is very enjoyable. I adore any author that includes realism: Schneider’s inexperience and sloppiness in attempting to blow Paul is really appreciated.

Heart of the Matter by @weitweg-vonmir - “Paul received a heart transplant from a stranger that saved his life. Now, a year later, that stranger's lover comes to meet the recipient of the transplant.” man this fic is like a punch to the gut. honestly, I’m seldom ever moved by angst fic, but this one legit made me cry, thinking about how fucked up and sad this whole situation is. you can only feel true sympathy for both sides of this. excellently written A+

Nähe des Geliebten by @naraism - “It's New Year's Day and the boys (Paul and Richard) finally have some free time just for themselves.” so soft and warm throughout it....such nice writing, too. and ugghh TOP PAUL IS MY WEAKNESS overall a really enjoyable fic!!

Together - It has no summary but basically Ollie and Paul go to the stage of where they’re going to perform to get a feel for it, and cute stuff happens. I wish there was more Ollie/Paul out there ),:

Let Me See You Stripped by @wiener-blut - “Post concert, Paul submerges himself in an indulgent fantasy with Schneider.” this one is a bday gift for me and it is SOOOO good lmaooo lily knows what i likes B) good shit

Wir halten uns den Arm (We hold each other by the arm) - “Paul and Richard spend some quality time together.” I found this more cute than sexy. I like how they wrote Paul in this!!

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For the sake of full coverage, I wanted to include my personal favorites of my own works. This is more or less in order from #1 favorite.

Ich Will Eure Hände Sehen - “A six-man group of criminals, lead by Till, operate in early 2000's Berlin. A series of occurrences, both good and bad.” This is my baby lmao it’s been with me since I first joined the fandom, and I really need to finish it. I love the characters sm... prob the most effort I’ve put into any of my fanfics in a long time ♡

Mein Tier - “Frau Schneider keeps to herself, unusually so. Her weekly life consists only of work, and staying at home. Unbeknownst to the people around her, Schneider goes home every day to five loyal dogs. Dogs who are unaware of their state of captivity. Dogs who are not truly dogs, but men with their humanity deteriorated to that of beasts. But they are more than happy to be cared for by their neurotic, loving master.” I’m so fond of this fic; I love all of the characters, and the dynamics. it is so fun to write for!! ♡

Reconnecting - “Paul and Schneider used to have an on-and-off-again sexual relationship when they were younger. Now it's 2017, and something has reignited.” I LOVE this one. Schneider/Paul is my OTP, and this was the one time I shoved all my Feelings for them into a fic. it’s so soft and intimate

Stripping Away the Layers - “It's been a while since their last "session". It seems Schneider has to reteach Paul how to obey. Unlike Till, who has always striven to please him, Paul clings to his pride. Schneider manages to rip it from him. He always does.” THIS ONE IS SO HOT THAT’S ALL HDSFFGL I’m really pleased with how it came out. The spanking part is my FAVORITE love this one...

This Is How This Night Is Going to Go - “Following the hectic evening of being followed around by documenting cameras, Paul and Schneider find some privacy away from the others. Paul doesn't really appreciate what he pulled earlier at the party.” the first smut fic I wrote for Schneider/Paul! I adore how I managed to write Paul in this one. he’s so bold and it’s hot lmao ♡

Red Ribbon - “Taking place in the 19th century, Schneider visits a whorehouse with intention of hiring the services of a male prostitute. It seems there are a few new additions. One in red catches his eye.” I’m mostly really proud of the second chapter... I love the pace of it, and the developing relationship. writing in different time periods is also sooo fun (plus ngl I really love prostitute AUs)

Worth the Risk - “Ollie visits Schneider in the secrecy of the night at a secluded villa where they're currently producing their newest album. He and Schneider make use of their bandmates' absence.” a super indulgent, super kinky Schneider/Ollie fic that I’ve reread multiple times just because I feel like I got it just right; it’s pretty damn hot lol

A Rocky Start - “Paul gets up earlier than Flake, and decides to make them breakfast. Soon enough, Flake joins him with a lovely surprise. Paul was never the best at resisting temptation.” I couldn’t get this idea out of my head while at work, and I’m really pleased that I managed to get it into words just how I envisioned it... so soft and warm and sexy ♡ I love this ship so much and I hope you give it a chance!!

And that’s about it! My greatest recommendation is exploring Rammstein fanfic as a whole, it’s another world of fandom that I feel deserves more recognition. Don’t be shy to test the waters!

#Rammstein #fanfic recs #text #mine #Rammshipping

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theholycovenantrpg · 3 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, EMMA! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF DMITRI.

Admin Cas: There’s something so tragic about Dmitri that I love: everything about him is a contradiction. Yet, for all his love and light, he’s also really quite terrifying, and the way you balanced both of those aspects of their character was truly breathtaking, Emma. I thought your reflections on the idea of Dmitri as a sort of wingless angel was especially impressive. In spite of all the things that make them angelic, they can never truly be one with God’s angels. That, after all, is what sets him apart from their brethren; where they are ruination, he is its saving grace. I put this golden prince in your hands without fear that you’ll do wonderful things with him, and I can’t wait to see the directions you’ll go together! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Emma.

Age | 21+.

Personal Pronouns | She/Her.

Activity Level | I’m able to get a reply or two out at least once daily; depending on length, it could potentially be more or less than.

Timezone | Eastern.

Triggers | REMOVED.

How did you find the group? | LSRPG tag.

Current/Past RP Accounts | I delete my character accounts to create a blank blog for my next character account. I save snippets of threads I adore, so I’m so sorry. RIP - xoxo

IN CHARACTER

there is a swelling storm and i'm caught up in the middle of it all and it takes control of the person that i thought i was the boy i used to know.

CHARACTER

Dmitri , the Horsemen of Conquest

DRAW TO CHARACTER

I’ve never been the type to write a sample for a character before fleshing out the other bits first, but Dmitri’s voice whispered, begging to be explored as soon as I read their biography. The first sample you’ll read below was the initial picture I painted and kept throughout this application because Dmitri resembled that of a poor Icarus, who simply overindulged in something not meant for him to enjoy.

I imagined Dmitri in the seconds after creation gasping at the sights of Heaven, reaching back for white wings — only to be met by their bareback. Shoulders aching for the flight of angels, the purity evident in their veins to be his own, God’s presence given at a moments notice.

Yes — I very clearly drew these small, delicate details from a few lines, but Cas wrote this character in such a way I felt the weight of Dmitri’s needs as if they were my own to be met. The biography held me captive to do whatever would be in my ability to give this character justice for what they were never gifted. I still get butterflies reading over the biography and couldn’t stop what followed.

This application is my confession of love for Dmitri, and I would even offer to say this could be read as a fever dream because isn’t that what God would want? His beloved, lastly mad Horsemen to be written in a state of complete and total euphoria for conquest and recklessness… but more importantly, I hope to show how beautifully flawed this character is to desire to be loved by a dead God, and the journey I would take them on to realize their purpose was never tied to God’s needs.

FUTURE PLOTS

SUMMARY: I’ve written these in a format of progression based on what I think could occur first in-game based off of current connections, and Dmitri’s direct link of being a Horsemen, making it far more likely to push said plot first. Each builds upon the other in a sense of a video game character skill branching system. As in, I’ve written some answers or may propose them in a way, which would directly change a plot below it. Hope this helps explain the mess which is about to occur below!

FUTURE OF THE HORSEMEN

what happens to those who were meant to end a world already destroyed?

Their purpose set forth to them by God has come to no fruition as the world destroyed itself, at least in a way. Each Horsemen dealing with their new identity as a mercenary in their own way, but I can only speak from the perspective of Dmitri. When it comes to them, the Horsemen are family. They came from the same Gos as them, shaped from different moments but important just the same. Their future as a whole could be explored by each Horsemen’s motivation. For Dmitri, the idea of leaving them to go elsewhere seems far-fetched at first; a type of daydream when the cleanup after a job is too heavy to stay focused on. If given a bigger glimpse at something else, something Dmitri could find himself desiring to do, I imagine the Horsemen could find a strain.

FUTURE OF THE HEALING

what is the purpose of being one of healing if you watched the wounds be inflicted?

Building upon a strain forming within the Horsemen, Dmitri would first need to experience something so terrifyingly out of character for them to do, which could trigger a wave of events to follow. The concept of using their healing ability seems to be the “fun” direction as this golden boy not being able to save someone caught in the crossfires would be an angst ridden thread to experience. I want to shape his tenderness in a way to correlate with his healing. Dmitri’s process of healing someone is something I haven’t ventured much into yet — but I imagine the sight of it to be something beautiful, almost too beautiful to fully understand what you’re looking at. This light bringer among those who only bring darkness is the difference enough to push the first plot and this one forward.

FUTURE OF THE LOVED AND WORSHIPPED

what does one do with love and praise when all they expected was hate?

Imagine the first time someone witnessed Dmitri healing a mortal. Who was it? What occurred? No one who lives now among the mortals knows, yet their growing affection towards him makes me feel as if he’s gotten his own personal tale passed between them. Here in this new found love among men, I think Dmitri sees what he’s always wanted out of life, rather existence. It’ll be such a wild ride of secret trips to different parts of the world to see if he finds this love and praise everywhere. He’d be drunk over this, but there also comes the dark side of being given something kept from you for so long. Yes, I would love for this beautiful, precious Horsemen to ride happily off into the sunset… but there’s definitely some trauma left from God. Here within this, I find Dmitri’s breaking point could take place and all of the above could shatter.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | yes — given a month’s notice and option to decline? i feel as if the answer would be different depending on how they were to die and character development, if this makes sense.

IN DEPTH

but there is a lightin the dark, and i feel its warmth

in my hands and my heart why can't i hold on?

CHARACTER MOTIVATION

It’s unknown at first- their motivation. Perhaps, God always intended the existence of those who were meant to cause the end of the world to possess no motivation. Life to them, the Horsemen, was simply a story already written down in the stars, yet Dmitri walked out into the New World with the story finished and no part to play in it. Purgatory had warped their glowing essence, satisfying God’s need to prevent prayers said to Conquest over the God of Creation.

Yet motivations can still be rather fickle when they were never intended for you. Dmitri’s creation came from the infinite love God felt for man, yet they were never meant to have this (this being love) as their backbone. No, they were to indulge their fellow Horsemens’ wrath by mending the blows they were destined to cause. Their gift, their healing, their voice. All things given by God to serve a purpose not their own. Somewhere between all of the havoc and chaos of this world, there had to come a time where Dmitri sought to figure it out.

Their motivation laid rotting within the crevices of darkness and filth they called home all these centuries. Purgatory did it’s job more so than God could have ever intended because Dmitri struggled with purpose outside of God’s. Sunshine filled his veins in a way the darkness fed off of and merely left the Horsemen of Conquest bare. So walking out of, rather escaping from, Purgatory to Dmitri awakened this desire for answers. With the death of God, Dmitri discovered their rebirth into something rather ungodly as he wanted to become everything God never intended on him to be: loved.

From this death, Dmitri has discovered a solace with mortals he’d never found with the fellow Horsemen as there’s something to be said in regards to being made last. He didn’t resemble the others completely as he felt a mirror to man more so than his Horsemen. I imagine actions and motivation for him to be teetering currently as his own questions in the regards of ‘what’s next?’ as having a calling as a mercenary never sat well with him. He wants to be loved in a way God had left unspoken between them over the possibility of competition.

SUMMARY: Throughout interactions and inner thoughts expressed throughout this roleplay, I would love to dive into the future plots tying into Dmitri’s motivations above with the balance of being deemed as loved or worshipped. Dmitri needs to be loved, yet I think if it ever rocked towards him being worshipped, it’d be a nice little shift of what truly motivates him. Overall, I find my motivating factor to be Dmitri’s voice and relationships with the Horsemen due to my overall understanding of how much he truly values them. Yes, he’s always wanted more for himself, but there’s always going to be the glimpses of why he is among their ranks. He isn’t pure as the angels or as mischievous as the demons, but I find Dmitri’s complexities something of value as a character in a world without restraints.

IN-CHARACTER PARA SAMPLES

i. DREAMS AND THE HEREAFTER

‘Icarus, my son — your wings are too brittle for the warmth of light. Now, I shall watch you burn with the rest.’ Or was the name spoken across the lips of God dmitri? Did he curve the appetite of man’s undeserving love of their creator by existing? Were his screams - for more - not enough to make the tear from God’s eye a regret?

‘But father, I shall fly with you. We can escape together. No mortal shall ever have to look upon our faces again. We can finally be--’ Scorned brow silenced all of his pleas, bringing the truth to the forefront. Dmitri dreamed before the tear was ever caught and molded into the literal form of his being. They knew of themself from the perspective of God’s eye and convinced themself of something which wasn’t there. ‘Am I never to be free of this burden then? Am I to suffer?’

They painted a world where they crawled from the depths of Purgatory, where their strength came from the purity of man, where God Himself welcomed Dmitri back into Heaven as if he’d never gone. In this recurring dream, God would realize the mistake to tuck away his most prized creation.

The final Horsemen did not deserve the caverns of impermeable darkness Purgatory supplied them because somewhere in the infinite of his existence, he truly believed himself to bare wings.

‘Suffer? Suffer! You are the brilliance of life; my creation. Do you wish to know what I plan to do with you? Follow me, Conquest. Your domain awaits.’

Their eyes open with horror, memories of a man - rather a god who loved him less. A god who created him by mistake. An outstretched arm from active slumber finds its way back onto their chest, an unsteady rise and fall of breaths lost. His own torment from sleep a self-given punishment as he allowed himself to fall into the corners of his own mind. The hidden doors which locked memories long forgotten as he believed himself to be more than he was.

God regretted shedding a tear for out came the brightest of shadows, the technicolor snake of dispute in the form of a golden angel. They were truly no closer than their brethren to bearing wings, but if one deserved them, Dmitri would declare themself so.

Instead of wings, however, cascading down their back, you would find a seeping hole of nothing; a hollowed out mine of what could have become of them. It is the wickedness they hide beneath enchanting smiles, minor suggestions, and lack of resolve which will keep their back bare. Denial being a sort of game which they’ve mastered over the years.

Once, one might have spotted the prospect of gold, sinless existence within them, but they were not created like the other angels, the other horsemen, the other fallen. They were made as the result of emotion, and one knew what followed closely with emotions — mistakes or rather the sins of man.

They were the rotten cavities created over years of divulging in sweets, buried in the crevices of newborn teeth who hadn’t the taste of sugar.

And in their devastation, Dmitri destined themself to find the answers which God withheld from them.

ii. DENIAL IN THE FORM OF SINFUL BEAUTY

“You’re late — again.” A simple nod towards either Nerissa or Viktoria felt enough to find his place among his family, his fellow Horsemen.

One thumb found its way to his temple before releasing a heavy sigh. “Dreams haunt me recently.

“You mean nightmares.” Nerissa could never resist correcting him over something so miniscule as words, yet this simple exchange caused a growing irritation to sprout wings and turn into complete rage.

His temples tensed, nostrils flared with fingernails already cutting at the skin of his palm. “You honestly think I’m mortal enough to switch the meaning of two words, War?” Tongue pressed against the back of their teeth, Dmitri allowed their body to sink into their assigned chair, of sorts. Each had a place within the others home as if each home belonged to all four of them collectively.

“Someone woke up feeling out of place again.” Always Ryuk with a quick word before letting the storm brew on.

“It’s the dreams — I wake up in horror over...” Their eyes, washed in an array of gold, scanned the softness of their palms, the lack of scars on their flesh, the harrowing displacement of havoc in their words, and the deficiency of darkness their fellow Horsemen possessed. “...for it is the dream I can never grasp.”

With the unblemished palm, he wiped away at both of their eyes, trying to remove the hints of sleep behind them. More importantly, he wanted more than anything to remove any attempt of truth being proven by Nerissa’s words.

Harsh snarled laughter came from the corner of their domain, mocking their spiral for something less than what it was. To Dmitri, they saw these dreams as something more of an awakening, uncovering their last moments with God.

“What is the point of man if not to suffer, dear Dmitri?”

“But I am no man!” Fists shattered the monotony of the discussion, calling in the last ounce of sanity any of them could take as they stood from the table. “I am no god.” The once golden irises, which mirrored the glory of the sun’s warmth, now mimicked the lava spewing from a devastating volcano. “I am Conquest, and I shall suffer no more!”

Here in the brilliant, pure light of their anger, their risen voice, the very might of their denial gave birth to something else.

A soft chuckle from the other side of the room destroyed any build up between the others as Viktoria waltzed over to them.

“He’s not wrong… None of us are man, so none of us shall suffer.” Viktoria’s hand draped over theirs with a tenderness they’d only felt from the mortals, but it was enough to show Dmitri the horsemen had the ability to give him what he wanted.

#accepted #accepted: dmitri

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outroshooky · 4 years

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“the dawn before sunrise is darker than anything

but never forget the stars you hope for only appear in the dark”

a young man once told me that the dawn before the sun rises is always the darkest.

another young man told me that we can only live for today and the self we choose to grow into, day after day after day. we may not know about tomorrow, but we can certainly choose who we become in the end.

it is nearly 2020- the end of this decade, the start of the next. the holiday season is a time of wonderful joy and celebration, but it is also a time of quiet reflection.

the idea of tomorrow has stuck with me month after month this year, for some reason. perhaps it’s a byproduct of struggling with dissociation, trying to get a grasp of what exactly it means to be real and present in life. perhaps it’s living in a world where nothing is guaranteed, where i have teachers who break me down rather than build me up by telling me that it is shameful to be a woman, god forbid a gay person who speaks her mind. indeed, something i’ve always taken for granted- tomorrow creeping in its petty pace, as it so likes to do- is suddenly juxtaposed against a great backdrop of change. this year meant finding an amazing therapist; gaining an understanding of self-love; solidifying who I am without the spindly, choking threads of trauma; and so, so much more.

who says that we are entitled to a tomorrow? who decides who lives, who dies, who falls somewhere in the middle?

there have been weeks this year where i begged that tomorrow wouldn’t come in hopes it would offer some sort of respite from everything i felt at the time, some ounce of shelter. on those days, i paid attention to lyrics that told me to accelerate more, not to get too far away, reminding me that i am loved without fail even when I find it impossible to look at the reflection staring back at me in the mirror.

thankfully, after falling headlong into them for days at a time, those weeks are in the past. i’m no longer holding onto a wisp, but grabbing a fistful and clutching onto it with everything I’ve got. in june 2020, i leave to pursue my childhood dream, putting everything aside and diving headfirst into a brand new world, with no idea of what may come. if seven months from now is the dawn, there are several hundred days of darkness i’ll have to wade through before i get there.

but i’m not afraid anymore.

i don’t know if i’m entitled to tomorrow. i don’t know if i’ll make it to that day, or the day after, or the next month, or to that fated day in june when i pack everything into the trunk of the car and shed a tear or two. i’ll never know until i live and breathe it, but i’m at peace with it. the north star will always shine in the heavens just as surely as we will change, but i am secure in the knowledge that i am evolving for the better. i am evolving for the days that i can look myself in the mirror and not be so critical about the way that shirt hugs my curves. i am evolving for the days that i can let go of my concerns and run headlong into life without being so worried about what happens as a result. i am evolving too for the days when the most i am capable of is retreating away from the world into the safety of my own bedsheets. it is those days, the ones where i doubt if the next will ever come, that the stars will shine down at me and smile just a little bit brighter.

thank you for the laughs, the tears, the sense of community, and falling in love with something that is bigger than yourself that will have your back without fail. thank you for your feedback and for reading my works, even if it’s just one word at a time. thank you for supporting me, for trusting me, for being patient with me.

thank you for walking with me on this journey into tomorrow, for painting the dawn in crimson and orange and the prettiest shades of pink. i can’t wait to see what the daylight brings.

merry christmas everyone, and have a blessed new year.

all my love, hope

“however it goes, it doesn't matter, yeah, yeah

it may be different to what you were hoping for

how you live on and how you love might change

that’s true

yeah, so, are you gonna move?

we are too young to be hesitating, just run head-on onto it

so what you gonna do?”

⤷ suga’s interlude; 2019

(a very belated) follow forever, for those who made 2019 such a special year!

🌙 = mutuals!; 💌 = a message for you can be found below!

a-m

@170v3you🌙 / @94hixtape🌙 💌 / @a-big-woofle🌙 💌 / @aegissi / @baeseoul / @blushnote / @btssmutgalore 🌙 💌 / @chwepen / @dearlytea 🌙 / @diabolusdamnoselaborat 🌙 / @fyeahsuga / @goldenscript / @gukgalore / @guksheart🌙 💌 / @gukster🌙 / @haoaiini / @hobidreams / @honeymoonjin 🌙 / @jincherie / @jingetspegged 🌙 💌 / @joonbird 🌙 / @junghelioseok / @jurngkook / @kassareo / @kookosaur / @kookyjin / @minjoun / @mi-ss-o / @moonmonos 🌙

n-z

@pantaemonium / @pjmskosmos 🌙 / @prolixitae 💌 / @pvrpletae 🌙 / @readyplayerhobi / @ruy-tan / @sanada6 🌙 / @seokjinglebells 🌙 💌 / @seulin / @slipped-away / @spidey-son 🌙 / @sugasinterlude 🌙 / @sugaxjpg / @syuga / @valetonvi / @versigny / @winetae / @writingseoul / @yoonsgiggle 🌙 💌 / @yooyoohoratio 🌙

a letter for you / sincerely, me

💌 @94hixtape:

my dear lu, it’s your old friend hope. i miss you more every day that goes by. i know life hasn’t been very kind to you, and i hope things have started looking up for you since the last time we talked briefly. i don’t expect you to see this anytime soon, but it feels wrong somehow to not write a dedication to you. although we only knew each other for what feels like the briefest of moments in the grand scheme of it all, you impacted me in a way few others have. you’re forever kind, full of endless love that overflows and bursts from the seams in the best way possible. you are warm and compassionate and good, and you impacted my heart with rays of sunlight, bountiful and bright. i cannot even describe how much i miss you; there’s so much to tell you. every time i see a sunset, i think of you.

i love you always, once around the sun and back again.

💌 @a-big-woofle

woofle, we’ve found ourselves perched on the cusp of a new start, it seems. we’ve known each other since the first day of kindergarten many moons ago, and to imagine life without you is to imagine lungs without breath. we’ve completed each other for years now: the yin to my yang, tik to my tok, peanut butter to my jelly. they say hundreds of miles cannot separate two hearts who truly care, and it’s our bond that has taught us the truth in that statement. i miss you so much, but i can’t wait to explore disney with you next year- not as the gangly, awkward kids we once were, but as best friends in adulthood, just being with each other in all of the goodness of those words.

you are loved beyond words and you are so more than your flaws. i’m beyond proud of everything we’ve achieved and i cannot wait to make more memories with you.

💌 @btssmutgalore

dee, i know that we’ve barely talked, but you’ve helped me heal in ways others cannot even dream of touching. sin city was a series i read before i even created a tumblr account, and it ended up meaning more to me than i could have ever imagined. the way you speak your voice touches my heart over and over and gives me hope that i will someday be in a position to learn to trust again in the same way that jimin does. when i feel absolutely broken, your fics remind me that healing is not a linear process; i feel safe when i am immersed in your writing.

there is such goodness in your heart and it does not go unnoticed. thank you for helping me fight the worst of my trauma and realize that i’m not a broken person- i just need a little bit of patience.

💌 @guksheart

cait, my dear, it’s been five months since we last saw each other, but it feels like a century has gone by. you will be here! in two months!! i’m counting down the days, i really am.

there were times this year when we didn’t think we were going to make it. we braced ourselves for the brunt of the impact, but when it hit, we didn’t shatter. we may have cracked, but like the japanese pottery tradition, we filled those crevices in with gold. we truly are shining, even in the darkest moments of the night when we can’t see our own glow. it is that bond that will keep us going, because as long as you reflect in me and i in you, we can recognize that beautiful innate worth we share.

i am honored to walk into tomorrow with you- my platonic soulmate, sister, best friend, fellow crackhead, therapist, gay mother, ramen enthusiast, cat lover, future author, psych nerd, the yoongi to my jungkook, and so much more. i love you more than words can express, and i know tim and kurt do, too.

💌 @jingetspegged

elin, i know we’re not very close, but your posts constantly and consistently make my day. thank you for being unapologetically you- it is a dose of reality that i need and a reminder that there is space in the world to be who you are and exactly who you’re meant to be. you’re proud to be yourself and that’s something i could really learn from. plus, you’re a jin stan, which means you’re automatically one of the best people out there.

thank you for being an inspiration to a young gay trying to find her place in the world. all my love to you!

💌 @seokjinglebells

meara!!! i am so glad we’ve become close recently; i’ve been blessed with an angel at my side. you helped make one of the darkest times of my life just a little bit brighter, and your words bring solace to my heart. i truly hope we get to meet someday, because i think we’d have the best adventures together.

never forget how sweet and kind and lovely you are, like a flower that blooms year-round despite the frost and the rain. in fact, you flourish despite these things- a source of goodness and beauty no matter what life throws your way. i adore you with every ounce of my being!

💌 @yoonsgiggle

hannah, if i could wrap min yoongi himself in a box and give him to you, i would. your soul is too good for this world, but at the same time you are a living example of what yoon meant when he said “may your trials end in full bloom.” even on days when it feels like the world is collapsing, know that you are loved and there are so many wonderful things in store for you.

you inspire me not only as a writer, but as a person. i wish i could have as much love in my heart for the simple things as you do in yours.

happy holidays, everyone. here’s to a christmas season filled with peace in our hearts and joy in our souls, wherever we may find it.

#mutuals #happy things!!!#i've been meaning to do a follow forever to celebrate and i'm glad i finally got to!#thank you to everybody who made this year special #i love you and i can't wait to see what 2020 brings!

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your-high-lady · 5 years

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Realisation

Summary: This story is about Feyre. She has a couple of small dreams she wants to achieve but turns out it isn’t as easy as she imagined it would. Trust me, the story is better than the summary. Modern AU. Feysand.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't anything except for the plot. All credit goes to Sarah J Mass. That woman is fucking amazing.

Chapter 6: First Glimpse

Art History. Remind me again, why I chose this class. Oh, that's right. Because I thought it'd be interesting. How wrong I was. I shake my head at my own thoughts before crossing the threshold that would lead me into my next passage of life: college.

But why does Art History have to be the first class I ever took in college. Couldn't it be something like yoga, which I also happen to enjoy?

After almost an hour and a half of the balding male professor droning on and on, the rustling of students and scraping of chairs being pushed back awakened me from my half-unconscious state and I stood up to pack my bag. The next class, Visual Art was the total opposite. I found what the teacher was saying so interesting and barely two sentences into the class, and I was hooked. As I doodled—Miss Berger, a middle-aged woman who had a very good sense of style, light brown hair and huge glasses covering most of her face, had given us free time after explaining what we'd be learning over the semester and what our syllabus was—I thought about it all: I hadn't really known what I'd wanted to do during the first couple of months in Year 13, and I'd started getting a bit worried. And then the rape happened. Exactly two weeks after the incident, it had randomly hit me. I'd just been painting random things on a spare canvas I'd been able to salvage from my mess of a closet when I realised what I wanted to do. I wanted to teach. I wanted to teach people how to paint. Specifically, people who were mentally disturbed due to some incident in their life. I hadn't painted at all during the last couple weeks and today was one of the first times I'd even tried putting something onto a canvas. I didn't want that to happen to other people. I wanted to help them channel their grief into their painting, to create something new. I wanted to see if I could teach them to heal through their art, rather than stopping it altogether, as I had even it was only for a short time. I wanted to make my own business that did exactly that. And that is exactly why I took all the classes I had.

After Visual Art was over, I decided to go for a short walk. I had an hour before my next class, which was with Mor. Business—my only class with her. I was glad I had the class with her, but there was also the fact that Rhys and his friends were in that class too. The thought instantly brought butterflies to my stomach. Mor had messaged me halfway through Art telling me to come ten minutes early so that she could introduce me to him and his friends. Reading the message had immediately brought a picture to the front of my mind. A picture of Mor's cousin and his friends, who incidentally were also friends with Mor. The thought of seeing them made my skin crawl. It wasn't that I didn't want to see them. I was just a bit nervous. I'd only recently started getting used to the presence of men—though, I still shuddered and got all sweaty if I noticed someone with particularly golden or dark features—but I knew that the second I saw them, I would go back to square one where I was still a quivering mess. They were just so handsome. All three of them. As if God himself had handpicked each of their features and carefully put them together to create the closest thing he could to someone as overpowering as he was himself, in every sense. Plus, all of them had features that reminded me of that night. Rhys's dark blue hair reminded me of the shadows that had been in that dark alley; Cassian's golden skin reminded me of how beautiful and smooth Tamlin's had been under his clothes; and Azriel's hair, though not holding the same darkness in them, was still black. Too much like Dagdan's. Just thinking about them gave me a cold sweat so I quickly kicked all the horrid thoughts out of my head and started imagining the type of car I might want to get, and before long, I was swapping my art diary for a couple of textbooks and heading off to Business.

—

After having nearly asked ten people where my class was, I finally found it. And there they were. The class was half full, some people looking down at their phones or books while others chatted among themselves. But no one was as loud as Mor. She was practically shouting. But then my attention went towards the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. Rhys. Sensing my gaze, he turned to look at me, and I blinked in astonishment, a silent gasp escaping my mouth. I took a couple of steps back, wanting to run away but then Mor turned her head, following Rhys's gaze, and exclaimed, "Feyre, you're here!" She jumped out of her seat, grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me back into class. I was pretty sure at least one of my ankles were sprained judging by the number of times I tripped over my own feet as Mor dragged me in, by the time we reached Rhys and his friends. Moving to stand behind me she pushed me forward before standing on her tippy toes and peeking over my shoulder. "Guys, this is Feyre. Say hi." Mor drawled. Strangely Rhys just stared at me but, thankfully, Azriel replied before he could say anything. "Hello, Feyre. I'm Azriel." He stuck his hand out, and I stared at for the shortest second.

In that second, a hundred things went through my mind: the rape, the emotions I went through afterwards, me flinching at my father's touch, me promising myself that I would stop that. Azriel's handsomeness. Because he was handsome. All three of them were. But each of them was also so different in their own way. Azriel's face was straight and void of any emotion—though a small smile lit up his face, every time he looked at Mor—and he was tall and mysterious with his black hair and hazel eyes. His skin was tan, the planes of his face elegant. Peaking above the neck of his long-sleeved t-shirt I could see a swirling mass of night-blue coloured tattoos. If I was being honest with myself they were a big intimating but despite that, strangely enough, he made me feel… safe. As if he would protect me no matter what. It gave me some solace because I had always trusted my gut. And right now my gut was telling me that he was good. So I shook his hand.

And then it happened. I flinched.

Thankfully it wasn't big enough for Azriel to notice, but it still made me angry. Why didn't my body understand that I was safe now, or at least as safe as I could be? Tamlin was back in Auckland. Far, far away from here, from me.

Taking a couple of subtle deep breaths, to calm myself down, I took my hand out of Azriel's and moved my eyes to look at Cassian. Whereas Azriel made me feel safe, Cassian made me feel…happy. It took a couple of seconds for me to realise that but when I did, I knew that that was in fact what I was feeling. Happiness. It was something so foreign to me now. But it was impossible to not feel happy when I looked into Cassian's hazel eyes and saw humour and laughter and happiness. His rough-hewn features that reminded me of wind, earth and fire had been twisted into a giant smile. His black shoulder length hair brushed his shoulders on which I could also see tattoos similar to the ones on Azriel's body. A quick glance at Rhys told me he also had the blue swirls. Maybe they'd gotten them together at the same time?

Cassian gave me a wave in greeting, his smile widening. "Cassian." He said, in introduction. I waved back, forcing my mind to stop thinking about the flinch. But it was impossible. I turned to find Rhys's hand outstretched. Ignoring it, I looked up at his face. His eyebrows raised slightly as I took in his heartbreakingly handsome face, my eyes widening a little. The pictures I'd seen did him no justice at all. None. His hair was a strange shade of blue and black, cut short. They reminded me of a raven's feather. His violet eyes had flecks of silver in them making it seem like stars in the night sky. He was also tan like the other two, though unlike Cassian and Azriel, there was a tightening in his muscles. I could see it in the ways his shirt tightened around the shoulders. Other than that, lines also made his otherwise-perfect face, a little flawed, though if I was being honest to myself, even the lines made him handsome.

I don't know why I noticed such an odd and minuscule thing, but it bothered me. Someone like Rhys shouldn't have lines caused by months, if not years, of stress and grief marking his face. Someone cleared their throat, and I blinked, then quickly shook my hand with Rhys which was still expectantly waiting. But I hadn't thought about it. And because I hadn't thought about it, I flinched. Harder. Not much more than before, but enough that he noticed. A line formed between Rhys's brows and his head tilted a little to the side in silent question. I shook my head just enough so that he noticed, but the others didn't. I slipped my hand out of Rhys's and Mor started babbling about things that passed right over my head, though I did hear a few words like "art", "passion" and "own business". I guessed that Mor was telling them about me as a person. But even as Mor was talking, I could feel a set of eyes on me. I turned to look at Rhys, who was staring at me. In those stunning eyes of his, I could see it as he'd written it across his forehead. His eyes told me that he was surprised by the flinch and would not let it go. I cursed at myself silently, for letting the flinch get through my defences. Soon the professor came in, and we all took our seats.

But still, I felt those eyes burning two giant holes into the back of my head. I tried convincing myself that I was just imagining it, that he had no reason to stare at for me for so long, but when I turned around to look, I found them. Every single time. And each time, I whipped my head back around, blushing. It made me think: Rhys had no reason to be staring at me; what was he thinking about?

But running along with those thoughts, were also the thoughts about how he made me feel. Physically. Because, though I don't want to admit it, he made me feel… hot. Right down there, in my core. I'd never thought I could feel something like that. Not after what Dagdan did to me. Yet here I was, flinching at the surprise of feeling aroused.

But then, of course, I was.

—

The professor released us, and as we were packing our bags, Cassian suggested we hang out on Saturday. Mor piped up with, "Ooh, ooh, can we go to that mini golf place that stays open really late? We can have dinner somewhere, first, and then go there! Please, please, please?" She says turning to Rhys, and she brings her hands together as if praying and jumps up and down in excitement. He smiled, nodding causing Mor to squeal and give her cousin a tight hug.

—

"But I don't want to go!" I whined. Mor shushed me and strutted a couple of steps ahead of me before turning around to look at me. As she walked backwards, she said, "But why don't you want to go? Give me one good reason. Just one." And damn me, I said nothing, just breathed deeply in and out of my nose. I shook my head, defeated and she smiled at me before linking her arm in mine and skipping sway, dragging me along with her.

The truth was, I did have a reason. I just couldn't tell her. It was Rhys. I just knew he was going to do something that would either annoy the heck out me, offend me, or in worst case scenario blow my cover. Nobody knew about my flinching problem other than Dad and Rhys, and neither of them knew why. And I wanted to keep it that way. But something told me Rhys wouldn't let that happen.

Ugh.

AN: I really, really hoped you like that. Did I describe the boys properly? Do you like them? Are you happy? Do you have any feedback or advice for me? Tell me everything. I love it so much when you write to me telling me what you think of my story. It really makes my day and also motivates me to keep writing. Thank you so much for reading and I hope to see you again.

Thank you again. So much. XOXO

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365daysofmchart · 5 years

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Reflecting on McHart: 3x08

The One Where Kurt Saves Diane, the title alone had me swooning about my favorite couple and my God, they did not disappoint! My reflection on McHart in 3x08 of The Good Fight can be found below the read more ‘cause my God, so long. Apologies for the delay!

1. “Sweetheart, have you seen my bag?” “Check the other closet.”

Sweetheart. Oh, my heart! And the other closet, implying that there is another closet, but also, after them showing us more of the layout of their home in this episode it actually makes less sense that they have a large walk-in closet in the vicinity of their bedroom. In fact, what we saw of the layout made no sense whatsoever! There’s a window in the foyer that indicates the end of the house on that side while their bedroom indicates the same on the other side, but then it’s just wall at the end of the hall and WHERE IS THE REST OF THEIR HOUSE??? Honestly though, they’ve got so much in that bedroom that I guess who needs a rest of the house? Also that’s just a generally odd location for a bedroom. Just saying.

...Look, I know I should be grateful that we’re getting Diane’s home/McHart home life at all, and I am. I promise, I am! ...But there’s so much thought that seems to go into the tiniest of details decor-wise, why can’t the same be done for something AS BASIC AS A LAYOUT AND A CLOSET FOR A WOMAN WHO HAS THE WARDROBE OF A QUEEN?!?! A CLOSET FOR A WOMAN/CHARACTER WHO IS KNOWN FOR HER FASHION?!?!!?!?! Sigh. Anyway. Yeah... I’m still not quite over the closet thing in case you haven’t noticed. But onto other things now...

2. “That reminds me, we’re invited to Mar a Lago for the weekend. ...That was a joke.” “Oh, God, you have to give me more of a signal when you’re joking or I’ll end up with a heart attack!”

Apparently Kurt still hasn’t learned that he can’t use the same expression for everything... and apparently Diane still believes that repeatedly swatting at him is effective punishment. Ah, so much has changed for the better since Landing, but I’m glad that this aspect of their relationship has not! Haha!

3. That whole goodbye! The kiss that lingers just a second longer than it has to, her sing-songed “I love you!” and his “Love you, too.” Oh, and... “All I know is they don’t deserve you.” Happy sigh.

4. Honestly just that whole. fucking. opening. scene. It was just SO DOMESTIC. The news, asking where something is, clothes slung on chairs, just that little bit of disarray of a typical morning and them weaving in and out of each other’s routines in the most natural way, them meeting and sharing a little moment before they part for the day with I love you’s. Oh, my McHart! And I know we’ve been blessed with that domesticity all season and I know I’ve mentioned it in every reflection I’ve done on them, but much like the closet situation, I’m STILL NOT OVER IT. I will NEVER be over domestic McHart!

5. Okay. Confession time. When I saw Christine wearing that cream/gold suit in interviews, there was a wee little part of me that felt hopeful that it could be a vow renewal outfit. (Not that I thought it was going to happen, but the image came and it was quite lovely and wouldn’t it have been nice???) It was not. But she looked beautiful just the same!

6. “Hello, handsome.”

FUCK. ME. UP. That is all.

7. “You told me I was bad at lying, and it’s true. But you’re bad at it too.”

Okay, but she’s not bad at lying. She’s actually really good at it. Like really good. ...She’s just bad at lying to him, and that’s actually like the sweetest thing??? ...Pretty sure Kurt is just bad at lying in general though, haha.

8. “We’re in this together now. So if you’re in danger, I need to know.”

That whole little speech of his... They truly are married, a family, one unit. One’s problems are the other’s. They are so fucking in this, and it’s taken so long but they’re here and so entirely committed and in love!

9. “Kurt, there are certain work things touching on politics that you can’t tell me, and there are certain things touching on politics that I can’t tell you. We have found a way to bifurcate our lives and make it work. So trust me when I say I can’t tell you.” I actually love that this was acknowledged--both by the writers for our benefit as well as by Diane in this conversation. Their contrasting politics have always been an aspect of their relationship but we’ve rarely seen the effect they’ve had on them (aside from the way they get them all hot and bothered) or how they manage them within their relationship. Politics are hard. Harder yet for two who are so passionate and even more so in this current political climate. And while they accept the other for who they are and their beliefs, they do know it’s a delicate dance and this is one of the ways that they work to care for their marriage. They protect themselves by keeping elements separate from their marriage, and yet... “I will overlook politics to help.”

...when it comes down to it, they are still on the same team and their partner’s needs and safety will always come first.

And that hug right there. ...It’s like a hug for my soul.

10. I just... I really don’t understand the purpose of these closets??? (Yes, I’m on about the damned closets again.) Diane has a small selection of clothes/shoes/bags in hers, Kurt has shoes, multiple umbrellas, a toolbox, and... a hamper maybe?, and who knows what else above, all rather random. Again, they must have a walk-in but these also don’t seem to be coat closets either, EVEN THOUGH they also don’t have a closet or any kind of hooks in the foyer (why???). IT JUST DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. AND MY FAVE CHARACTER (who is also the main character!) DESERVES A HOME SET THAT MAKES SENSE!!! ...Alright, I’m done for real now.

11. I feel like there are home cameras that already send you notifications when they sense movement, so I think all of that electric work and the lasers were a little extra (not to mention getting the stickiness of duct tape on the woodwork... Diane may not be pleased), but I like the spirit, Kurt! LOL!

12. Awww... Kurt’s lil office! But I spent so much time pausing and analyzing each and every photo in there... and they’re all just like military-related stock photos? LOL! ...And then there’s his mug that has a flag on it and text that suspiciously ends in “... AGAIN” Can Diane go and visit him soon please and “accidentally” knock it off his desk? It can be during an act of seduction!

13. They haaaaaad to bring in a perky young blond, didn’t they. Really? Reeeally??? Perhaps the point was to show us that he hardly paid any attention to her, that there was no flirtation whatsoever... or perhaps it was in fact to stir up the memories of his past indiscretion. Either way, definitely could’ve done without. Thanks though, TGF!

14. Wait, does Diane have two home phones (given the one he called was a line dedicated to her, given the recorded message), and her cell phone??? I mean they must have a joint home phone... unless they just kept their numbers and have two lines?

15. Not gonna lie, kinda mad that NSA guy 1) didn’t know who Kurt was like right away and 2) wasn’t fanboying over over him/them. I mean he’s in on her every call and text but out of the loop on Kurt and Diane? I. Think. Not. (Also NSA guys fanboyed over Alicia so I think a part of me is like SO WHERE’S THE INTEREST IN DIANE?!?! ...Also, also throwback to “I think Will and Diane get it on.”)

16. That look on his face when he finds out. And while I kept faith in him, that face was striking and certainly speaks volumes regarding what is to come.

17. And Kurt-Fucking-McVeigh saves the day. Saves Diane.

18. So it’s all over and done with, Diane is in the clear... and all she wants is to go home and find solace in the arms of the man she loves.

19. The way she pulls his arm around her as she settles herself beside him, nuzzling in, the two snuggled up there on the sofa at the end of the day. It’s all positively adorable and this is everything I’ve wanted in McHart!

20. The thing about the hacking is that is wasn’t just a politics thing with Kurt, it was a morality thing, too. It was wrong and we know how high his ethical and moral standards stand. And yet, he fixed it, and it wasn’t for glory or points (as he doesn’t even tell her!) or anything but pure love. And honestly, I was afraid that, even though he did in fact quietly fix it, he might still harbor resentment toward her for being involved with such a thing. But with the way he accepted her into his arms then going beyond the bare minimum nothing-is-amiss response by pressing a kiss to her forehead and rubbing her arm, it’s clear that he’s accepted it, accepted her for who she is, flaws and all, and is moving forward. As she has before. Honestly, the love these two have for one other!

And just a few other things...

Kurt is so clever!

I feel like Diane must own about as many umbrellas as she does fabulous coats.

I will never tire of seeing Kurt all spiffed up for his new job! ...Of course I’ll also never tire of seeing him in plaid and jeans, either. (Why do I have a feeling that Diane had a field day getting him outfitted for the position? Haha!)

“I took care of it.” “I’m glad.”

*Cough* Closets *cough*

This episode was so entirely lovely and had my heart positively swelling! And maybe the’ve been so nice to us this season simply to throw us off of the scent for the finale... but no matter the reason, I’m grateful to have had all of these beautiful domestic and loving scenes! Here’s to many more!

-E

#McHart #Diane Lockhart #Kurt McVeigh #The Good Fight #Reflecting on McHart

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spicydadshowdown · 5 years

Text

Edit: 1/24/19 Re-worded some stuff around and added some new ideas. Note to future self: if you want to write a goddamn essay about a cartoon you dont even watch consistently use the computer instead so you can actually see what you're writing. Itll prevent you from screwing up the sentence flow. 😘

Tbh I dont even go to RWBY class anymore, but I saw some spoilers and that Tweet about Adam being allergic to Blake and Yangs love has me like... Oof, where do I even begin to unpack my annoyance for this. Warning: this is going to be ranty because I feel a certain type of way about this topic.

1. I really fucking hate this trend that seems to be starting where showrunners are pairing off female characters who never had romantic interest in each other nor do they have any good chemistry together (even on a basic friendship level) and try to pretend like it was something planned since the beginning. Worst of all, they try to pass that shit off as bisexual representation. And as a bisexual woman I'm like lmao sure dude, my Bidar can see through that bullshit clear as fucking day mate, lol. Its extremely lazy and it makes it obvious that they only go this route so they can get Progressive Points to stave off any negativity their show's been getting. Because for some reason people want to settle for below mediocrity representation instead of... ya know, something that's actually good. And it makes me uncomfortable that people are using my sexuality as this quick-fix for their shows missteps so.... lol.

2. ANYWAYS Okay so... something that's always bothered me about Blake and Adam's dynamic is that... it's actually romantic?? They were in a relationship?? Which grosses me out to no end and I'm not sure why it had to be this way? Why is Adam an abusive psychopath? It's especially disturbing to me because Adam is leading a resistance against his peoples oppressors. Like the dude was a slave, he straight up has a BRAND on his face for fucks sake! Why would anyone think it was a good idea to make this kind of character an abusive monster? Like thanks! I hate it :)! (E) I completely forgot the age difference between them omg... they legit made him an ephebophile…🤢

Honestly RWBY could be stronger over-all if you change Adam's relationship with Blake from ex-boyfriend to a mentor/big brother type of deal. I know Blake and Adam are based off of Disneys Beauty and the Beast, but see the thing is you dont have to make it romantic. You just have to carry over the themes from the movie and expand upon them.

1. external monstrosity vs internal monstrosity; what makes a person truly monstrous.

2. Looking past the superficial to see someone for who they really are.

3. Two people find solace with each other after they've been othered by society for possessing certain characteristics deemed as abnormal.

Boom, there you go! Run with it!

Although tbh the last one will be difficult, if not impossible, to write because Blake comes from a privileged background. She's the daughter of a chieftain and grew up in the White Fang, who were originally a bunch of peaceful protesters. So her upbringing is going to be much more stable than Adam's was. If you want to make this work you're probably better off just rewriting Blake's entire backstory.

Now that I think about it I think the reason why Adam is... Like That is because he's supposed to be Gaston and The Beast mixed in one package? Maybe? He has The Beasts anger issues mixed with Gaston's creepy and obsessive behaviour towards Belle. Which is a very odd decision to make and to be honest I'm not sure if this was intentional or not (most likely not lol). Was it to show Adam's transition from The Beast to Gaston? But that doesn't work because The Beast and Gaston represent different ideologies. Maybe it's not even that deep, maybe it was just to show that people who've been abused can become abusers. Which is a fine concept and all but it didn't need to be applied to a former slave turned revolutionary leader.

I'm not saying Adam has to be completely devoid of any flaws, the anger he feels towards humanity is realistic and justified. When you've been dehumanized by a certain group of people, you are going to vehemently hate said group. This kind of hatred can consume you to the point where any malicious action you take is seen as justified. Cuz you know, why should you care about them when they've never given a shit about you? (A good example of this is in the Black trailer where he was going to blow up the train, completely disregarding the lives of the human passengers aboard it.)

[REDACTED]

Aight so when I was laying in bed, waiting for the sweet embrace of Rest to take me, I had the thought: “How fucked up would it be if after Blake defeated Adam, instead of being held a trial and sent to prison he was sent back to the S.D.C?” and I legit made this face:

I guess that activated my galaxy brain/ third eye chakra or whatever, because suddenly my mind was bombarded with a bunch of ideas and I legit could not bring myself to Sleep unless I got the ideas out lmao. But I think I'll make another post bc this shit is a long ramble sleep deprived mess. So lmao see you next time.

#rwde #i guess #one day ill learn how to properly end a post #i fixed it...lol #why does the picture keep getting moved to the bottom lmao i give up IDC LMAO

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stardustizuku · 6 years

Photo

well i guess we’re doing this

@skating-jellyfish @scintillant-h @quasargirl

ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE

The Westernization of Magical Girl Genre

By StardustIzuku aka me

AKA the 2k magical girl essay people wanted me to talk about.

A lot of people were asking about this, wow.

Magical girls. Glitter, cutesy names, stuffed animals, and puns. What is there not to love about them?

It was only bound to happen for it to be tried in the west. Much like transformers, which were a westernization of gundam, Magical Girls are going through their rocky paths to that idolized version of Magic targeted towards small girls.

There are a few shows that are borrowing these themes today in children’s cartoon, so I wanted to talk about them. How they managed to miss the mark with some fans, and why their following is significantly smaller of the likes of Sailor Moon.

Here you have today:

The Westernization of Magical Girl Genre

The thing about Magical Girls is that the plot is often very predictable. It, quite frequently, does not have that much of a great romance, and its villains are basic to the core.

So, why do we like them if they’re, supposedly, so shitty?

Well…The answer is

Two Things:

The feeling.

The message.

This is the core of the Magical Girl’s success. If it has a nice feeling but no good message, you get things like kamichama Karin. If it has a bad feeling but a good message, you get things like Madoka.

(Which are in my opinion the two worst things that could have happened to Magical Girl genre)

And having said this, there’s two shows I wanna talk about today. One is SVTFOE and the other is Miraculous Ladybug. Two westernized versions of the Magical Girl genre…And both fail to recreate the very specific beauty of Magical Girls. As they struggle with its own voice, they get something that feels genuine but ultimately disassociated from the genre.

I will first start with the easiest to tackle.

Miraculous Ladybug;

It does everything right in the regard of plot, romance and villains. It’s a real classic of Magical Girl storyline that could be easy to get behind.

And while I do watch it, I do not feel the love I know I could for it.

The reason is simple: because of the feeling it gives off.

I think the biggest mistake Miraculous did was making it 3D. This means it’s technically easier to make, yes. But it also deteriorates the very particular aesthetics Magical Girls have. And this makes it drop quality.

It feels less magical, and more real. Less sparkles, more concrete. And taking into a count the fact that it’s set in Paris? This show should be looking ethereal. But instead it looks very plain. It feels…wrong even.

There’s also a very key aspect that I think it’s missing: the team. It’s taking them way too long to form the team. Time that could have been spent making the team -Ayla, Chloe etc- feel closer and work through their difference is instead focused on them individually.

And that’s good, since it has a “Monster of the Week” narrative. But it lessens the impact. We are two seasons in, and we have a very lacklustre incomplete team.

By episode 43 -the time im writing this- Sailor Moon was already meeting Sailor Venus -the last Sailor Scout- and heading to the final battle. Sakura was friends with Meilin and biding goodbye and saying thanks for the memories. In Tokyo Mew Mew Zakuro and Mint -the closest girls on the team- were having one of the most emotional fallouts in anime history. Even Amu had finally unlocked her god damn Amulet Diamond and was essentially already friends with the “evil” Utau.

But 43 episodes in Miraculous ladybug and we have three out of the supposedly five characters of the team, queen bee is loosely alluded to, and we haven’t seen Ayla interact with them as superheroes that much.

Its strange, if you ask me, for a team to be presented this way. When are we going to see them start trusting each other? When are we going to see them work together? Ladybug and Chat are good, but how could the team as a whole even remotely begin to feel so close?

Ladybug has the heart and the intention to be a good Magical Girl adaptation…but it simply lacks the resources to make it actually work. It’s wasting so much time in stuff that does not advance the plot, or round up the characters. It has more useless filler than sailor moon.

And that’s not even kidding, because by this point, may I remind you, Sailor Moon is like two episodes away from ending its first season.

Over all, it just feels a bit plastic and stiff.

However, credit where credit is due.

They nailed the romance.

When it comes to romance in MG it falls under two categories:

1.- The straight forward plot with pinning girl. (eg. Sailor Moon, Mermaid Melody)

2.- The dreaded love triangle between the bad guy and the nice guy. (open a shoujo manga)

And Miraculous Ladybug did a pretty interesting thing, fusing the “bad guy” with the “good guy”, in chat and Adrien.

It’s like telling you Ikuto and Takase are the same person. Or Kishu and Masaru are the same guy.

Pretty crazy, if you ask me.

It also solves the “who will she chose” narrative that drives everyone insane. Instead it’s replaced with a slow burn that makes you keep watching. You know they’ll end up together, but you want to know how.

It also keeps the “he’s in love with my alter ego” trope that to this day is a MUST in any magical girl, just because its super fun and never gets old.

So Miraculous Ladybug is very close to becoming the true magical girl adaption we all wanted. I would say it could be better, but there’s a reason why it has a large following.

It did many, many, things right. It just needs a push. I’d rank it number two in Magical Girl Goodness.

Now, let’s jump to a more difficult thing to tackle.

Star Vs The Forces Of Evil;

At first glance, you’d think SVTFOE is a love letter to classical Magical Girls. And while it does borrow a lot of aspects from animes like Sailor Moon and Sakura Card Captor... The more I look into it, the more I see it as faulty westernization of it.

As I said before there are a few things that make a Magical Girl show shine.

The feeling, and the message.

And while Star certainly has the feeling, making it feel crazy but fun and cutesy, the message is…

Very different.

As a matter of fact, I don’t think SVTFOE has a bad message. On the contrary, it’s a pretty damn good one…But the thing is…It’s not one MG often have.

Magical Girls messages are one of two things -although they sometimes mix:

Finding yourself, and the power of girl’s friendship.

Messages that are really cliché, but they thrive because in a society where girls are shamed for being who they are, Magical Girls encourage them to be brave. To seek solace and friendship in one another.

SVTFOE is…different.

Something that really pisses me off, is how Star’s only female friend is Ponyhead, someone who doesn’t really give emotional support.

Girlfrienship is being thrown away, shown as toxic. While Marco and Star’s relationship is put in a high pedestal. Despite being clearly a romance.

Star’s message is nice in a superficial level. Fight racism and stand your ground.

But, it’s also about doing it alone. That no other girl will support you, and that even your mother sometimes will leave you alone. In recent episodes, even Eclipsa left Star.

This is teaching girls to be brave on their own.

The antithesis of typical Magical Girls.

But, we as girl are stronger together. We are not alone, we shouldn’t have to fight alone.

It also shows that fists are more powerful than kindness. It’s kind sad, from my point of view.

The message in SVTFOE is ultimately flawed.

There’s no team. It’s just Star and Marco.

Which brings me to another point:

The plot is good, the romance is the worst I have seen in my life, and the villains are very complex.

Nothing like a sample MG anime.

The romance specially, has jumped through a lot of stages. First being the straight forward pinning girl narrative, then switching to the bad guy vs nice guy (tom vs marco), then switching the roles of the good guy vs the bad guy…And honestly who knows what comes next.

SVTFOE has thrown away any pretence of being a magical girl adaptation long ago. Nothing it has comes remotely close to what a magical girl storyline is. For fucks sake, she doesn’t even have a stick now.

WHEN HAVE YOU SEEN A MAGICAL GIRL WITHOUT A STICK THINGY.

It’s, overall, a very individualistic tale. As a westernization of the genre…it speaks more about the culture we live in than the concept.

I’d place it right below Miraculous Ladybug as an adaptation, maybe 3rd place.

But there is one cartoon that is a neo Magical Girl I love.

The first seasons of Steven Universe;

It has everything, from the healthy girl’s friendship message, to the aesthetics, the kindness on its core, to the monster of the week formula.

Early seasons of steven universe did this phenomenally. Capturing the true essence of Magical Girl. And even then, I would not be able to tell you when exactly it stops being a westenazation, to when it is its own thing.

The actual lesbian romance is without a doubt the best adaptation they could have done, since there’s obvious subtext in early magical girl’s.

But even in episode that are relatively new, you see the contrast. Escalating villains, healed with compassion and offering a hand (Blue and Yellow Diamond), and a Big Bad Villain (white diamond) that needs to be stopped. Not to mention Rose being the Pink One™ and having an alter ego, which was the one Greg fell in love with.

There’s an ethereal beauty that followed Steven Universe during its earliest seasons and that’s why I do think it’s the best westernazation of Magical Girls so far.

#idk what you were expecting #2k magical girl essay #magical girls #star vs the forces of evil #svtfoe #miraculous ladybug #ml #steven universe #su #magical girl

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rayraywrites · 5 years

Text

This is from quite an old ask I received (it...got deleted I’m really sorry!) But I’ve finally managed to convince myself to write again, so here we are!

Ship: Miyuki Kazuya x Kuramochi Youichi

Sometimes, when the sky was dark enough that each speck of light shone softly, he’d find himself sitting at the base of the hill, gazing upwards. On some nights, it was so early that the sun hadn’t even begun rising in the sky, yet he saw people beginning their days. On others, it was so late that all he saw were stragglers, limping their way into their homes, desperate for the comfort of a soft pillow and blanket.

He, however, was neither of these people, but instead chose to leave his house and find solace in the relative peace of the twinkling stars and the muffled noise of the city. Hidden under his sheets, the silence made the all-encompassing voices in his head much louder, but outside, they were numbed slightly.

He usually found himself watching the people pass around him, each in their own world. How the tired businessman was slowly walking home, his briefcase barely remaining in his hand as he dragged himself home. Teens who quietly spoke to each other, lest their voices somehow carry to their slumbering parents back at home. Friends and colleagues who were returning home from a night of drinking and eating, ready for the comfort of their bed and the silence of their pillow. He watched them all, nodding when curious glances would be shot at him though he rarely spoke up.

As it approached a time he would only really associate with morning rather then any part of the night, he found his eyes tracking another person walking by. Unassuming clothes coupled with styled green hair were uncommon to most, but to him it was a sight for sore eyes. With a half smile on his face, he watched the mild panic and tension melt away as their eyes met into relief. Raising a hand in greeting, he spoke, “Yo, Kuramochi.”

Unsurprisingly, he did not receive the best of responses, with Kuramochi’s answering growl an indication of his annoyance. Smirking lightly, he adjusted his glasses so that even with only the minimal light that struck them, his eyes weren’t visible. Even with someone he trusted implicitly, he found himself hesitant to advertise his emotions.

Instead, he masked them with a cackle and teasing question. “Are you enjoying the lovely evening weather we’re having Mochi?” Kazuya enjoyed seeing the emotions flickering across Youichi’s face, though some part of him winced when he saw that they were mostly faces of concern.

Now that he’d been caught, there was only one response that Kazuya could really give to the worry shown; he got up swiftly, his shaking hands shoved deep into the pockets of his sweatpants. Easily slipping past Youichi, he began making his way home. Raising his hand up, in a backwards wave, he jokingly called out, “you should get to sleep soon Mochi, it’s not good to be up this late. You need that beauty sleep.”

He could hear the snarling anger, bubbling behind Mochi’s lips, but unsurprisingly, rather than saying anything, Youichi simply followed behind Kazuya. The silence was deafening.

Kazuya felt his ears warming from the undeviating stare on the back of his head, and his palms sweating from inside the pockets. But even moreso, he could feel his heartbeat begin to settle down, his headache slowly receding as if Youichi was his balm. The blush travelled from his ears, covering his cheekbones as he realized what Youichi’s presence had done for him.

I definitely don’t deserve someone like him being near me.

He could hear his breathing picking up speed once more, and the shakes begin. Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he went to to wring them, hoping to stop the shaking before it got more noticeable. Instead, a warm hand covered his own, and pulled him to a stop. While the voice began to rear its ugly head once more, he hadn’t noticed Youichi catch up with him, nor had he seen the annoyed facade melt away into concern once more.

He leaned onto Youichi, feeling the weight on his shoulders pulling him down. Exhaustion began to take hold of his body, but rather then feel his knees began to buckle, Kazuya felt himself slowly being helped to the ground. The hand in his never let go, only squeezed harder.

“Kazuya,” his name was spoken so softly, he barely registered it, till it was spoken again.

“Kaz, open your eyes for me.” He almost argued that they’d never been closed till he felt the eyelashes kissing his cheeks, and the tears slowly gliding down. Raising his free hand up, he went to wipe them away, trying to stop the rivulets of tears rolling down, but instead that hand was caught too, and he was pulled into Youichi’s chest. The block in his chest surged up before dissipating, leaving him only sobbing into Youichi’s chest.

“I-I’m sorry M-Mochi...I’m not good enough for you am I?” He felt a hand drop from his and held his breath, expecting to be abandoned, but it came to rest on the back of his head instead and began ruffling it gently.

“Kaz, Kazuya, you’re worth the world and back. You dork, I find you brighter than the very stars that decorate the sky above that beloved hill of yours.”

The fingers running through his hair were calming, and he felt the tears slowing. With a few hiccups, the sobbing managed to stop, though his body was still racketed with shakes. Hearing Youichi’s words were soothing, but also filled him with guilt. He eventually managed the strength to push himself away and take a good look at Youichi’s face.

Rather then the wide grin, or even the angry face he was used to seeing, Kazuya was drawn to the tears pooling in his eyes, and the soft smile pulling at his lips. Kazuya wanted to freeze that face, to keep the memory alive in his head, before he managed to push Youichi away forever. Kazuya was a screw-up, who definitely didn’t deserve someone this kind and caring.

The hand on his head slid down to his cheek, forcing him to not look away from Youichi.

“Hey, guess what Kaz, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, but you just kept slipping away from me today.” The hand cupped his face, letting the warmth of his palm seep in. “I love you, even when that voice in your head says no, I love you even more.” A little bit of his Youichi slipped out, when the nervous chuckle sounded more like his heckling laugh, following his confession.

Kazuya on the other hand simply froze, his glasses askew, and nose bright red from his crying. Wanting to bottle up everything again, he went to put his smirk back on, but stopped when he saw the pain flash through Youichi’s eyes.

But instead of getting upset, Youichi only shook his head and laughed softly. “Kaz, I’m not asking for a reply, but please, don’t hide your pain again. I can’t bear to see you–”

Maybe it was okay if Kazuya didn’t love himself yet. Maybe it was okay that he could only see flaws in himself when he looked in the mirror. It didn’t seem to matter to Youichi, and maybe that would be enough...for now.

Kazuya ripped his hands free of Youichi’s shirt, stopping his words at the abruptness, and reached forward to Youichi’s face. Pressing their foreheads together, he managed to whisper out a response, the sobbing having added a husky quality to his tone.

“I love you so much, I forgot what hating myself feels like. When you’re here, I don’t hear the voices anymore.”

Belatedly, he realized how close he’d gotten to Youichi, nearly sitting on him, but before he could moved, arms snaked around his waist and tugged him even closer.

“Well guess I better stay as close as possible shouldn’t I?” Kazuya grinned brighter, feeling his mood drastically improve, though it was undercut by the tense conversation he knew they would have to have.

“Why Mochi-chan, it almost seems like you’re propositioning me, all the way out here where anyone could see us?”

When Kazuya had been tugged so close that they were essentially sharing the same air, it seemed like Youichi was finally content. “Maybe I am, Kazu-chan~?”

The disgusted look that appeared on Youichi’s face at his own words, pulled a a harsh laugh from Kazuya’s throat, the sound piercing in the empty night. Slowly the silence took over again, but this time rather than being anxiety-ridden, it was soft and warm, as if Youichi’s lips were home.

Maybe he wasn’t happy, and maybe he didn’t like himself too much. But it was okay, because he knew someone did.

#daiya no ace #ace of diamond #miyuki kazuya #kuramochi youichi #kuramiyu #fanfiction #ray ray writes #my writing #oneshot #angst #but then fluff again at the end :D

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samcro-saint99 · 6 years

Text

Off to the Races

Hey Dolls! This one is once again very loosely based on ‘Ride’ and ‘Off to the Races’ by the Queen herself, Lana del Rey. I would love to thank @thirstygirlclub for giving it a look over for me! As always if you guys would like a part two I would be more than happy to oblige! Up next is a Chibby request :)

All my Love,

Saint xxx

Update - I’m really sorry but I have no idea what’s going on with the font/format here 😳

She had grown tired of feeling alone, so she ran. The men she met on the road, although they didn’t love her, she found solace in there arms. The affection they shared, gave her validation. Made her feel worth something.

She was a girl who had always dreamed of being a singer, but cynic inside her saw those dreams dashed, becoming a million stars in the dark night sky. That dream was replaced with an insatiable urge to run, to be free. She wished on those stars over and over that she would be free. Then one day, she decided to take the stars into her own hands and just run.

Her body gracefully writhed to the beat, her little black dress riding up with each bend of her long elegant legs. The lights both dizzied and dazzled her, the rhythm of the music coursing through her blood, hypnotising her soul. But she was not unaware of the serious man watching her over his beer at the bar, and it made her smirk knowing what she was doing to him. She brushed her hair over one shoulder, knowing that the sight of her exposed neck cascading down to her ample chest would drive him wild. Grinding up against a crow eater, she could feel his stare boring into her. Strutting over to the bar to stand by him, he placed a hand on her ass as she sipped her Bacardi cruiser, feeling the sweet liquid roll down her throat as his hand caressed her curves.

It was 2 in the morning, the street lights illuminating the street outside her favourite night spot. But it was far from another night of work. She felt the sting in her palms and knees as she collided with the ground. Leaning on all fours trying to still the spinning world, she felt him grab her by the arm and pull her up, her head smacking the brick wall as pushed her against it, gasping for breath as his hand tightened around her throat, vaguely aware of the roar of motorcycles passing the ally way. She should’ve screamed for help, but all she could think was, ‘it was always going to happen’. His hand moved up her thy roughly, pushing up her tight skirt.

Suddenly she slumped back to the ground, the feel of the cool rough concrete against her cheek, barely able to make out the sight of her attacker being beaten on the ground through her double vision. Feeling herself being picked up and carried away, a helmet strapped to her head, as the vibrations of a bike shook through her body.

Another boiling California day, it was almost unbearable. He sipped a cool beer as he stepped out onto the porch to watch her play. She ran through the garden, feeling the cold water droplets land on her skin from the sprinkler, cooling her in the scorching heat, her white sundress clinging to her form.

That night they prepared to go out. Leaning against the door frame, he watched her, sitting perched on the bathroom counter, applying various powders, creams, shadows and liquids to her beautifully flawed skin. Hopping off the counter wearing one of his oversized shirts and fluffy socks, her hair tied into two lose plaits, she bounced over to him.

“Hiya Daddy” she greeted with a grin, laying her head to the side with childlike innocence.

“God you’re so beautiful, little girl” he praised roughly, giving her the validation she adored so much.

She looked up at him, batting her cartoon eyes before throwing her arms around his neck, pulling him into a fiery kiss, as he ran his hands down each line of her perfect physique. Eventually pulling back to run off with a giggle to get dressed, digging through her bag to find an outfit, always wanting to look her best for Happy to show off.

After the party that night, they lay in bed, with her laying on his chest. This was all the heaven he could ever want, feeling her warmth against his body, his senses enveloped by her lilac body lotion. And in his arms, she felt safe, hearing his heart beat, and feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath.

She knew exactly what he did. Who he was, having only known him a month before she first saw him kill a man, seeing the spark in his eye as the gun sounded. On the outside he was as tough as the leather of his SAMCRO kutte, but his soul was as sweet as blood red jam. And compared to her, he was a tattooed angel.

Sitting staring into the bedroom mirror, she recalled the nights she used to gaze into the dirty mirrors of the clubs, bars, and hotels, hating who she saw. Thinking of how when she daydreamed of running away, never thinking she would end up a drunk little Lolita stereotype, sharing the her nights with strange men, so she didn’t have to face midnight alone. But now, she looked in the mirror, and she saw somebody who was spoilt and loved. She believed with every fibre of her body that if it wasn’t for Happy, she would have been dead by now. Everything was absolutely perfect, until it all came crashing down on her.

“Hey there, Gorgeous”

The sound of the voice sent a chill through her body, she knew that voice and had heard it many a night. She turned to face the gruff man with a look of pure terror on her face, met with an unshaven face, protruding stomach, and nicotine yellowed teeth. He had been one of her regulars. Her heart rate quickened and her breath shallowed, as she rushed away to the car.

Tears streamed down her blank face. She’d been so stupid to think that she could leave all that behind, all the feelings that she had been slowly fading away since she had met Happy, suddenly came flooding back. And she was left feeling empty, while at the same time the voices in her head screamed. So she did what she always did to quiet the voices.

After finding her way to a bar in Stockton, she began to drink. Less than an hour later she was eight bottles of Bacardi in and welcomed the familiarly fuzzy feeling, all common sense leaving her body.

Before she knew it she had climbed onto the bar, getting lost in the vibrations of the bass. Slipping the straps of her dress, letting them slide from her shoulders, she heard the applause and jeers of encouragement from the men that now watched her on the bar.

Out of nowhere she was yanked from the bar, feeling herself being thrown over someones shoulder, when she pulled herself up she recognised the neck tattoos, it was Happy. She hadn’t even seen him enter the bar.

When they got back to his house, she sat down on the couch while he stood over her, glaring at her, with a look that could kill twenty men. They both sat their in silence for a solid three minuets, before he started speak, then breaking into a yell. He yelled about everything, how she hadn’t changed, how she never even tried to help herself, how everything she had said to him about wanting to change had been a lie, how she had used him, but the last thing he said broke her.

“You’re nothing but a little whore” he mumbled, turning away, walking out the door with a slam, his Harley tearing down the street.

She sat there in shock, his words stung, breaking apart the last part of her hope that life could ever be better. Dragging her feet to the bedroom she stuffed all her clothes into her bag, before heading out the door, walking up the street, until she reached the bus station.

He was right. She was nothing but a dirty slut. A play thing for rich older men, or anybody with a pretty penny. She had been stupid for thinking that things would ever be different. She had no moral compass. Nothing to point her to right or wrong. Always just living somewhere in between, doing what she had to do. She would never belong to anyone, or anywhere.

Watching the country side race past as she rested her head against the graffiti carved window, she gazed outside at the cloudy sky. Her face cold and emotionless as the bus sped her towards her unknown stop, further away from her last chance of home.

But she prayed to any god that may have existed, that Happy found joy, found salvation. And learned to live life in the way of his namesake.

********************************************************************************************

When Happy pulled up back home, he knew he had fucked up. He hadn’t meant any of it, he loved her. She was his world. His everything. And he knew that what he said was so out of line. As he walked through the door, he noticed a folded piece of paper on the floor, his name written on it in her curly handwriting.

Happy,

I’m sorry to leave, without a goodbye, but the truth is - you were right. I never tried to change, and honestly I don’t think I could.

When I ran, I didn’t know what would happen, where I would end up or who I would meet. That was part of what attracted me to the idea, the freedom of being unattached. I thought that I could just run and eventually I would find somewhere to feel safe and to call home.

And I finally did. With you. Together we had nothing to lose, nothing we desired more than each other, except to just be - a perfect work of art.

My mother always taught me to believe in the kindness of strangers. I never had any faith in those words, until you saved me that night. You found a shattered play thing and took me in. But thats the thing about shattered things, they can never be put back together.

I’m drowning, and I don’t want to take you down with me.

Live life and stay safe xx

By the time he read those last two words, the paper scrunched in his hand as ran frantically to the bedroom to find all her things were missing. Once he’d searched to entire house, he walked into the lounge room, flopping down onto the couch, a dazed look painted across his pained face.

She was gone.

#off to the races #ride #lana del rey #samcro #sons of anarchy #imagine #one shot

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