#why not put it in the main call where they could fit everyone instead of a tiny room that fits maybe 150-200 seats??

[sokkas-therapist]

Hi hi hi! I have a quick poll question for all the Atla fans that were at Comic Con Revolution today!

If you got in, reblog and put in the tags what time you got in line. If you didn’t, reblog with how long you were in line for, and or what you heard/were told regarding wristband distribution. I’m genuinely curious, lol

Me and a couple hundred other people were in line for over 2 hours and didn’t get in 😭

[infiniteimaginings]

Affectionate (Max Thunderman x GN!Reader)

Summary: Your boyfriend is known to be an evil and vile person. You can't take that seriously since he looks at you like a kicked puppy when you don't hold his hand. Pronouns: You/Yours Warnings: None Word Count: 1.0k A/N: Sorry for yapping the past few days about the structure of my account lol (serious posts instead of silly little fics). Here's an unexpected, non requested, non scheduled little post for y'all! Sorry, it's short, it's just a quick little fluffy thing as a gift. Yes, it's fluffy, my silly little gooses!

Max Thunderman was evil, untrustworthy, conniving, and mischievous to everyone he’s ever met. 

Sometimes, his own family would question themselves when they call his actions some sort of “phase”, due to how far he goes. Sometimes, his own family wonders if they really raised a super villian.

Max Thunderman wanted to take over the world, and he wanted the power to be able to crush it beneath his fingertips, and make everyone suffer. The thought excited him for the future, the thought empowered him to keep going.

Max Thunderman was evil, some would go so far as to call him a monster. 

You, on the other hand, couldn’t see Max Thunderman as a ‘monster’. 

Why was that?

It was because the brown haired boy was currently trying to fit himself under your sweater because he didn’t feel close enough to you. A sweater you had in a smaller size, but since this was a usual occurrence, you got a bigger size so he could fit his head through the top without hurting himself or you.

Max Thunderman to you, was the sweetest boy alive who you adore with your entire heart and soul. Max Thunderman was the kindest, most thoughtful, and the cutest person you’ve ever met. Max Thunderman was your boyfriend, and you would choose him over the world.

He would choose you over the world. 

The two of you were in his lair, watching some sort of movie on your laptop. You had no idea, because you were currently focused on the feeling of his fingertips grazing your sides as he adjusted himself. His head nuzzled into your chest, portions of his hair popping out the hole where your head was through, tickling your chin.

“What are you doing, Max?” You asked, putting your arms around him anyways. 

He hummed, cuddling more into your chest, arms wrapping around you, causing you to lift your back so he could comfortably move them before you put your weight back down. 

You shook your head, rubbing your hands in circles on his back, and he relaxed more than he already was before you began. 

You felt him shuffle before getting into a comfortable enough position under your sweater to answer, “I missed you.” That was all he said before he went back to caressing your sides, absorbing your warmth.

“I’ve been here for hours.” You reminded him with a light laugh, biting your lip to stifle more laughter.

“Not good enough, this is better.” He mumbled, voice going in and out, almost as if he were going to fall asleep. 

You were used to him doing things like this, and you really didn’t mind. You loved when he was this close to you, your main concern was that he would overheat. To fix that, you gently pulled him, the teen following your movements until his head was right next to yours.

Max’s eyes fluttered open to meet yours before closing once again, a small smile on his face as he leaned his head on yours.

“I love you.” He whispered to you, voice filled with drowsiness as it rumbled in your ears.

“I love you too.”

Another typical occurrence for Max Thunderman being the sweetest boy alive, was him consistently finding or making things for you. 

An example of this was when you walked into his home to hang out with him, sitting in the living room to wait for him. His parents told you that he wanted you to wait out there instead of going straight to the lab because apparently that’s what he requested. 

You texted him to tell him that you were there, and the moment you hit send you heard an extremely loud ‘thump’ sound from below…from his bedroom.

You then heard scrambling, light curses, and footsteps rushing up the stairs. 

When Max Thunderman set his eyes on you, his entire face lit up like a Christmas tree. He looked like a little kid that finally got that present he was begging his parents for all year, like his chores finally paid off to be on the nice list. 

Your boyfriend rushed to you, placing a box on the table before sitting next to you. He grinned at you, showing all his teeth, breathing heavily, his face red. You couldn’t tell if it was red because he probably fell, because he ran, or because he saw you.

You assumed it was because of you because he whispered a small ‘Hi’ to you, placing his hand on your cheek and placing his lips onto yours. 

Something about Max, he loved to kiss you, he loved feeling you close to him.

He would cup your face, give you sweet kisses, and his other hand would be interlocking your fingers together.

When you pull away, his face would be red, his eyes would be sparkling, and his smile would be wider than ever. Once he remembers what he was doing, the look doesn’t change, he keeps one of his hands laced with yours and reaches for the box he placed down, handing it right to you.

You have a plethora of gifts from Max, ranging from jewelry, to letters, electronic devices he created, paper flowers, etc. You knew that whatever it was when you opened the gift, you would love it more than anything.

You knew that whatever it was, Max loved you more than anything, and he just wanted to show you.

After opening the gift, you hugged him, and gave him a few more gentle kisses to which he deepened by placing his free hand on the back of your neck, just to tell you he wanted a little more.

The two of you broke apart for air, opening your eyes to meet each other. Adoration filled both of you as you looked at one another, small laughs escaping your lips when you made eye contact for a prolonged period of time.

You leaned on the back of the couch, playing with Max’s fingers, “For someone who wants to take over the world, you’re so sweet.”

Max crinkled his nose, leaning back on the couch with you to be face to face with you. He brought your hand to his lips, placing light kisses onto your knuckles, causing tickles to shoot up your arm. “Only for you.” 

Max Thunderman was not evil, conniving, vile, corrupt, or wicked.

Max Thunderman was kind, charming, loving, thoughtful, considerate, generous, and affectionate.

To you, Max Thunderman was the best there ever was, and you wouldn’t change a thing about him.

[novemlia]

LOVE ME, NOT HIM!

sum: kaiser gets jealous when your attention is no longer on him, but on a certain bastard müchen midfielder, Alexis Ness. warnings: kaiser, kaiser being jealous, gn!reader, kaiser deserves being a warning, kinda ooc!kaiser and being overprotective, me being biased when it comes to Ness

ft. Michael Kaiser, Alexis Ness a/n: i hate and love kaiser and ness so much, this is also a kaiser x reader but slight possible ness x reader if ykwim

wc: 0.5k words

He doesn't like that you've gotten so close with Ness. Scratch that, he hates it. He's so used of people fawning and swooning for his good looks and great goals. The prodigy, the genius, the ace and main striker of Bastard Müchen, the Michael Kaiser. Yet here he is, frustrated that he can't even obtain a single drop of attention from you. All because you and Ness became best friends.

It's not a big deal, not at all. He could handle it. If you could just stop talking about Ness all the time, maybe he could.

Every time you visit, you make a beeline straight towards Ness and not him! Like he just let out the biggest shocked gasp when you hugged Ness first before him. Before the Michael Kaiser??? How could you do such a thing?? He was flabbergasted, appalled, dumbstruck, too stunned to speak to the finest point where you'd be shocked it was Kaiser making that sour face whenever he saw you prioritize greeting Ness before him.

Kaiser was excited that you were coming to assist one of his practices. He was ecstatic, over the moon when you called him to tell him about that. He could finally show you why he was deserving to be the ace of the team. No matter how arrogant or rude he seemed, he always treated you as an equal. Unbeknownst you, he just so happened to have the biggest crush on you in which you attending gave him a chance of showing off like always. He made sure you were looking at him playing, making sure he was the only one you couldn't keep your eyes off.

After practice, he approached you on the benches with Ness tailing right behind him.

Seeing the duo coming closer, you waved and greeted them with a smile. "You guys were great as always!" Oh my god did you just boost his ego tenfold which is supposed to be practically impossible considering his ego is as big as Megamind's forehead and his as well if not even bigger but surprise surprise, you just did. He was looking at you stand up from the bench thinking you were going to approach him, but instead you decided to hug the male behind him. Kaiser's face morphed into the most petrified and betrayed face like you just grew 15 heads and ate his so-called beautiful hair.

Ness, however, being the well-mannered nice best friend he is, hugged you back. Kaiser now just wanted to unsee what was happening right in front of him. So, he proceeded to break off the long hug between you and Ness and picked you up like a potato sac, dragging you away. "Wha- Kaiser put me down!" He didn't consider that at all yet still put you down once you guys were far away from the magenta haired midfielder. Once you were down, you started scolding him as he pouts like a 5 year old throwing a fit. Yeah, sure, he may be an annoying jealous prick. There is no but, he is one, but he'll always be your annoying jealous prick.

He'll just tell you one day about how feels but for now, he'd rather not and decides to just hug you as an apology. He'll make sure however that everyone knows that you're his, sooner or later.

extra a/n: i hate and love that turtle smiling looking dude. both him and ness. reqs are also open so feel free to drop some for me to write!

[familyagrestefanblog]

Marinette's memories after the wish

A detail from the end of "Re-creation" that just isnt letting me go is that Marinette still calls Monarque, well, MONARQUE towards Su-Han and Alya:

Even though she has very clearly told them where she was as we can gather by her pointing out the double wedding ring (meaning Su-Han and Alya could also know that Adrien is a Sentihuman which... *sigh*...) and having searched the basement:

Meaning she was open with them about the fight having taken place in the Agreste mansion and that Gabriel was involved and yet Marinette is weirdly still calling Gabriel Monarque here.

That is such a loaded detail. It could legit be a whole game-changer about Marinette "keeping" Gabriel's secret because it could straight up mean that Gabriel's wish changed both Adrien's AND Marinette's memories of him.

For all Marinette's words directly imply here she lost here memory of having figured out that Gabriel is Monarque and she thinks of them as two seperate men again. The most likely explaination here would be that Marinette may remember Monarque having crumbled into dust before he could win through Chat Noir's cataclysm from "Destruction"

But still remembers Gabriel Agreste having made the wish in desperation since, honestly, the given circumstances were PERFECT for that.

All the wish had to do is put in to Marinette's head that Gabriel and Tomoe were direct victims of Monarque as for a long time and they had to work with him, or agreed to, to keep their loved ones and lives safe. Gabriel in this case would have been the main victim which the finale pretty much perfectly set up for everyone to believe:

All Marinette has to think is that whatever happened to Emilie Agreste was Monarque's fault and he was pressuring Gabriel into helping him by threatening to do the same with Adrien, which was likely then instead done to Nathalie when she found out about it.

But Adrien would have still remained leverage nr. 1 against Gabriel as his son and same goes for Kagami for Tomoe:

This would be the perfect cover story for why Gabriel and Tomoe created the Alliance rings since parents will do alot to keep their children save and it can even be twisted into "explaining" the way Adrien and Kagami were treated by their parents if it happened under Hawkmoth's direct wrath and threat.

Gabriel himself is not only the only adult member of the Resistance he is also said to have been the person who then filled in Chat Noir's place when Ladybug was partnerless against Monarque when the final battle went down in his home where Emilie was kept to maybe be able to save her life?

This you can genuinely twist into Gabriel then not having been able to live with so much regret for what his involvement has caused that he sacrificed himself by making a wish, which Marinette now would still be remembering like this:

The chain of effect for how suddenly everyone who seperated themselves from Gabriel by now would think of him and Tomoe (Andre for example in "Collusion") would go on and on and ON washing Gabriel's and Tomoe's hands clean while Tomoe continues, who I have no doubt would have kept her memories all together.

I also would say that Lila and Nathalie still have their memories but I also gotta be honest, thats a whole can of worms I have to properly think through. My main point here is Marinette still calling Monarque "Monarque" despite what went down and what she told Su-Han and Alya and the possible implications of that concidering how well the rest of the finale sets up the cover story of Gabriel and Tomoe having been used by Hawkmoth all along by using Adrien and Kagami as leverage against them.

It just works too well and it would fit with how Adrien suddenly had a ALARMING perspective change regarding his father after the wish, which, NO, isnt god damn normal as trauma response jfc.

This would mean that Adrien and Marinette would go through season 6 in the new reality possibly figuring out bit by bit that their memories arent right to get an easier exporation phase for the new reality, and then season 7 has them know again what we left of in the old one.

Or Marinette is straight up lying to everyone now, even to Su-Han and Alya. Who knows at this point? But I truly hope that's not something they will put on Marinette's character even if at this point I wouldnt exactly call it out of character either.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Almighty (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Happy anniversary of The Daughter of Olympus! -Danny Words: 2,255 Series' Masterlist Book II // Next Chapter Listen to: 'Talking To Myself' -by Gatlin

I: Born to Say 'Fuck Off' Forced to Say 'Yes, Sir'

Ara can think of ten different things she could be doing outside of this musty old place that would make a difference in the world instead of this. I'm the daughter of Olympus, she sulks, giants fear me, monsters want me, but I can't get rid of Marcus from Spanish class.

First day of High School. She's looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, hyping herself up to survive the last three hours of the day. It would be less aggravating if Percy had qualified to attend his last year at Goode's, but apparently, disappearing in the middle of the school year gets you expelled, go figure.

Arae Jackson.

The girl gives a start and looks over her shoulder at the stools, where none other than Poseidon meets her eye. "My lord," Ara's voice trembles. "This is a girl's bathroom."

The god raises a brow as if silently asking if that's truly her main concern. "I'll be brief with this visit. My son needs you."

"Which one? Tyson?" That sentence immediately puts her on edge. "Percy? What happened?"

"Oh, nothing yet," the god sighs. "Percy must do a series of tasks and Zeus has forbidden me from aiding him, yet he never mentioned I couldn't bestow upon you the duty to ensure Percy's triumph."

She stares at him. "You mean a quest, sir?"

"As daughter of Olympus, you must do what the gods ask of you, I hope you haven't forgotten?" He crosses his arms.

"Of course not, my lord, but I'm a little lost," she raises a brow. "Why are you drafting Percy into this if I could do the tasks myself?"

Poseidon smiles but seems tense. "My son will explain everything to you. Goodbye, I expect good results."

The god leaves, and Ara turns to the mirror. "This is what you get for bitching."

When Ara gets home, she finds Grover at the door. "Hey, man," she musters a tired smile. "Came for dinner?"

"It's your first day of High School and Percy's senior year, of course I'd come," he grins. "How are you?"

Percy opens the door and welcomes them in. "Hey! I was wondering where you two were..."

"I brought strawberries." Grover shoves the basket in the boy's hands. "Is that tofu stir-fry?"

"Hello to you, too," Percy answers, throwing a bemused glance at Ara.

"I love tofu stir-fry!"

"Ara and Grover are here!" Her brother announces over his shoulder. "They brought strawberries!"

Sally comes out of the kitchen and takes the basket. "They smell wonderful! Perfect dessert!"

"Last crop of the summer," Grover informs them. "Now we have to get ready for gourd season. Don't get me wrong. I love decorative gourds, but they're not as tasty."

Sally pats his shoulder as she walks past. "We'll make sure these berries don't go to waste."

Ara stares at them. Everyone thought Leo would be back by the last week of August... She keeps smiling like his absence does not bug her much, partly because she doesn't want to be like those girls who whine about their boyfriends, and also because a General being sad about a boy is plain stupid, but it's more than that. Now that their curse is—presumably—broken, nothing assures her that he'll love her still, he didn't address her in the scroll he sent, after all.

He has a whole life ahead of him, and he might decide that even if they share soul lights, his calling is somewhere else, somewhere she doesn't fit in. He's free, but nothing has changed for Ara. Hercules warned her, and she didn't take it seriously at first, thinking she'd die before she could get a chance to see how that would play.

"Who's hungry?" Paul enters the room, and Ara feels slightly better.

While the family catches up, Percy shares his conundrum: He's been asked to get three recommendation letters from the gods by doing three separate quests. "Well then, we'll do these quests together!" Grover speaks before Percy can even finish.

Percy's shoulders relax. "Grover, you don't have to—"

"Are you kidding? A chance to do quests, just the four of us? Like old times? The Fantastic Four!"

"The Beatles," Annabeth smirks.

"The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles," Percy adds.

"The Golden Girls," Ara finishes.

"I wanna be Betty White."

The teens laugh, and Paul raises his drink. "The monsters will never know what hit them. Just be careful, you four."

"Oh, it'll be fine," Grover brushes it off, but he's anxiously nibbling a napkin. "Besides, it always takes a while for word to get around among the gods. We've probably got weeks before the first request comes in!"

It did not take weeks.

The next day, Ara notices a guy seated next to Percy at their favorite smoothie bar, one that she knows. "Ganymede." Her smile is one of intrigue. "The hell are you doing here?"

Usually, she doesn't speak to godlings like that, but Ganymede's like the cousin you see once a year and with whom you sneak out of the family reunion to talk shit about your aunts and uncles, and heck, he talks. She met him during the winter and summer solstices that she attended as the daughter of Olympus.

"Oh, is my disguise worth nothing?" He huffs. "It doesn't matter. Dear Arae, I require aid. I would've come to you, but..." he makes a face. "Well, if I use you, the gods might find out about my problem."

"What problem?" Ara sits next to Percy, taking a sip from his smoothie.

"I have to be sure this is completely discreet," he leans forward. "You cannot tell anyone else. Is that understood?"

"Discreet is what we do," Grover says.

"How much do you know about my responsibilities on Mount Olympus?" Ganymede questions.

"You're the cupbearer of the gods," Annabeth replies.

"Must be a sweet job," Grover sighs. "Immortality, godly power, and you just have to serve drinks?"

"It's a horrible job."

"Permanent waiter position with no chances of promotion," Ara nods in understanding.

"When it was just at feasts," Ganymede continues, "that was one thing. But now ninety percent of my orders are deliveries. Ares wants his nectar delivered on the battlefield. Aphrodite wants her usual with extra crushed ice and two maraschino cherries delivered to a sauna in Helsinki in fifteen minutes or less. Hephaestus... Don't get me started on Hephaestus. This gig economy is killing me."

"Okay," Percy shrugs. "How can we help?"

"My most important symbol of office... Can you guess what it is?"

"Since you're cupbearer of the gods, I'm going to guess... a cup?"

"Not just any cup!" Ganymede hisses. "The chalice of the gods! The goblet of ultimate flavor! The only cup worthy of Zeus himself! And now..."

"Oh, it's missing, isn't it?" Annabeth guesses.

"Not missing. My cup has been stolen." He bursts into tears.

Percy looks at Ara, she gestures at him vaguely and he reacts stiffly. "There, there."

The waiter hands Ara her usual drink, then he notices the crying boy. "Is the smoothie not okay, sir? I can make you something else."

"No." Ganymede sniffs. "It's just... I can't stand seeing so many cups. It's too soon. Too soon."

Ara looks at the waiter and flashes him a smile. "Thank you, Steve. I'll make sure to tip fifteen percent." The guy seems satisfied with that and leaves them alone. 

Grover turns to the god. "You know, the kids at Camp Half-Blood make some great arts-and-crafts projects. They could probably fashion you a new goblet."

"It wouldn't be the same," Ganymede whines.

"Or you could look into single-serving cups made from recyclable material."

"Grover," Annabeth intervenes. "He wants his special cup."

"I'm just saying, single servings might be more hygienic. All those gods sipping from the same goblet—?"

"You said it was stolen," Percy moves on. "Do you know who took it?"

"I have some ideas," he glares at the table. "But first, you have to promise that this remains confidential. The goblet makes drinks taste good to the gods. But if a mortal got hold of it... one sip from it would grant them immortality." 

Ara and Percy make the same face. "If it's so powerful, why would you trust us to get it back?"

"I couldn't trust anyone else! You've already turned down immortality once, Percy Jackson."

"Yeah, what a weirdo." Ara retorts sarcastically.

Percy kicks her foot. "Okay. Totally confidential."

"And these others?" Ganymede looks at her friends. 

"These others know how to keep a secret," Annabeth smiles. "Loose lips are never a good strategy."

"Totally," Grover nods.

"We're all best friends," Percy says. "You can trust them as much as you can trust me."

"Yeah, besides, you and I come from way back," Ara states confidently.

"Fine," he sighs dramatically. "I suspect someone on Olympus is trying to embarrass me, make me look bad in front of Zeus. If he finds out I lost my cup... No. I have to recover it."

"You have enemies?" Percy asks.

"Oh, yes. Hera, for one. She's hated me since the day Zeus snatched me up to Olympus. Zeus was always complimenting me, you see—how handsome I was, how much I brightened up the palace. It's not my fault I have nicer legs than she does."

Ara wants to erase that sentence from her memory. Annabeth shivers. "Let's hope it's not Hera."

"No... Probably not. She would consider it beneath her." Ganymede mumbles. "But there are others—Everyone on Olympus hates me, really, because I'm a newcomer, an upstart kid made immortal. They call me a gold digger! Can you believe that?"

Percy and Ara share a look again, having a tough time not blurting out their silly thoughts. "You suspect anyone else in particular?"

"Before I was the cupbearer," he lowers his voice, "there were two other goddesses who had my job. First Hebe. Then Iris."

"Iris seems kind of chill to be stealing chalices," Grover replies.

"Perhaps." Ganymede pouts. "But Hebe..."

"The goddess of youth," Annabeth hums. "But, Ganymede, you're, like, eternally young and beautiful. Why would she want to embarrass you?"

"Oh, you don't know her," Ganymede scrunches up his nose. "In the early days, every time I would serve drinks at the feast table, she'd mutter Spill it, spill it as I walked past. She's so immature."

"Well, if she's the goddess of youth..." Grover starts.

"That's no excuse! She needs to grow up!" 

"Okay," Percy brushes it aside. "Do you have any proof she took it?"

"Proof? That's what I need you for. Don't you heroes dust for fingerprints, analyze DNA samples, that sort of thing?"

"You might be thinking of CSI. But okay, we'll start with Hebe. Then check Iris."

"Fine." Ganymede takes a sip of his drink. "Hmm. Not bad. Maybe when I get fired and turned back into a mortal, I could work here."

"You'd make a great himbo," Annabeth nods. "So how long has your chalice been missing?"

Ganymede squints. "A century?"

"A century?!" Percy squeaks.

"Or a week? I always get those time periods confused. Not long, anyway. So far, I've been able to fake it with my delivery orders. The other gods kind of expect to-go cups with those. But if I don't get my proper chalice back before the next in-person feast, everyone will notice. I'll be humiliated!"

"When is the next feast?" Grover inquires.

"I don't know! Zeus is unpredictable! He might schedule one in twenty years. Or it could be tomorrow. The point is, I need that goblet back before word gets out! Question those goddesses. See what they know. But don't offend them. And don't say I sent you. And don't give away that my cup was stolen."

"That'll make it hard to question them," Annabeth responds. "Any idea where these goddesses hang out?"

"They stay close to Mount Olympus. I mean Manhattan. They should be around here somewhere. Do this for me, Percy Jackson, and I will write you a letter!"

"This recommendation letter will be positive?" Percy lists. "And you'll actually sign it?"

Ganymede scoffs. "You drive a hard bargain, but very well! Now, away with you, before I am undone!"

The moment Ganymede is gone, Percy turns to Ara. "You're friends with that guy?"

Ara puffs out air through her mouth and leans back tiredly. "Dude, when you work part-time in Olympus, there aren't many options."

"Well..." He looks at the others with a little smile. "This should be fun. Any ideas where to start?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Grover pouts. "But let me finish my drink first. We're going to need our strength."

Compared to what they used to face when they were younger, this is easy, and they also have each other. It surprises her how easily her brain accepts this and moves on. For years she'd been part of this family and felt the same they did about most things, but being a daughter of Olympus was shifting her character in ways she couldn't even notice until it was too late. 

Ease up, sunshine—She can hear Leo's voice in her head, twisting the perspective so it looks like something fun instead of dangerous. Before meeting him, that voice was her own, but now... all things joyful are him—this will be such a cool story at parties.

Ara makes a beeline to her room and stops only when Percy calls after her. "Yes?"

"Wanna play?" He's showing her the PlayStation remote with a strange look in his eyes, almost holding his breath while waiting for an answer.

Ara replies awkwardly. "Ah—I've got camp stuff to review. Bunker, cabins..." Her feet are already moving forward. "Sorry..."

The girl enters their shared room and closes the door. On her side of the room, right above her bed, she spots the Polaroids Leo gifted her a few months ago, and her smile drops. Gods, she's dead worried. Ara presses her back against the door and steadies herself. You got this. Her hand dives into her pocket and closes around Almighty with a tight grip. She takes a few steps forward and collapses onto her bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

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[thespianinthebackcorner]

Half of this theory's been around for ages I'm just adding more but

Is this anything. I know the theory of Toni Kensa (which could easily be short/nickname for Tataki Kensaki, making both canon) and the Squid Sisters being related but.

Is it any coincidence that one of the promo characters literally has the exact same name with the exact same spelling and coincidentally is seen using. A charger (Marie's weapon) in the Direct he was first seen in. I'm gonna call him Saki with this because what else can I do when he refuses to tell me if it's his last name or not

I'm already going too far with this but there's also the fact that he primarily wears greyscaled colours (cough Toni Kensa before the Kensa brand existed). And I've heard people say the hipster cut is a budget Marie cut before. So that's A Thing.

I don't know what's going on and we haven't seen Saki in five years anyway so I don't know why I'm theorising now but I just find it weird that. The family crest on Marie's kimono, Toni Kensa, and now some random kid all share the same name. Especially since S2's main story mode puts this emphasis on family (Callie & Marie). And the fact that everyone who's ever modelled for Kensa has used black ink, implying that Kensa himself probably has black tentacles (like Callie does) or even white ones (like Marie.) and the greyscaled tentacles could easily be a family thing that just happens as you get older. Especially with the family thing since we know it doesn't happen to everyone (Captain 3 doesnt have greyscaled tentacles despite being older now than the Squid Sisters were in S1.) If it's true then that would mean the greyscaling happens around at least 17 years, which explains why S2 Saki has regular colours because he'd be 15-16 at the time (S2 protagonists are two years older than S1 protagonists are.) (I just realised my logic on that one is way off base and they'd actually be around eighteen by S2 but roll with me here. It still works, he'd just be a late bloomer.)

Anyhoo ive been high on this theory for like an entire day now but suffice to say. (1) Saki should've been the protagonist of S2 (2) in my head it's canon that the Squid Sisters, Saki and Toni Kensa are cousins (3) wait that kinda fits because the gaudy pair of black bracelets on Saki's shirt feel very Kensa (4) I'm going insane help.

Having said that, if it is canon that raises the question why didn't Marie directly ask Saki for help with Callie- but she could very well have not wanted to worry him or put him in danger, especially since S2 was kinda his time in the spotlight as a turf war player, especially since that's the one point in the timeline where neither the Squid Sisters nor Toni Kensa were getting attention. Now that I think about it, there's no real confirmation that Cuttlefish's family stopped with Callie and Marie's parents, and them two respectively. For all we know, Saki is Marie's little brother or something like that. For all we know there could even be four cousins to the Kensaki clan instead of the two Squid Sisters.

I'm gonna write a fic based on this actually. Do y'all wanna hear more of my crack theories about the promo kids because I also have one highlighting the fact that (a.) Tof-U and Kensaki seem to be opposing each other a lot (second in command to their leaders and/or killing each other midmatch) and also the fact that Half-Rim and N-Pacer are literally what happens if you give them fanchildren

Yes I am insane

Sorry

[bagelsenjoyer14]

So when season two came out I promised I was going to dive into it and then I proceeded disappear but I'm back. Also I've been at school and work all day so sorry if some things dont make sense, or if theres any grammatical errors.

I know I talk about Crowley alot on here, but Azi has been on my mind lately, especially regarding his religious trauma. I mean this is one of the main plot points of season two (and a little bit in season one) Azi's main problem is that he still thinks in the very black and white, kind of old fashioned way of thinking that heaven is good, and hell is bad. We see this very very often in the show whether hes saying things like this to Crowley, for example:

(And in season two when he says something along the lines of "and you are evil, I'm afraid")

It seems something that Azi battles with for a long time, from when Azi freaks out when angel Crowley even CONSIDERS questioning God, he doesn't know what to say and goes in full panic. And these little remarks through the series shows what he still (tries) to believe. But I think he really begins to question during Job not only that he must be, by default, a bad angel for lying, yet he hasn't fallen, when someone like Crowley didn't do anything as severe and yet he fell?

But the problem Azi has is he cannot let this ideaology go. I mean we see him TRY to in season one and season two, he fundementally thinks Crowley is a good person, and he knows deep down the things heaven is doing is horrible. But Azi is too forgiving (we see this with Gabriel) and too optimistic in what heaven COULD be/ what God COULD be planning.

And this dynamic between him and Crowley is really interesting, it kind of shows the two spectrums of what religious trauma can do. Crowley, for example, has accepted early on that God has abandoned him, and he has learned the hard way that neither side is good and is instead better off fending for himself. We do see in his desperate moments him pleading to God, but time and time again he is ignored, which creates this weird relationship with Azi where for 6000 years he kept this weird distance between them in fear of abandonment again. While Azi on the other hand, does not know what it's like to fall, he deeply loves God and thinks She will always be good, but he is shown through other angels horrible things, and it's confusing (why would she create horrible angels, why would she cause disease and death if she was so good?) We see him get panicky once again when Crowley brings up the question in episode three as to why did God create poverty and expect those in horrible circumstances to turn out as good as those born in castles? And Azi kind of tries not to think too much about the point Crowley is making. I think Azi HAS silently questioned Her since Bliblical times, but has pushed it down, that's how his best friend fell, and the last thing Azi wants is God to abandon him.

Finally, I also want to touch on Azi's desperate need to be good and seen as good by others. I think this stems from him being seen as a "lesser" angel, being sent to Earth as more of a sort of punishment, being looked down on because of it. The one major thing him and Crowley have in common is not fitting in, anywhere. So I think all of this causes him to ache for validation that what he's doing is right. He says in season two that since he isn't reporting to Heaven, he calls Crowley to tell him about the good things he's done. We also see during the Job part where he lies to Gabriel, that he thinks he's a bad angel and once again I feel like this causes him to feel like he must over compensate and take the pain and sadness put on to the world for the better of everyone else.

Mitskis song "I Don't Smoke" always reminds me of Aziraphale becuase of the line "if you need to be mean/be mean to me/ I can take it/and put it inside of me" because time and time again Azi goes and does things to benefit others, and not himself. He puts himself on the front lines for people who have hurt him. Gabriel is a good example of this, this guy has tried to kill him! And yet he helps him. Crowley is obviously fraustrated by this, but Crowley doesn't understand exactly WHY Azi is like this, they have dealt with their trauma differently. So of course when the metatron offered him a position in heaven he took it. Not only did it help him feel validated and finally 'good enough' but also he once again jumped in front of a bullet heading directly to the world, and Crowley. He belives he is doing good by going to heaven. Even if it hurts him, he NEEDS to feel like he is helping others, and he believes that if God technically has appointed him to such a power to make sure nothing bad happens, then in his mind she must be good then.

[taffingspy]

AU summaries woo

Betrayal AU - there are no voices, only sliske. tldr it's a "what if" of if sliske had been there all along as a curse on the WG's soul. Main themes are of agency and what it means to be treated as a pawn.

Sparked from a conversation I had with a friend back when city of senntisten released: that being, the only individual the player could thoroughly trust during the EGWD saga were the voices, due to the fact that they were the only logical thing with the WG's interests in mind. So, in betrayal AU, Florin is put in a position where the only being he could logically trust is Sliske.

Sliske, of course, manipulates the heck out him. The title comes from his repeated point that the people around Florin only see him as an asset and a tool, and will betray him at the drop of a hat. Sliske isn't even wrong.

The enchantment still exists. It requires both Florin and Sliske for it to funcionally work, hence why sliske is there. It also requires both of their souls to work properly -- they must sacrifice themselves to create the edicts.

Florin (and basically everyone, including the other guardians of guthix) is left in the dark about the sacrifice until the final moments, where in sliske (who had figured it out) reveals that point. "soul" is used as a loose term here since sliske doesn't have one, but anima is anima and it might as well be him.

Sliske intended to sacrifice Florin's soul, and Florin is heartbroken, having not fully come to realise Sliske's manipulation of him. He begged for one last kiss, which Sliske, amused, obliged, but Florin split their souls while he's distracted and sacrifices him - regardless of feelings, Florin refused to be Guthix's pawn in these final moments

I had a few other alternative ideas that don't fit Florin but might as well leave here anyway

Romantic end - Sliske intended to sacrifice the WG's soul and steal their body, but had a change of heart last moment, and splits their souls to sacrifice only his own.

Fight end - There's no positive feelings. Sliske wants to steal the WG's place, and the WG fights back, splitting their souls and sacrificing him.

Either way, thematically it's just really nice if sliske ends the WG era as he started it so. The edicts are rebuilt, but in a highly unstable state. Gods can remain on gielinor, but only in a depowered state, very similar to the maze in sliske's endgame. most of the gods leave for various personal reasons (mostly associated with power), except azzanadra because i realised part way through thinking about this that he is a pain in my ass and won't accept godhood if it slapped him in the face.

Generally speaking, I don't include moia or adrasteia much in this either. The themes of family greatly overshadowed the themes of agency, to the point of it being kinda hamfisted, but that's a personal point

---

Soulsplit AU - Aka, the logical progression of a faulty edict ritual. soul literally torn apart at the end of betrayal, it leaves an open soul-wound that perpetually leaks. The main premise is "if you've fought everything, all that's left to fight is yourself", and tackling irrelevancy and what it means to protect the world (people) vs the world (planet).

After the EGW, the planet's anima remains unstable, with successive natural disasters such as famines, droughts, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions, etc.

As Florin's soul is draining, all that's left in his body is remnants of the enchantment, creating a being called Guardian. Guardian's sole perogative is to care for the planet.

Icthlarin could track Florin's soul, but since gielinor is a god poison, he would just revert to being a regular dog again, and that's something he would best avoid, since as a dog he might not be conscious enough to remember to go back to the underworld after a while. (you could probably have a storyline that's exactly that premise too in this universe)

Instead, Death is forced to track, while icthlarin is forced to handle the dead alone. this gap in skill between them means souls are left on gielinor a little longer than they usually would, and the Guardian is free to mess with them.

Guardian intends to use souls to calm the anima of the planet, even if it means destroying them in the process.

tldr death, icthlarin, and Florin's adventurelings (Meg, Phillipe, and Violet) gather up Floein's soul pieces and reunite him with his body to calm the leftover guardian in his soul.

plenty of soul magic themes. Florin takes up necromancy at the end to learn more and hopefully make up for what guardian did.

---

To make a god AU (aka tag team) - aka azzanadra won't leave and it's a fucking nuisance. No really that's the premise of the au. Other gods will leave, sure, whether for power or because they believe they can protect their people as gods, but azzanadra just. wouldn't. i really can't rationalise why he would, given godhood isnt something he cares for and he'd rather focus his worship on zaros.

so florin tries bringing back someone who might help azzandra see sense, except said someone is still very bitter about the whole death thing.

plenty of themes of grieving, whether past friendships, over who one has become, or navigating grief of someone who was ultimately bad for you.

tag team is more just a bit of fun for myself. it has a loose story for now, and maybe i'll work it out more, but hey ho

[let-us-cultivate-our-garden]

I don't know if you've ever seen Star Trek Discovery (spoilers if you haven't) but what TOH did with Belos reminds me of what Discovery did with their season 1 antagonist Lorca. Lorca was set up as a complex, morally ambiguous cautionary tale for the main protagonist Burnham. Both were traumatized by the same enemy and had become somewhat ruthless and single minded because of it. It seemed like they were building to a point where Burnham learned to heal and forgive and she would have to confront Lorca (and thus metaphorically her worst self) as he became consumed by the desire for revenge instead. But then they revealed that Lorca was actually just from a mirror universe where literally everyone is inherently evil and that's why he did everything he did. No need to worry if we could go down the same path after all, because he was just a lying liar who lies from the evil universe of evil. Because that's such bold storytelling. 🙄

I haven't seen this show but that setup sounds legitimately awful; I can (kinda) excuse a kid's show doing this but not a show theoretically aimed at adults. Bad writing knows no bounds I guess.

It sounds like from your description and what TOH eventually became, both shows wanted the angst of a protagonist worrying about becoming like the villain only for the show to reveal that "don't worry, you could never be bad because you are pure of heart!" Which is just the worst message and I wouldn't put that in any show, much less one aimed at children.

The thing is that Luz and Philip have a lot of similarities and a little narrative tweaking could have made them even stronger parallels; just make Luz's outsider status in the human realm more obvious instead of just having her do dangerous pranks that makes the adults justifiably upset. Make Philip an outsider in his community as well (especially since it was confirmed that the Wittebanes became witch-hunters to fit in) and show how dependent he was on his brother, which is his main motivation for going to the Demon Realm in the first place. Make Luz more of a flawed character that other characters call out on and give Philip more sympathetic traits so we can see how these two could have gone down very different paths if the circumstances were different.

As it stands, the show has all of these fascinating parallels between the two characters but it does nothing to expand on them or to provide commentary on either character.

Instead of a cautionary tale about how clinging onto your beliefs is ultimately self-destructive, Belos is painted with an overly broad brush that he's simply delusional and can't stand things he can't control, thereby absolving Luz of any guilt about worrying about their seemingly similar goals.

[mqrianos]

jess/lorelai/logan? who is who? dumbledore comes to rescue?

saw a comparison of lorelai to logan on here and i’ve been mulling this one lil theory in my head for a while now, and i want to put in my two cents. so, obviously people are there from both sides comparing lorelai to jess and also to logan. before i go deep into any of that, i wanna give an analogy that i think fits perfectly here. i will assume everybody here has a basic knowledge of harry potter lore. the main rivalry throughout the story is obviously between harry and voldemort. and one thing that’s hinted throughout it all, is the constant similarities between voldermort and harry. and there are a lot. both of them being highly intelligent, rule-breaking, half-bloods, orphans and i could go on and on. and there is even a specific scene where harry asks dumbledore about all of it, and dumbledore reassures harry saying despite similarities, what makes both voldemort and harry fundamentally different is the choices that they make. harry choosing the greater good everytime, and voldemort choosing to be evil. obviously things are not that serious in gilmore girls, lol. but applying this simple analogy explains a lot, actually. logan and lorelai do have similarities. manipulative parents (emily and mitchum), wealthy background, wanting to escape that lifestyle. i could partially say cheating (but the lorelai/luke situation at the end of s6 was clear on both sides as both lorelai and luke were aware that they crossed a point and that they were not together anymore, while rory was still thinking her and logan were just in a fight, nothing serious. but, let me include that as well for the sake of this argument). but, to me, these similarities are surface-level.i am not going to call harry and voldemort, the same people cause of their surface-level similarities. both logan and lorelai despite having parallels, FUNDAMENTALLY differ at their core. inspite of lorelai growing up in a wealthy background, she despised that lifestyle and everything that was associated with it. the dressing up, the partying, the high society, the people in it, the expectations that comes with it. from what we see in her childhood flashbacks, she doesn’t even have friends from that same society and comes off as annoying to those people. on the other hand, logan thrives in the billionaire setting, he loves the dressing up, the partying, the high society, the people, the friends, he is able to charm everyone in that society unlike lorelai. the only thing he doesn’t want is the expectations that comes with being born in such a society. he still wants all the wealth and luxury his dad has to offer, but he wants to do what he wants instead of following mitchum. that’s the only difference whereas lorelai wanted nothing to do with that world. that is exactly why even when he tries to branch off in s7, he goes back to his dad again cause he ultimately misses that golden cushion of luxury. he can’t live without it, he is weak. lorelai can live without it and is very firm on wanting to be independant. lorelai hates that world and moves away from it, logan doesn’t hate that world (infact proudly admits he is a part of it), only thing he wants is to do things his own way with all that wealth. i used to think before that “logan is who lorelai would have grown up to be, if she lived with her parents”.....but that was until i realized her parent’s world only seemed to drain her and not nurture her in anyway (keep in mind, im referring to the “parents world” in particular, not the “parents” cause logan’s parent’s world nurtured him but his parents didn’t). when we’re shown lorelai’s first proper interaction with emily’s world in the show, she tries to escape through the window. logan’s first interaction with this world, he is pleasing all the adults and winning them over and being charming (at rory’s party set up by emily in s5). if lorelai had grown up in emily’s world, she probably would have only become a stressed out adult constantly trying to escape it, loathing it and beating herself up over not doing anything, basically a fish out of water. by the revival, logan seems more than comfortable with his life, happy even with the way things are except for his love life. this is not me saying logan=voldemort and harry=lorelai, lol. i once again bring the wisdom of dumbledore here, “it’s our choices that show us what we are, far more than our abilities”. despite having surface level parallels, lorelai and logan are very different people at their core, their choices in life prove that. now, there is one other person, harry shared parallels with other than voldemort. they were both highly intelligent, did things for the greater good, were excellent leaders, lived a loner for the most part, amazing magical abilities. it was none other than dumbledore himself. here’s where jess comes into this equation. both harry and dumbledore had different childhoods, dumbledore grew up rich and in the magical world while harry was an orphan in the human world. lorelai and jess don’t have similar backgrounds either, jess grows up abandoned in a poor setting while lorelai has her wealthy background. yet, both are the same people at their core in many other ways. the chip on your shoulder bit (which lorelai herself tells that she had mastered, to none other than jess himself). their sense of humor/sarcasm is so identical, it baffles me. i especially noticed it the first time we see jess at emily’s and him making comments like “i am a carnivore”, “i wanna be buried there (at walmart)” “thanks for the paycheck” etcetera and cut to lorelai everytime at friday night dinners with her quippy comments annoying emily. both her and jess have almost this kind of will to be independant/free and to stand on their own feet. both rebel a lot as teens but end up well-established as adults having done everything on their own. lorelai becomes the owner of dragonfly inn and jess, one of the co-founders of trucheon. they came to where they are, on their own. both are sincere and hardworking if they put their minds to something. cue mia praising lorelai’s dedication as a maid in s2, and jess getting praised by the manager at walmart for being an excellent forklifter. they even lived in crappy places when starting out. jess at his s4 apartment and lorelai at the shed in the inn. both of them think running away is the solution for a problem. jess abandons rory without a word in s3, lorelai abandons max before the wedding without even a discussion of any sort and goes on a roadtrip with rory. jess in s4 asking rory to elope with him and lorelai asking luke to elope with her in s6. both jess and lorelai have no pre-formed ideas to do any of this, after jess is misguided with the advice by luke and lorelai is misguided with the advice by the therapist, they make this rash decision to force their partners to elope with them even though both know enough to understand it’s not a good decision, yet they want to desperately hold onto each one’s failing relationship (in jess’s case, an already broken one). both of them are sarcastic, impulsive and rebellious (in a way diff from logan), run-away-from-problems-type, despise the porsche kids, self-reliant. again mentioning that this is not me comparing logan to voldemort or jess to dumbledore or even harry to lorelai, for the record. the voldemort/harry/dumbledore analogy served as a good template to compare romantically unrelated stand-alone characters, with similarities or parallels. so, from the outside while it does seem like logan is like lorelai, they are very different in their personalities and are not alike beyond surface level and while we don’t see any outright parallels between jess and lorelai, they are the most similar in nature at the core and have very similar tendencies/behaviours. if i start listing actual dialogues and scenes jess and lorelai have in common, i would never stop. so, let me end this long ass essay here. this lil theory seemed more coherent when i was mulling it in my head and now it looks so stupid, lol. ignore it if it does. am i just talking sh*t? probably? am i having fun talking this sh*t? ABSOLUTELY.

[new-king-kasa-official-archived]

oh god this is gonna be my longest post yet. here we go

blog runner- @dreamblues

other rp blogs of mine connected to this one: @guardian-angel-minori, @umbra-kasa-official

tags:

ic: tsukasa

ooc: mun

ship: (insert ship here)

please ask if you need any triggers tagged

notes:

mlm leaning aroace-spec

audhd

uses he/she (girlboy <3)

rp blog masterlist

ok ok. the lore is under here. godspeed this is long

last edited: 11/29/2023

This Tsukasa has switched places with another version of himself as a result of an incident in which his previous powers were stolen after being abducted. He is now set to become a king if he is to ever go to his new universe. Down below is lore for his previous identity.

This is a blog for an au version of Tsukasa who was killed in an incident involving a time anomaly and was later revived by another timekeeper (WXS Miku)

In his universe, he was responsible for preventing time anomalies before they can interfere with events in the timeline. His revival was meant to correct a mistake before it could have a severe impact on the flow of time.

Timekeepers are capable of detecting objects or living beings that are at risk of triggering a time anomaly if left unchecked, and thus they're required to take care of them in any way they see fit until the time anomaly is successfully averted. In Tsukasa's case, she usually resorts to either picking up objects and putting them into a huge living space she shares with Miku or simply luring living beings away from the events playing at hand.

Timekeepers are also able to time travel to any point in time

Tsukasa is unable to make his presence known to anyone in his universe because of the risks that could come with revealing the existence of timekeepers to the world. There was an incident where he did, in fact, have to reveal himself to the public in order to stop a serious time anomaly, causing him to be forced to wipe everyone’s memory of him to make sure no one spreads the truth. This incident has left him deeply traumatized.

Since Timekeeper Tsukasa is... a unique case, she got transported into what I'm going to call ✨the pjsk rp verse✨ through different means. It was a mere accident on her part in which she tried to travel to the future, but instead sent herself into a whole other universe separate from hers. Because she's not in the one she's supposed to be from, her powers grow unstable and she's unable to return home until her powers completely stabilize. She also loses the ability to detect time anomalies, though she can't figure out a reason why. Right now, she's just a god who can't use her powers whatsoever.

Because of his circumstances, he never got the chance to meet Emu, Nene, and Rui. That means the only ones he knows from the main cast would have to be Ichika, Saki, Honami, Shiho, Shizuku, Toya, and maybe Airi (in the sense that he only knows about her through what Saki's said about her. Pretty sure it's canon Saki was a huge fan of Happy Happy Everyday)

He may end up confused by the existence of sekai at first, as this au wasn't built with sekai existing in mind

Because Miku is a timekeeper (and possibly other vs) in this au, the concept of virtual singers may not be present in Tsukasa’s universe, as they would exist in different forms

Will add more lore if I have to

Update: on 11/28/2023, there has been a recent discovery that Tsukasa can get prophetic visions through his dreams. Whether this is his powers manifesting once more in a different form or something else is currently unknown to everyone around her.

[yssjj]

american psycho: he's just like me fr

In No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai, there’s a passage where the main character, Yozo, who is ostensibly Dazai (it is a semi-autobiographical book), struggles to figure out exactly what the hell his Sister wants from him in a fairly obvious situation:

“One autumn evening as I was lying in bed reading a book, the older of my cousins–I always called her Sister–suddenly darted into my room quick as a bird, and collapsed over my bed. She whispered through her tears, “Yozo, you’ll help me, I know. I know you will. Let’s run away from this terrible house together. Oh, help me, please.” She continued in this hysterical vein for a while only to burst into tears again. This was not the first time that a woman had put on such a scene before me, and Sister’s excessively emotional words did not surprise me much. I felt instead a certain boredom at their banality and emptiness. I slipped out of bed, went to my desk and picked up a persimmon. I peeled it and offered my Sister a section. She ate it, still sobbing, and said, “Have you any interesting books? Lend me something.” I chose Soseki’s I am a Cat from my bookshelf and handed it to her. “Thanks for the persimmon,” Sister said as she left the room, an embarrassed smile on her face…”

At this moment, Dazai/Yozo provides an accidentally hilarious moment through his lack of empathy. Even though Yozo faces similar despair, he is unable to connect sadness to the sadness of others. After several trials of this sort of situation where a girl comes to him crying for support (which despite his wishes is a recurring theme in his life), he has figured out a simple, effective solution—distract them with sweets, books, anything at hand, even a suicide pact.

Of course, this isn’t the correct “answer” to these situations. He could have just… talked to her! But this is impossible for Yozo because claims to be completely disconnected from her. And he’s too terrified to try to reach out. He imagines that all other people have a monster behind their mask, ready to attack him at will.

The entire book is like this, a person who doesn’t know how to interact with other people because he is actually terrified of everyone around him, which is all rooted in his feeling of spiritual isolation. The title is a direct statement of the narrator’s feeling towards the world around him—as someone who is just faking being human, what point did he have in existing when he has to live in fear of everyone around him, who is ostensibly better at this being “human” thing than him?

American Psycho was this to me, an attempt by another alien (Patrick Bateman) to decipher exactly what the hell is happening in 80’s yuppie corporate NYC. Or as he aptly puts it:

EVELYN  Well, you hate that job anyway. Why don't you just quit? You don't have to work. BATEMAN  Because I...want...to...fit...in. I think he wants to fit in!

Patrick Bateman has decided, unlike Yozo, that he will fit in. He—at least, consciously—believes that he is stronger than everyone around him. Christian Bale does an awesome job monologuing with the emphasis on monotone, dry, and powerful from his ability to seemingly separate himself from the riff-raff around him. This might be why a lot of men (from what I have heard, no citation given in this article) take from this movie that this is the way of a “sigma” male, one who is different from the rest of the pack.

(This is where I would submit my sigma male test score but I couldn’t find the screenshot.)

fear and anxiety

Because of all the (wrong) takes on American Psycho being anti-feminist because of its violence against women, or the idolization of Patrick Bateman because he can cull his competition, you would think Patrick is good at killing people. This is not true in the movie. Patrick Bateman is actually very, very bad at killing people. When he kills Paul Allen, he becomes a total wreck, running through his apartment to come up with some sort of alibi, slamming open closets and desperately packing together a cute little travel set. Not that I would know how to commit a murder, but you would think for someone who considers himself to be in control Patrick would have a better idea on how to proceed with this kind of thing. His answers to Detective Donald Kimball’s questions range from guilty to insane. When Detective Kimball asks him if he knew Paul Allen was missing, Patrick jumps to asking him if the “homicide squad” is deployed on the case.

He even panics out of a murder when Luis Carruthers hits on him because it’s so unexpected, ending with Patrick desperately looking for any reason to just leave (“I’ve gotta… I’ve gotta… return some videotapes.”—as a bonus, he uses this SEVERAL times in the movie to leave uncomfortable situations). He then washes his gloved hands in the bathroom in an attempt to try to return to a “normal” interaction. It’s not pride and power pushing him forward. It’s anxiety!

Like Yozo, Patrick is also afraid. When he lies to Jean that he got a reservation for two at Dorsia (his trigger word apparently), he decides that the only course of action is to kill Jean before they make it to the restaurant. To directly discuss the traditional idea of toxic masculinity (as referenced by the men who want to be Patrick), theory would say that Patrick kills to gain power over women or to flex his masculinity. But his pride isn’t on the line when he tells Jean that he got a reservation to Dorsia. And he’s not trying to be powerful and masculine when he decides that killing Jean is the only solution. His decision is a panicked answer to stay disconnected from Jean at any cost.

Just as Yozo accepts a suicide pact from a woman because he doesn’t know how else to comfort her while avoiding connection to her, Patrick decides with how smoothly he handled Paul Owen’s murder that staging another murder is a get-out-of-jail-free card from the impending doom of having to admit that he actually can’t get a reservation for Dorsia.

And his Dorsia fear manifests in reality as a personal hell when the maître d’ hysterically laughs at him, screeching, when he first calls for a reservation that night at 8:30 for a date with Courtney. The second time he calls he gets a normal response, with the maître d’ telling him that the restaurant is completely booked for the night. But Patrick’s fear response is already baked in from the first interaction he created with his own anxiety.

societal normalcy and self-acceptance

There’s something deeply relatable to the need to try to figure out what is “normal.” Especially, the further you might naturally be from “societal normal,” the harder it is to try to figure out how to get there. At this point, the proverb “be true to yourself” might seem to come into play. But our urge to be normal is because we want to connect to others. We want to not be alone, even if that’s at the cost of suppressing our true selves.

Patrick manages to fit in at the boy’s club at work by performing all of the gestures of the others, at lunch, at Christmas parties. But his true self is completely isolated from his coworkers. He’s someone who is unrecognized as his own person to the point that people mistake his identity for others in the group. His fiance knows nothing about him and doesn’t care to, even when Patrick is trying to tell her that he has homicidal urges. The only reason she’s even getting married to him is because they have the same friends and breaking up “wouldn’t work.” Even Carruthers only hits on him because of the clothing he wears.

But even when you fit in, you want people to understand you. So Patrick tries to connect with people over and over again. But when he does try,  it’s unreciprocated. The only time he can talk about his interest in pop music is with prostitutes he hires for sex—almost as if the sex is just an excuse (which might be why his violence is also focused on them). His jokes constantly fall flat with his peers. His joke about Ed Gein sticking women’s heads on sticks could be inappropriate (and is given the rest of the context of Patrick’s personality), but it’s a very vulnerable moment for Patrick. He is purposefully revealing part of who he is and receives worse than a bad reaction—no reaction. When your friends rebuke you, it’s a decision to reach out and connect out of care. No reaction is the choice to pull away.

And when he finally does meet someone who is genuinely interested in him as who he is and is willing to reach out to him, he is unable to complete the connection. Jean is the only woman in the movie who isn’t willing to mask to just “fit in.” When Patrick takes her out and talks to her in his condo, we can immediately get a sense of who she is because she’s telling the truth. But Patrick takes this vulnerability and tries to push it away from him—thus the attempt to kill her with a nail gun—and fails as his own vulnerability (he’s cheating on his fiancee) is revealed via inopportune phone call (from said fiancee).

Silence. Jean is obviously embarrassed and upset. JEAN  Was that...Evelyn? Silence. JEAN  Are you still seeing her? Silence. JEAN  I'm sorry, I have no right to ask that. Silence. JEAN  Do you want me to go? A long pause. BATEMAN  Yes. I don’t think I can...control myself. JEAN  I know I should go. I know I have a tendency to get  involved with unavailable men, and...I mean, do you  want me to go? Another long pause. BATEMAN  If you stay, I think something bad will happen. I  think I might hurt you.  (Almost hopefully)  You don't want to get hurt, do you? JEAN  No. No, I guess not. I don't want to get bruised.  You're right, I should go.

And at the end of the movie, Jean is the only one who is able to find Patrick’s “true nature” because she is worried about him after he calls her. Patrick doesn’t reveal who he is to her. She’s the one who searches his desk and finds the drawings he has made of his compulsions, of his real or imagined crimes against humanity.

violence

After violence, Patrick responds with desperation and panic. We even see this in Paul Allen’s murder, the one murder Patrick seemed to really enjoy, where Patrick scrambles to come up with something so that he avoids getting caught. Patrick claims to have killed Christie only because “she almost got away.” In the final chase scene, the consequences come for him at an amazing tempo; police cars surround him after the sound of the first shot dissipates into the air, he escapes but is surrounded again and forced into a shoot-off, then is chased down by helicopters.

But that’s ridiculous—it’s totally fantastical. Because these scenes are in Patrick’s view of reality, it suggests that he wants to get caught. Patrick wants to be held accountable because it’s the only way he could imagine others understanding the immense amount of pain he’s in.

Part of our connection to people who really like us for who we are is that they can help us understand when we feel off. We want our pain to be vindicated as something that’s not okay. In times of desperation, we want to be able to reach out to others and hear sympathy, or reassurance that we are right to feel that something is wrong and that we should go get it checked out.

Patrick describes his need to hurt other people as a consequence of being in pain in the first place at the end of the movie. It’s a call for help for someone to notice and get him arrested so he can get fixed. But Patrick is completely alienated. Beyond Jean, nobody else cares about him to bother being concerned. When he tells a woman that he’s into “murders and executions,” she mishears it as “mergers and acquisitions” due to the level of attention she’s giving that conversation. When he leaves a long, rambling confession of all of his murders to his lawyer, his lawyer first mistakes him for someone else, and then laughs it off as a silly joke. Even as Patrick tries to double down and tell him that he was telling the truth, his lawyer takes the reality of the situation (that Patrick is at least delusional, since Paul Allen is alive and kicking) and decides to tell Patrick off for taking the joke “too far.”

In Patrick’s last monologue after his conversation with his lawyer, he “surpasses” having anything in common with the least sympathizable people.

BATEMAN (V.O.) There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with  the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil,  all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward  it, I have now surpassed... INT. BATEMAN'S OFFICE - DAY Jean is alone in Bateman's office, looking through his diary.  We see the pages that she is looking at. They are filled with  doodles of mutilated women and their names...Jean looks lost  and frightened, and begins to cry. BATEMAN (V.O.) My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better  world for anyone. I fact I want my pain to be inflicted on  others. I want no escape. INT. HARRY'S BAR - EARLY EVENING  As the film ends the camera moves CLOSE on Bateman. He is  leaning back in his leather armchair, drinking a double Scotch,  his eyes blank. BATEMAN (V.O.) But even after admitting this, there is no catharsis. I gain no  deeper knowledge about myself, no new knowledge can be extracted  from my telling. There has been no reason for me to tell you any  of this. This confession has meant nothing...

He knows that losing his connection with even the most insane people will mean his internal pain will find no catharsis. Nobody can reach him and soothe his pain. So he inflicts his pain on others, even though it doesn’t help his pain, because it’s better than not doing anything. All he has left are the drawings that Jean has discovered, his last call for help.

Pain will always exist. But connection makes us understand that our pain is human, even our pain seems to come out of us in terrifying ways. In this way, Mary Harron has created a feminist movie by simply letting guys have emotions. The consequence of allowing men to have feelings is that they want to find other people who truly understand them. Patrick and his coworkers simply “fit in” but they don’t belong to each other, to anything at all beyond a sheer facade, a mask that can be put on and peeled off at the end of each day.

Then maybe we can rework toxic masculinity from being a way to have power in social situations to wanting to just “fit in” as a way to get some sort of connection to others, even if the people you hang out with don’t really understand you. But the consequence of this is that these shallow connections don’t fulfill us, and when we undergo pain, it becomes easier to take it out on these people that you don’t even like anyway, or people who aren’t even in your ingroup. When men see Patrick Bateman as a sigma male, is it that they see someone in control? Or is it that they see someone who shows a way to cope with the pain they feel, even if the method is violent and doesn’t even work, but at least it seems cathartic on the movie screen?

[physicalturian]

[18+] Salvaged Love - Hanma Shuji x F!Reader - Part 3

[The plot of this work follows previous works in this series] [She/Her pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone +18] [Varied POV/chapter]

Words : 10 333

Playlist : link

Archiveofourown

Warnings : Reader-Insert // Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con // Canon-Typical Violence // Graphic Description // Graphic Description of Corpses // Dubious Ethics // Explicit Language // Blood and Injury //

If some managed to take time for themselves and relax, he couldn’t have that luxury.

From being given a boring mission to receiving a call from his girl in pure panic, he couldn’t catch a break. Hanma knew she had been going through an episode, as he would call them. She had been growing a bit too unstable for his liking and it was thoroughly demonstrated when, out of nowhere, he got a text from her telling him she wouldn’t be home when he returned.

Hanma’s anger was rising—not at the audacity of sending that text, but at the stupidity of her action. Her little game was not going to change shit, nor was it going to make him go home earlier. If Mikey wanted him out there, tailing some random people from his gang, then he would do it. It was the easiest shit to him; boring and time-consuming, sure, but easy. All he had to do was follow people around, and he was good at it. He knew how to fit in a crowd if he wanted to, but where was the fun in that? People were always more responsive if they saw him as he was and he never minded it.

Everyone was intimidated by him.

Except for her.

At least, that was the only excuse he could find to justify such a stupid text from her. Of course, he was fast to tell her off, to tell her to send him her location. He thought for a second, how stupid can she be?

Because no one would be this cryptic after almost being shot—she was a target of that stupid gang that was after Bonten, and she still acted out. If she was not replying right now, Hanma knew she would never reply, that she wanted him to chase her. If that's what she wanted, he would give it to her.

But not right now.

Putting his phone aside, he rolled his eyes with a loud sigh, “I got other shit to do than this.” He grunted, his head hitting the back of the car seat while his fingers drummed on the steering wheel in an effort to keep himself awake. The big fancy word Mikey used was reconnaissance, but it was just stalking. He was put on fucking stalking duty to try and find out who was the snitch, who was stupid enough to run up to another gang and give them information. Frankly, Hanma thought it was as stupid as it was respectable, only to some extent. 

Being that crazy to turn on Bonten was commendable.

But being crazy enough to betray the biggest crime organization by being a new gang’s bitch? They knew what it took for that snitch to turn on Bonten, what would assure them that person wouldn’t turn on that very gang right back? Hanma scoffed, about to grab a cigarette and light it out of boredom but he quickly put the pack back in his pocket when he remembered he couldn’t be noticed—smoke from a car was not lowkey.

“For fuck’s sake, this is bullshit.” And as he said so, his eyes that had never left the target widened only slightly at the sight of the person being shot down in the middle of the street. The bullet had come from the alley cutting across from the main street. Quirking a brow, his attention was piqued as he smiled to himself, waiting to see if someone would walk out of there. Then, right on time, a man dressed in a suit stepped onto the empty main street.

Hanma shook his head, bringing his cigarette to his lips but not lighting it as he let out, “Cheap ass suit.” under his breath. He debated internally if he should just kill the fucker that had taken down a member of his organization, but he was not there to take action in the name of anyone. He was there to observe, so he did.

He could have lowered himself in his seat, but why would he?

Instead, he opened his window and lit his cigarette, puffing out the smoke, “Need help?” He called out, face leaning out of the window. The man turned around in panic and shot in his direction. That was all he needed to know this man was no one important. Probably an insect-on-insect crime, meaningless stuff. He had been sent on a dead-end errand, a trail that led to nothing. Grinning, he started the car and drove full speed towards the man who fell on his ass after tumbling on the dead body in front of him. Hanma stopped the car instantly, opening his door and stepping out without thinking through his plan for more than a few seconds.

A couple steps and he was towering over the idiot that was scrambling to his senses, gun aimed in an attempt to protect himself. Hanma shook his head, tutting the—now, clearly—boy in front of him.

“You barely look 20, you’re basically a newborn.”

Smirking, he leaned closer and grabbed his cigarette, pressing it against the boy’s forehead, his screams of pain probably awakening everyone who lived nearby. “There, baptized ya.” He whispered, “Now shush.” He brought his finger to his mouth in a gesture to keep it quiet. The boy dropped the gun and was about to place his hand on his forehead to soothe the injury when Hanma groaned and kicked him in the face, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him off the wet ground. “This is the foreplay, cut the wailing already.”

But the boy was sobbing now.

How boring. How useless.

“Baby needs his sucky?” He mocked, “Aight then.” Hanma dropped the man back on the ground, taking the gun before shoving it in the man’s mouth, effectively shutting him up. “There! Wasn’t that easy?” He spat each word, accompanying them by pressing the gun, twisting it, removing its safety and placing his finger on the trigger. The young man on the floor nodded, eyes filled with terror.

Hanma did not have time to waste on this guy, but he knew he had to milk him for whatever information he had. “I’m not gonna torture you, you can breathe.” As he said that, he took the gun out of the younger one’s mouth and tucked it in the holster inside of his vest. A short smile was all he gave before grabbing him by the ankle and dragging him to his car, “And I’m exhausted, I don’t wanna deal with you.” Hanma said off-handedly, as if this was part of his daily life.

This was something the boy at his feet was not used to, being manhandled. He cried, “No, please let me go, please! I promise I won’t say anything to anyone!”

“I should be saying that, you’re the one responsible for the dead body out on the street.” Hanma said mockingly before helping the man over his shoulder and tossing him inside his trunk. He immediately grabbed some tape and wrapped it around the man’s face, making sure to go over his mouth a few times before cutting it and doing the same to his wrists, ankles, elbows and knees. “Don’t be scared, yeah?” Then he disappeared from view, the boy in the trunk shaking in fear as he tried to wriggle his way out of his bindings in vain.

Only a few moments after, he sobbed in shock and disgust when Hanma walked up to the trunk once more with the dead body over his shoulders. “This one’s yours, right? It’ll keep you company.” With a smirk, he tossed the body over the boy and slammed the trunk shut. It was much more practical to shove both of them in there rather than risking the weasel escaping from the backseat. 

Letting out a long sigh, Hanma grabbed his phone and tossed the gun on the passenger seat; he had never been fond of such fancy weapons. He found it much more enjoyable to use his fists, or, if a situation called for it, a knife or more fun tools rather than guns. Guns were the weapon of the weak, it was too easy to get your hands on one, to aim and pull the trigger—and a lot less satisfying. There was no thrill, no energy spent in the fight, no proving that you had the upper hand.

Two idiots could aim a gun at one another, brainlessly listening to orders, unaware of what it truly meant to brandish that.

Two fighters knew to respect one another’s strength, should a brawl start. They were aware of the damage being done, it was much easier to gauge—to reign it in, or lose yourself into it. Hanma loved to play with that thin line between control and the all too easy indulgence of letting go, he relished in it. It had been too long since he had gotten in a proper fistfight that got him going. Nowadays, it was weak people. Cockroaches. Nobodies. They never gave him a fight.

He had once wondered if that was why he had been so interested in her.

Was it because she had fought him, albeit being completely aware that all it took was one wrong move and she could have died? Or was it that even as he was molding her, she struggled against his hold all while reaching out to him? Like a rabbit in boiling water, she tried to jump out onto his arm to save herself. He reveled in those days of having her nails digging inside him, all her claw marks and the feeling of her struggling against him.

That was the appeal, knowing she was probably as insane as he was, as insane as he needed her to be. But he knew better than to bathe in the satisfaction of having made her as she was, because he also knew it would not end well if she continued down that road. Something needed to go differently this time. If not, he would have done all of this for nothing. He couldn’t care less about whatever those two idiots had to say to try to stop him, he had to change things up—even if it meant twisting their carefully-made plans.

Exhaling loudly, Hanma called Sanzu and started the car, already driving off to one of their warehouses.

“What.” Sanzu spat.

“Trail was a bust, the target is dead–”

“Who fucking told you to kill one of ours?” Ah, Hanma enjoyed how easy it was to set Sanzu off, but at this very moment he was pissed at the tone he had used. At the lack of faith he was being shown. Still, he added in a calm manner, “Trust me a little, I got other shit to do. I’m bringing you the idiot that shot him though, I’ll be at warehouse 8 in ten minutes.” Hanma explained.

Huffing a laugh, Sanzu nodded to himself, “Just leave him in one of the crates, Mikey sent me home so I’ll deal with him tomorrow.”

“Mommy sent you home ‘cause you tired? Oh, ain’t that adorable.” Hanma mocked with a beaming smile.

He was met with the end of the call. It did not phase him much as he tossed his phone by the gun and did just as Sanzu had instructed. The tied-up boy had long since fainted, which made it all easier.

The final stop of the night was another warehouse that was further off, away from all the noise in the city, from any eyes or curious minds. It’s where he would go to do his job. Once there, he carried the dead Bonten member’s body out of his trunk and unfolded a tarp, throwing the weight on it.

As he put on his rubber apron, shoes and gloves, he started working.

There was something soothing about making someone disappear. The entire process of erasing fingerprints, liming down teeth, burning the hair. It was fascinating to know that no matter what someone did, it was so easy to turn their existence into nothing. All with simple steps, simple tools that anyone could put their hands on. He had been desensitized to seeing naked dead bodies as he burnt down their clothes and made sure anything that could give away who they were was gone.

He knew when to make sure a body was found, when to plant it someplace where it would only be a matter of time before the cops found it. But this was one of theirs, as Sanzu had put it. And Mikey had made a promise that they would all end as nobodies. Because joining Bonten meant you would live as someone, you would be recognized, you would be feared—ultimately, while doing dirty work. And the cost of it all was that if you died, no one should track anything back to them.

You would start a nobody, live infamously, then disappear like smoke in the wind.

Those were pretty words, but Hanma knew if he was going to go down, he wanted it to be grandiose. No fireworks, no big show, but shit—what he wouldn’t give for some thrilling death.

‘Dying like this is embarrassing.’ He thought to himself. He wouldn’t want to go at the hands of mere insects. If he were to die from the betrayal of one of Bonten’s executives, he knew he’d have won. After all, Mikey had always doubted him—not that he cared much, but he knew. The water they swam in was one of wariness; while others merely dipped their feet in it, Hanma and Mikey had been underwater for years now. They would see one another in its murkiness, but never acknowledge one another.

No one truly understood the two of them. Sanzu stuck by Mikey’s side since he was involved in most of this from their childhoods, but did he truly understand the depth of the man? Of his every single judgment? Hanma did. On many occasions they had met over the years, some at different times, all at important, decisive moments. They sometimes spoke, but it was not until a few years into this mess that Mikey thought it smarter to have Hanma with him, rather than against him.

It had made Hanma laugh then, to see the blond man come up to him, telling him that he knew. The Reaper had never denied anything, nor had he affirmed any statement Mikey had made. He’d only smiled.

“We are the same, I can feel it.” Mikey had said at the time, even now Hanma thought back fondly on the memory. It must have taken him a lot to come up to him, to bend the knee as such, to admit this to the man that had a hand in killing his sister.

Hanma had grinned, dropping the body he was beating up onto the floor, “Took your time, Man-ji-ro.” He spelled out each syllable, all too aware it would fuel the man in front of him.

“It’s Mikey.” He spat. After a moment of looking him over, he continued, “You don’t really care about all this. You have nothing here or anywhere else.”

With feigned hurt, Hanma made a sad face, “Are you saying I’m a loser? A nobody?” He stood up from the man he was straddling for ease of punching and towered over Mikey, his eyes now filled with rage that did not show in his stance.

“Your strength can be put to good use. Your old ways are now fitting to what I’ve built.” 

With slight surprise, Hanma smirked, “Are you begging me to join Toman again?”

“Toman is gone, I won’t defile the good it has brought. I want you to join Bonten.”

With one step back, Hanma opened his arms wide and laughed loudly, “You think reinventing yourself will change the outcome? We both know how it ends, get used to it.” With one swift move, he was face to face with Mikey, now grinning like a maniac, “Their fate is sealed.” It had been so long since Hanma had seen any sort of expression on the blond man, and seeing how his face hardened and jaw clenched, he knew he had touched a nerve.

A split second was all it took for Mikey to try to kick him in the face. He blocked the hit and grabbed his leg, pushing him away, almost making the small man tumble back. “You’ve grown weak, Mikey.” He let go of his leg and kicked him in the stomach. The blond huffed in pain but remained standing, eyes set on the lanky man.

“Being soft won’t get anyone to follow you—you’ll get stepped on in a heartbeat.”

Mikey scoffed, “My statement remains, you have nothing. No one. I’m protecting them–”

Hanma went to punch him in the face, but his fist was held to a stop. He hated that he’d had someone to protect. He had lost his only friend. He would never go that deep in his psyche to think about all of this, but it was true—visiting a grave was not as thrilling as fighting by someone’s side.

Maybe part of him simply wanted people to share his thrills with.

Maybe that’s why he gritted through his teeth in a purely adrenaline-driven state, “Beat me and I’ll join you—no! Tell you what, I’ll even take a tie just cause I know you got soft.” He needed to be stimulated, and Mikey’s arguments were nothing close to valid. He did not care about his goals, he did not care about his people, he needed someone to fight for. Not someone he cared about, but someone that was worthy for the tool he had become, someone that was powerful enough to have him in their ranks.

“Sticking together isn’t enough for you?” Mikey asked, dodging hits while attempting to land some.

“Valhalla was never a friendship gang, I don’t care about any of that shit.” Hanma spat.

It made Mikey smile slightly.

“And we both know what you are, Mikey.” It had meant so much more than those simple words, but he continued, “They don’t see that you’re a manipulative piece of shit, but I do, I know you got more game than what you’re saying.”

And at the time, that darkness that adorned Mikey’s face had sent Hanma on the edge, like electricity coursing through his body. His eyes had widened in excitement, he had almost told him that this was what he wanted, this man now standing in front of him was a man he wanted to follow.

“There, that’s it, that’s your true–” He was interrupted by a punch landing on his face; Hanma had immediately stepped away and spat the blood that had drawn from the inside of his cheek smashing against his teeth. It didn’t make Mikey pause since he went running towards the man at full speed, “Has it affected you that much already?” Hanma asked with a laugh, once more dodging Mikey’s hits.

A laugh that came from his chest soon followed as Hanma went to tackle Mikey who held him still. Both had to let go if one of them wanted to land a hit; they took a step back and Hanma, in a crazed-haze, grinned, “How many did you do? I’m barely 3, maybe 4 in? But you…” He huffed in amazement, “You’re this fucked up… what is it, 10 now?”

Mikey didn’t budge, he stood still.

“More? Less? Oh, more.” Utter disbelief laced his chuckle, “And this is the one you wanna stay in, huh?” As if he had struck a nerve once more, Mikey went for him again, kicking him in the face. Hanma leaned away, almost falling, but he looked back at the blond with his smile never leaving his face. “You know what, sure. My conditions are the same, but now I’m intrigued. Can’t wait to discover what this one has that the others don’t!” He exclaimed in elation.

He then gave a mischievous smile at Mikey, “If I’m feeling like it, who knows,” He shrugged, “I might fuck around, show you that their happiness is actually relying on one thing.” He spelled out the last two words, his index raised as emphasis. He then pointed it at himself, “Me.”

With a knowing smile, he exhaled, “Anyway, I got all night.”

And they had indeed fought through the entire night. It did end in a tie, not that any of them remembered. It had been so long ago, their memories long since filled by many experiences.

All of this had led to Hanma being in this position, which he never truly hated. He never worked well in a team, taking care of bodies meant he could make sure the job was done and he didn’t have to rely on any of these fuckers. They relied on him. He could mess things up and put it all on them, not that he would. He couldn’t care less.

Wiping some sweat from his forehead, he finished putting all the body parts in acid—all he had to do was let time do its thing, he could go home and shower while this was being done. He made sure to text the guy responsible for throwing this shit away then tossed his equipment in a bag, taking it with him on the way out.

With his phone still out, he checked the time and exhaled, she better have replied.

When he saw no reply had come from her, he thought of the only person she could be with.

He called Sanzu again, the man picking up in annoyance, “What?”

“Is she at your place?”

“For fuck’s sake, did you lose her? How far could she–” He took a deep breath, “I’ll call and see.”

Hanma liked those kinds of conversations—short, efficient, practical. It took Sanzu two minutes to reply, and yet, hours in and his girl still hadn’t—once he knew she was at the man’s place, it’s as if she was taunting him, as if she knew he had been made aware of her location.

His phone dinged with a text from her, an attachment. Of course.

The moment he saw the picture of her bruised body—fresh bruises, at that—he was becoming enraged. He couldn’t care less about those he had brought onto her, it showed she was his; hell, he took pride in the marks from their fun time, but the ones on her forearms and throat weren’t his. He called her immediately. As he watched the screen with expectation, his ire dissipated and it was replaced with simple annoyance.

She did not pick up.

“Whatever, I got other shit to do.” If she wanted to play that game of chase, he would make her wait for it. She could be patient and let him get home, shower and sleep; in the end, she was at Sanzu’s and while the man could be a shithead at times, he knew he could trust him the most, for what it was worth. So Hanma drove home.

Upon reaching his place, the door was wide open and unlocked, the place a mess. He dropped his bag and lit a cigarette between his teeth, “She wasn’t lying, huh.” He walked around the place, kicking stuff over, trying to understand what had happened exactly. When he saw the cable of the lamp detached, he grinned, “That’s my girl.” He picked it up and could see teeth marks on it, “Damn man,” He addressed the bagged, dead body, “Needed a chew toy or something?” He tossed the cable on the bags and locked his door, “Don’t move, ‘kay? I’ll get the shit.”

Instead of being extra careful as he had earlier, he grabbed a bigger bag and shoved the man in, making sure nothing was leaking. He dropped it outside his apartment door and texted Mikey.

H.: Shibata at my place, bait? Threat? Come pick up.

M.: 👍

Too many words and the blond wouldn’t read, all Hanma did was tell him he had resources. They could do a lot with a dead Shibata member, whether they wanted Hanma to get rid of it tomorrow or use it as a threat, he truly didn’t care as long as it got out of his way. He didn’t want a decomposing body in his living room. The stench of drying blood was far enough.

Once the text was done, he went and showered.

He realized it was much faster without his girl around, without having to calm her, to talk to her over and over so she wouldn’t get reminded of whatever it was that got her so traumatized. Sometimes he thought it could have been their night out in the cemetery in their early days, but it couldn’t have been that—the rain was cold, the shower wasn’t. Plus, she had always been keen on breakdowns in showers, maybe it was just an old thing. Ultimately, it was probably not that deep.

Considering the last message he had received from her was a picture of herself in Sanzu’s bathroom, he assumed she’d be safe. If anything, he’ll get a call from her in the middle of the night telling him she wanted to get home and he’ll go get her, but if she wanted to stay there she was more than welcome. It meant he could get a restful night's sleep.

Although, it seemed it was harder to fall asleep without her weight beside him. He didn’t really know if that was the reason, he wasn’t aware he had gotten used to her presence—but he had. All he did was twist and turn in his sleep, not even needing to pull the blanket over himself since she wasn’t there to pull it to her side.

He had come back late, gone to bed even later, and with hours upon hours of tossing in bed, he finally sat up and looked at the alarm by his bed.

Seeing it was 7 in the morning, he threw the blanket over and got up, “Headache over headache, this fucking woman.” He walked to his wardrobe and grabbed a loose pair of sweatpants with an even looser shirt since he wasn’t planning on doing shit today except for teaching her some common sense. Or making her look for a new place, his mind was too foggy and exhausted to do it, not to mention it would keep her busy.

With a sigh, he made himself some instant noodles and slurped them so fast that if one blinked, they would have thought they’d disappeared. Fancy food was fun as a one time thing here and there, but there was nothing like a quick meal, he wasn’t gonna get into all that rich people shit. He only ever got this place so the other executives stopped complaining about the reputation it would give them, if people knew one of Bonten’s most important people lived in a ‘dump’, as they called it. He never even made this place his place, no trinkets, no pictures, nothing—all he had were his clothes, some papers in some drawers and that was it. He was ready to leave at any time.

This was all temporary, he knew to remember. Everything could change, whether he wanted to or not.

So why would he settle? He was all too aware of the target on his head every day of his life amidst those people. Not being liked was one thing, knowing one wrong move could be a valid argument to get him considered a traitor was another. And now he couldn’t risk that. He was never going to voice those thoughts that sometimes plagued his mind, but risking his life for stupid mistakes now meant risking hers and he had put too much work into shaping her into who she was to make it all go down the drain.

Once he was done eating, he rinsed his bowl and left it in the sink before taking a proper look at the room he had come home to late in the night hours. Broken table, tipped over couch, hole in the wall—this one was more annoying just cause he was renting this place. There was no way he would buy anything, that was maybe Koko’s shit, not his.

Running his thumb over the hole, he felt there was still a bullet lodged in it and grabbed a knife to pluck it out, “Now that’s interesting…” He hummed to himself before bringing it under the light of the counter in the kitchen, “Might tell us more of who the fuck you are…” He trailed off, grabbing a universal clamp from the drawer as he opened the bullet to see its insides. While he disliked guns and was prone to not using them if he could, he still went out of his way to learn about them—not only to learn their efficiency, that is if Mikey ever forced him to use one, but above all because if the shooter was smart enough, or experienced enough, they would make their own bullets. For the weight, the speed, everything.

And this very bullet on his counter was homemade.

It had whatever that asshole’s signature was; with a bit of brute force, he managed to open the shell and spilled out all the powder from it. He was pleasantly surprised to see something else amidst the dark dust that painted his counter, “Now what do we have here?” Bringing it closer to his eye, he smirked. This was a first.

It was the first time he had had someone attempting to bug his apartment, and in the worst possible manner too. The bug in his hand was small enough to fit in a sniper cartridge, which admittedly was not an amazing feat, but a creative one for sure.

“Kinda dumb if you ask me, but we appreciate the attempt, bye.” Then he crushed the bug with the pliers he used to open the cartridge and tossed it in a bowl, adding some oil and throwing in a match only to watch the small fire that had set burn the plastic and metal away. If his measures were too extreme, Hanma didn’t care. All he cared about was that it was thorough, he wouldn’t want to let them get the upper hand just because he was not meticulous enough.

In other words, better safe than sorry.

He had watched the plastic melt slowly, his brain giving him nothing but the pure elation of getting them at their own game. Hanma had woken up—if he had even slept that night—in a bad mood, but this had him reeling, excited. The games this foolish gang was playing were surely going to entertain him. 

When the fire had died out, he poured some water in the bowl and tossed it back in the sink.

He’d call whatever losers were available for cleaning duty and get his place fixed the best he could, until then he had to get his girl back from the crackhead’s den. Throwing on his jacket, he grabbed his keys and pack of cigarettes and left his place—locking it seemed futile now, so he left it as it was and got to his car without much worry.

Hanma never truly ventured into deep thinking, not more than needed because it was a rabbit hole that could swallow you hole—something his girl had yet to understand. But he did notice his thoughts diverted back to her more often than necessary. Even on solo errands, he would sometimes just text her, see what she was up to, and check that none of the Haitanis had done anything.

While he knew he could take on both the brothers without breaking a sweat would it not be considered treason, he never really trusted Ran. Whatever that bastard set his eyes on could never last. Some would argue that if other people looked at your partner it meant they were attractive, but Ran’s eyes were void of all that emotional shit. He saw good in people. Everyone loved to play abstraction, to ignore that the brothel owner started his ascension amidst the ranks through one big business.

Human trafficking.

Sure, Hanma was never going to help any of those people, and he could also ignore all the shady shit—hell, he killed people for a living. What kind of hypocritical man would he be to judge whatever any of them were doing? And above all, he never gave much thought about it all as it was, but seeing Ran’s eyes settle on her had him boiling up with rage, just because he knew the man saw the possibility of sellable goods. That was a certainty when almost two years ago the bastard had visited her at her place and tried to have his way with her. Hanma was gripping his steering wheel tightly, huffing a short laugh to himself, “He could have never taken care of you, not the way I am…”

Speaking to himself was embarrassing, he knew that, but who else would understand him? He was not crying about it, he was not complaining either, it was not that important. All he knew was that only one person ever scraped the surface of understanding him before her, only one person had managed to graze the way his brain functioned—and now, even if his sole friend was gone, he had her. 

Losing her was not an option. He knew it was a weak spot, but he also knew he had grown somewhat attached to her presence, and there was nothing he could do about it. What Mikey had said years ago now played too big a part in this entire situation, things had changed compared to that night the smaller man had come begging for him to join Bonten. Hanma didn’t like the new side she had brought on that much, it had gotten too out of control for his liking. 

He had to stir her back to her lane or shit would blow up.

And he was not the only one aware of that—when he knocked on Sanzu’s apartment door, he heard something falling, then heavy footsteps before the door was unlocked and opened wide. Hanma threw the pink-haired man a mocking smile as he rose an eyebrow, “You look like shit, had a fight with your girl–”

“I’m holding back from fighting yours, so get your ass inside and take her out of here.” Sanzu spat, pissed off. Tiredness was written all over his face, and Hanma understood why when he saw the single pillow and blanket over the couch; the man clearly had slept there through the night. Sanzu was not known to be stoic, he would wear his emotions on his sleeve without much fear, but the one most people had seen him wear was one of devotion. He was somewhat keen on extremes, why be loyal to Mikey if he could devote his life to him? Why love Shiho if he could be one with her? Their lives were now entangled in more ways than one, somehow like Hanma’s and hers were.

Hanma looked at the scarred man, “She was here for just one night, it can’t be that bad.” He laughed.

“I was this close to gagging her in her fucking sleep.” He complained, closing the door behind Hanma. While the host had greeted him with a sort of rush, he still guided him to the kitchen—the one room that was at the opposite side of the bedroom. Sanzu grabbed himself a cup full of coffee as he took a gulp, “I would’ve heard from Shiho if your girl’s had nightmares before, which means they just started, right? I’m not her doctor and frankly I couldn’t care less—but I know the tells.” He was solemn, and while it was not rare to see him serious, he was now meeting Hanma’s gaze for some untold understanding.

The taller man poured himself a cup; he never really liked the taste, but he needed something to wake him up. The lack of errands today meant a lack of adrenaline coursing through his veins. “It’s under control.” He thought, all too aware to not let slip anything Sanzu could use.

He only blinked as the ceramic cup that once was in the pink-haired man’s hand was set on the counter with a loud clatter, that now free hand grabbing Hanma by the collar, “Bullshit! Fucking bullshit, I don’t have to explain the domino effect of your actions, do I?!”

Oh, this was personal. The tweaks he was planning on doing meant changing what Sanzu had worked on with his master. Mad Dog was more of a scared puppy than anything right now.

Hanma kept his cool and grinned mockingly at the man desperately trying to shake some sense into him, “I told him I might fuck around at some point,” He paused and gripped the back of the man’s hair, “Now is the point.” He gritted through his teeth.

When Sanzu let go, Hanma did too.

“You’re fucking insane, we know what this can do to someone,” He waved his hands in front of him, “All that shit!” He was distraught, his speech much faster than usual, less composed than how it would be, were he by Mikey’s side. Taking a few more sips of his coffee, he looked back at Hanma, “It’s starting for her. And there’s nothing you’ll be able to do about it if you keep going out of your way to–”

Hanma scoffed, “She’s been having nightmares since killing her stupid friend, she’s fine.”

“I’m not a fucking idiot, I know she’s yours the way I’m Mikey’s. I know the effects more than you fucking would, stop your bullshit right now or–”

“Or what? Or your plans with Mikey will go off the rails? I really couldn’t care less. You know it’s not gonna change much. If anything, it could be good for you.” Hanma smirked before theatrically hitting the heel of his hand to the side of his head, “Ah, shit! Nah, my bad, it’ll only really change the way it happened, I’ll make sure not to mess up your plans too much! That’s safe, don’t worry.” A somber look dawned on the host; he clenched his teeth and gripped the other man’s collar once more to face him from up close, “Get her and get out.”

Hanma raised both his hands in comical defense, “Don’t mind if I do, this place reeks like a druggie den.” He teased, making Sanzu call out in offense that still, somehow, he kept his place cleaner than any of theirs, adding that Hanma should stop being a dick. As the taller man opened the door to the bedroom and was faced with the two women sleeping comfortably on the bed, he glanced at his girl, then Sanzu’s before grabbing the latter’s ankle and dragging her out.

She woke up with a yelp as she caught herself with her arms, avoiding her head from hitting the bed frame, “Fuck, what the fuck—what are you doing?!”

“Get out.”

Her eyes widened as she scrambled to her feet and rushed out of the room. 

Watching her leave, Hanma felt no ounce of regret upon treating her as he did. He had never understood why Sanzu liked her. She was all too lively and addiction-prone clearly was not something he looked for in his girl. They had found themselves, two sad-looking people, with just as sad prospects in life. He sometimes wondered if she knew she could never come close to the importance Mikey had to Sanzu, it was not his place to tell her, and if she knew then it only made her even more ridiculous.

Looking back at his girl, Hanma sat on the side of the bed and almost smiled at how peaceful she looked. Not from liking to see her as such, but from knowing how fast this expression would fall from her face when she would open her eyes.

He caressed the side of her cheek with the back of his hand, “Wakey wakey.” He said mockingly. She stirred in her sleep but did not react much from how gentle his tone was. Instead of repeating himself, he gripped her jaw tight and turned her head to him, “I said wake the fuck up.” Her eyes widened in shock.

Just like he wanted them.

She tried to sit up, her arms already at her sides but he tutted her and straddled her lap, “Don’t panic like that, you wanted this, right?” He cooed, his thumb brushing gently over her skin. He couldn’t help but smile to himself at the sight before leaning in and ghosting his lips over her, “Why are you sobbing already? They’ll hear you, is that what you want?”

As if those were magic words, he felt her kiss him in desperation, “I can be quiet.” Her hands stumbled automatically trying to unbutton his shirt only to feel fabric; confused, she looked down and noticed he was wearing a simple shirt, “Take off your jacket.” She breathed out, making Hanma laugh as he pushed her deeper into the bed, “Think for a second and repeat those words.” Watching her think of what she did wrong, he saw her gaze settle on something behind him before back to him, “I’m sorry, please take it off, I need–”

“You need to keep your mouth shut, I’ll do the talking.”

She nodded, he slowly unbuttoned her pajamas and exposed her chest and stomach before pressing his thumb into the fresh bruises, “Did you think it was smart to show these to me?” It only made her laugh breathlessly as she gripped his hand tight and pressed it further into her skin, “It got me excited to no fucking end.” She gritted through her teeth, pained, aroused—two familiar feelings that should only rarely mix, and yet had ended up being the only match for her to get off. 

Looking down at her, Hanma couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiasm she was giving him. He wanted to mark her as his even if no one would see it. They were not allowed to see all of it, but he would know that the way he had branded her was enough to deter anyone who would even catch a glimpse of her. 

Only he could want her, she was his perfect fit.

Chuckling without a sound, he kissed her stomach and looked up at her, “D’ya want me to fuck you right here?” He kissed up her chest before stopping to her lips, “Right now?” 

She nodded, kissing him all too aggressively, her teeth clashing against his before digging into his lips, “Yeah.” Her eyes were distant, looking to the side, immediately closing as she resumed kissing him. He would have given her whatever she wanted had she not needed to be disciplined for acting out for no reason. Hanma needed to exercise some restraint as he pulled her head back by gripping her scalp tight, “I’m more of a taker than a giver, it must suck, huh?” Just like that, he threw her back on the bed, a moan escaping her lips at the burning pain on her scalp. Hanma stood up and towered over her laying form, enjoying all too much the sight of his girl so vulnerable, “Do you think you’re smart, doll?”

Her heart stopped, she looked at him with wide eyes, prey eyes.

His toothy grin showed, “So we both agree you were fucking stupid for running outta the house, yeah?”

She nodded silently.

“Hey, hey,” He cooed softly, his hand back to her chin as he lifted it forcefully, “Fucking words.”

“Yes. I needed you, you weren’t there.”

He smiled, “So you thought…?”

Her gaze avoided his for a second as her face heated up, soon she whispered back, “I thought it’d make you come–”

“Come crawling back to you?” He inquired, his head tilted to the side mockingly, “Oh doll, this,” He pointed at the both of them, “This isn’t what this is. You really thought you would have me begging?” He continued, pausing for dramatic effect as his hand splayed on her cheek, cradling her face. It was always so good to him to see her lean into his touch. He knew he still had her when she would, he knew she was still desperately in need of him for reassurance. Gently, her hand placed on his, he smiled sweetly.

As she looked up at him with those doe eyes she thought would have him swooning, he knew she was going to do something she would regret. Her head leaned into his chest as her hands left his and hooked onto the waistband of his pants, “I can make you feel good, I’m sorry for stressing you out.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and his hand flew to her throat before slamming her to the bed, “Now’s not the time, now’s not fun.” He gritted through his teeth, his thumb digging under her chin painfully, “I need you to understand how fucking reckless that was.”

She grinned, “Were you worried?”

His mouth opened only slightly, hidden behind his scoff, “Less words it is—and not one fucking sound.” As he said so, he pushed her panties aside and slid in a few fingers, “There, there now I got you focused, huh?” He breathed out, barely above a whisper.

Seeing her eyes manically fly to the door had him hard but he wasn’t going to fuck her here, still could he enjoy her panic. What if they got caught? Then he could fuck her in front of them—he needed to focus. “Bad guy in the house.” He started, his fingers thrusting in and out of her just how she liked it, just enough to have her panting with her mouth wide open behind her hand, “Bad guy dead. Fight noisy!” One hard thrust, “People curious!” He made a fake sad face, more pouting mockingly than anything, “People call pigs, pigs come to the house to see dead body! Not good, not good.”

He then pauses and looks at her as if he had an enlightenment, “If you were there, you would not let pigs in! Dead body not caught.” He then frowns again, his fingers still inside her as he watches her try to make him fuck her, her hand gripping his wrist to have him thrust again, “You even fucking–” he started thrusting back inside her with much more force, “You even fucking walked outta there in the open knowing there was a fucking sniper, how braindead can you be? Huh?” He felt her tightening around him and pulled out immediately, placing her panties back in position as he dried his fingers on her open shirt, “Ya needa learn to think, cause I won’t always be there.”

She suddenly sat up, buttoning her shirt, “What do you mean? Are you—are you leaving me?”

He gave her a look that said she was insane, but inside he was in awe at how fast she was to come to that conclusion, “You’re a big girl, Mikey will send you on shit alone’s what I mean.”

It dawned on her. A soft ‘oh’ escaped her lips in realization, she did not know what to say. Instead of waiting for her reply, he stood up—she immediately took his hands in hers. She seemed completely different, as if their session was enough to clear her mind. A short laugh escaped her lips as she placed his hands on her hips, “I messed up, I’m sorry. You’re right.” looking down, she huffed another laugh, “I was dazed, I really… I don’t know what I thought. Shit, it’s embarrassing,” When she finally looked back at him, he felt the air change but did not pay any mind. Instead, he stared intently, “The apartment isn’t safe anymore, is it?” These were the first coherent words that were directed at him.

Hanma nodded, “Yeah, we gotta move out. It’ll be fast, we don’t have much to take from there anyway.”

While they were making their way to the door, it suddenly burst open with Sanzu frowning as he glared at the two of them, “Both of you, out.” Despite his visible ire, he’d still let them finish their discussion before kicking them out. Ever the polite son of a bitch. He let the woman walk out first and intercepted Hanma by the collar, “And don’t you fucking disrespect my girl under my own damn roof, is that clear?” He gritted through his teeth. It was one thing to give The Reaper private time to talk with his woman, but boundaries and respect needed to be set—in general, as a concept Hanma did not seem to abide by much, but also as something that should have been given to him for the sake of how long they had known each other. The constant talking-down of Shiho was something the pink-haired man never thought he would grow to despise almost as much as he did when someone disrespected Mikey.

Looking up at the maniac he was gripping tight, Sanzu felt anger boil in the pit of his stomach and immediately let go of Hanma, pushing him as he did so before pointing at the door. The taller man made sure to nudge the scarred one on the way, “Sure thing, enjoy your days together–” He covered his mouth mockingly, “Day. My bad!”

This one was earned. The punch Hanma received from Sanzu was deserved. It was fast, it was sudden and unexpected to both women in the room, but Hanma only brought his fingers to his cut lip with a half-grin, “Struck a nerve?” He asked teasingly.

Instead of replying, Sanzu reached for his katana—he knew he was not planning on using it, but Hanma raised both of his hands in theatrical defense, “Bit dramatic, aren’t we? We’re leaving, don’t worry.”

“Get your act together soon, we both know it won’t end well if you keep that shit up.”

Those words left the two women confused, the one by the door made a mental note to ask Hanma about it once they were out, but she was quick to forget when he mentioned moving out again. Instead, they got to the car and as she fastened her seatbelt, she hummed, “To be honest, I think it’ll be good to leave your place, not only is it super elevated–”

“Yeah, to avoid break-ins, but clearly that didn’t work.”

She gave him a playful glare, “But also, your house is so cold it kinda feels spooky at times, you know?”

Hanma laughed, “Oh yeah, it’s haunted.” He said jokingly, unaware of how close he was to the truth, “Maybe it’s gotta do with the dead doorman, or the girl you killed in the hall. They’re visiting us or something.” He added, laughing even more—the woman next to him joined a bit more shyly, her eyes stuck on the rear-view mirror before focusing on her phone.

“You can look shit up for the new place, I couldn’t care less where we’re moving.” He said more calmly now as his eyes remained on the road. Sure, his place was a mess, but it was just material possessions. Bonten could cover whatever expenses he could have, but he’d rather let Koko deal with whatever finance shit needed to be dealt with. “Well, I don’t care either, as long as I’m with you.”

“Babe, just look up whatever, okay? I’ll try have Koko rush shit today or tomorrow so we can move out fast.” He threw her a glance before placing his hand on her thigh. He fought with himself for a moment, should he say those words or not? They were the truth if they were to come out, but he didn’t like saying them—at the same time, she went through shit and she did pull through quite well.

His grip tightened, “You didn’t do as bad as I thought you would last night. We’ll work on your…” He raised a brow, “Emotional instability, I guess? Did he start the fight?”

She shook her head, “No, he—he poked at me, he mocked me and disrespected me so I… ran to him and–”

Hanma patted her thigh, holding back a growing smile, “Yeah, okay, you went off like a ticking bomb, that’s fine. Don’t think Mikey will like it much–” He felt her tense. She made sure to hide how she feared that statement of his, because if Mikey knew she wasn’t the best she could be, he could throw her out. In the split second this happened, Hanma continued, “But he won’t know if you fix that attitude, right?”

She grabbed his hand and turned to face him while he drove, “Maybe if he hadn’t been a fucking dick, I wouldn’t have killed him.”

“Don’t think I’ve killed the Haitanis yet, did I?” Hanma stated. 

She went silent and sat back down properly, now lost in thought, “You’re right. I’ll try to be more like you—though I think we could still take care of the Haitanis.” She commented, replying to a text she had received from Shiho in the meantime. Her words had made Hanma huff a laugh, “We? Don’t think you could take them on, babe.”

It was her turn to raise a brow as she looked at him with a smirk, “I think I almost did once, don’t you remember?”

“We’re better off forgetting, ya were insane then.” He shook his head shortly, laughing under his breath, “My girl drugging the Ran Haitani, that was something I never thought would happen ‘til it did.”

When she placed her hands on his thighs, about to ask him if it had turned him on, the car stopped as they parked in front of their building. Hanma grabbed her chin and made her look up, tutting her, “Were you ‘bout to suck my dick while I was driving?”

“If you had let me, yeah.”

It would’ve been a lie if he’d said that he hadn’t considered letting her do it right then or if he’d said he hadn’t considered starting the car again just for the thrill of her mouth around his cock while he was speeding on a highway. Instead, he roughly pulled her lower lip down with his thumb, “Should have been faster, now we’re both missing out.” He told her, the closeness had her body heating up in seconds. It always amazed her how cars brought such intimacy with ease and she enjoyed it. “We got shit to do today, come on.” Hanma let go of her without throwing her a second glance, unaware of the emotions that were fighting inside her head. Should she feel hurt he hadn’t let her? Or should she feel proud that there was some sprinkle of hurt in his eyes from not having time for fun like this?

Her thoughts did not matter, once they got to the apartment, she changed to something more adequate for the day to come.

“Koko doesn’t do real estate, but he does handle the money shit. Mocchi’s the one we gotta go to for a new place.” Hanma stated once he leaned by the door of the bedroom after checking around the place for anyone that could have sneaked in, “I already contacted both, so we gotta get to the big guy’s company in a bit, it gives us time to…” He shrugged, bringing a cigarette to his lips, “Work on whatever got you worked up enough that you had to kill the guy, right?”

Looking right into the wardrobe, she laughed, “You should also get changed, you’re too casual for that–”

“Are you ignoring me right now?”

“It’s kind of Bonten-related, you wouldn’t want them to think you’re underdressed and disrespectful.” She was speaking faster and faster, Hanma grabbed her hands from the clothes she was looking through and let go immediately when he saw her mouth turn into a thin line as her words came to a halt.

“What the hell was that?” He asked, getting the cigarette away from his mouth as he puffed out the smoke and looked down at her with his jaw clenched, so easily pissed off from something so simple.

She sighed, “Am I allowed to–” she paused, the words she wanted to let out would raise suspicions, it would have him worried, she couldn’t have that. Instead, she met his eyes and smiled, “I’m just nervous, it feels like it’s my fault we need to get a new place—they already don’t like me that much, you know? Not that I care anymore, but I know it’s not gonna do any good if they know–”

Smirking, Hanma brought the cigarette back to his lips, took a drag and blew the smoke in her face, “Do I look like a fucking snitch, doll?” She needed reassurance, he could see it, and if he could not tell her it would be alright—not only because it could never be a sure thing, but also because shit could also go bad at any point—he could still smooth-talk. Ghosting his lips over hers, he felt her hold her breath as it hitched in her throat, “It ain’t a lie to tell ‘em those Shibata assholes broke in and fucked shit up,” He whispered before scoffing a laugh, head tilted, teasing her for a kiss, “Yeah, you broke a lamp and shit, but the place ain’t safe no matter what. Broken furniture or not, they know where we are.” His hand that held the cigarette between two fingers tilted her head slightly back.

He then kissed her tenderly. Her heart swooned but her mind scratched like a disk. His eyes measured as his hands manipulated.

Something felt off, they both knew it.

He was determined to fix the mess he had created, no matter the cost.

She was determined to fit in his world, no matter what.

Without even speaking it, they both agreed they could not worry the other, so they smiled with that same passion they used to have. She was the first one to speak, “If you wanna know, he disrespected me for the woman I was and I couldn’t tolerate that.” She laughed and pushed Hanma playfully, “I had to show him I was not helpless and stupid.”

Turning around to find some clothes, she said under her breath, “You made me who I am today,” She couldn’t be more right, Hanma thought with a short smile to himself, “I couldn’t let him insult your work, could I?” She continued. It had made him hum in satisfaction as he crushed the cigarette in the ashtray by the bed and joined her again to grab a specific item he liked and hand it to her, “Should I dress up my pretty doll today then?”

Smirking, she closed the wardrobe and grabbed what he had given her, pressing it to her chest as she met his gaze playfully, “Aren’t we domestic like this?” Her hand slid over his chest slowly, he kept his mouth shut watching her as her hand wrapped around his throat and her thumb caressed his jawline, “New place calls for celebration right?” She continued, kissing down his jaw before finally whispering, “So pick the outfit you wanna fuck me in once we get there, I’ll pick yours.”

“Doll, if I pick your outfit I can’t promise I won’t fuck you right now.”

She hooked her finger to the collar of his t-shirt and pulled down, laughing slightly, “Restraints are hot–” She turned around, “I mean, restraint is hot. We’ll see how long you last, and once we get our new place…” She trailed off, picking her favorite suit of Hanma’s, handing it to him, “We’ll have to baptize every fucking room, right?”

Smiling with mischievousness, Hanma hung the suit on the wardrobe door and grabbed some clothes of hers too, the bodysuit he had handed her moments ago in hand, “I’ll know you have that underneath, they don’t need to, though.”

Pouting mockingly, she put on the lingerie slowly, “But it’s so cute, you sure you don’t want them to see it?” 

Handing her the shirt, she put it on and buttoned it just enough to let the lace peek. She grabbed the pants and tucked the shirt in, then slid her vest on, “Like a mini you, except one of us is much more fuckable right now.” She teased, nodding at the suit hanging on the door.

Hanma did not move and looked down at her with a certain hunger in his eyes while tossing his shirt and pants aside. His eyes never left hers while he mimicked her actions, getting dressed. She enjoyed the sight more than she would admit; even if she had barely gotten a taste of domesticity all these years, considering the situation they were in, she liked the little she could get of it.

Once he was dressed, he grabbed her collar with a certain delicacy, then his deft fingers buttoned one more button, “I said, they don’t see it.”

“But then how am I supposed to work you up?” She pleaded teasingly as she undid the button, “Much more fun like that.”

Shaking his head, Hanma turned around and huffed a dry laugh, “Your funeral, let’s go.” He grabbed his shoes on the way, letting her hurry behind him with hers. It felt like the good old days to act like this, but the woman could not ignore the fact that she was never alone. No matter how hard she tried, she would come back.

Maybe there could be a way to get rid of her for good.

“By the way, don’t mention Mocchi’s divorce, it’s hard on the guy.”

Humming softly, she hurried and walked past him, “I genuinely couldn’t care less, come on, I’m excited now!”

Maybe he didn’t mess up that much, Hanma thought to himself as he watched her happily walk in front of him.

[Part 4]

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 46: Fal Dara

Another day, another spoiler warning. Do not read this reread if you don't want the entirety of Wheel of Time to be spoiled for you. The revelation that the seven seals are the fragments of Lews Therin's childhood sled Rosamund needs to be experienced within the text itself, not blabbed on some internet blog. Block the tags and move on!

This chapter has the tree at night icon, which is interesting since this chapter takes place in the day and the journey the heroes undergo isn't the main thrust of the chapter. Perhaps it reflects Fain? Or maybe Jordan couldn't think of a good fit for this chapter but didn't want to make up a whole new icon just for one single one.

Rand shook his head. Trees bursting? And that was during an ordinary winter. What must this winter have been like? Surely like nothing he could imagine.

As a young lad growing up in Alaska, I could only laugh at Rand's naivety. Really, there were almost no winter scenes that could impress me in fantasy worlds. Shit's cold, y'all.

“Curtains.” Perrin chuckled. He immediately wiped the smile off his face when the two women raised their eyebrows at him. “Oh, I agree with you. There wasn’t enough rust on that scythe for any more than a week in the open. You should have seen that, Mat. Even if you missed the curtains.”

Perrin, don't mock Egwene for having pretty decent Sherlock Holmes deductions. You can't even hide your supernatural powers from everyone else. Why is the people ta'veren so bad at subterfuge?

“So many?” Perrin said. “The stories say the Green Man is hard to find, and no one can find him twice.”

When I first read this bit, I was immediately put in mind of The Neverending Story's Childlike Empress, who (at least in the books) operates on similar rules. More on that in a moment.

If you boys . . . you men, can do what has to be done when you’d rather do almost anything else, why do you think I will do less? Or Egwene?

Isn't Nynaeve wonderful? She's got every reason to beat Rand over the head with a stick for this suggestion - and let's be real, that's absolutely her habit - but instead she sticks with complimenting Rand and insisting at staying by his side.

“I only danced with Aram, Rand,” she said softly, not looking at him. “You wouldn’t hold it against me, dancing with somebody I will never see again, would you?”

Was Egwene being super possessive about all of this because she thought Rand would behave the same way? Just trying to beat him to the punch because he's been so consistently shitty during this adventure? It seems like a better explanation for her behavior than anything else, and lets us move past this, right? We're never bringing this up again book, RIGHT????? PLEASE?

It's such an annoying subplot...

A number of others shouted, “Glory to the Builders!” and, “Kiserai ti Wansho!” Loial looked surprised, then a broad smile split his face and he waved to the guards.

Poor Loial, wasting all of his time in the south where people think everything interesting is all snarks and grumpkins instead of going to the North where the people know that all the myths are true. The Ogier stoneworking probably has done more to forestall the fall of the west than any specific person.

From one of the gate towers an armored man called down, “Welcome, Dai Shan.” Another shouted to the inside of the fortress, “The Golden Crane! The Golden Crane!”

This chapter is also our first taste of just how wildly popular Lan is in the Borderlands. It's probable that he gets the most love here in Shienar, since presumably most of the diaspora ended up here and the countries used to be neighbors, but he gets plenty of respect everywhere else too. It's a shame his relationship with his people and supporters is so tenuous at this point.

“Things are never as bad as they appear, Dai Shan. A little worse than usual this year, that is all. The raids continued through the winter, even in the hardest of it. But the raiding was no worse than anywhere else along the Border. They still come in the night, but what else can be expected in the spring, if this can be called spring. Scouts return from the Blight—those who do come back—with news of Trolloc camps. Always fresh news of more camps. But we will meet them at Tarwin’s Gap, Dai Shan, and turn them back as we always have.”

Good on Ingtar for being so optimistic. Shame it's all a damned lie and he genuinely thinks that it's only a matter of time before the Trollocs finally overwhelm humankind and drive them to extinction. It makes him a rather funny contrast to Lan, who as we've established is not remotely optimistic about anything but is completely faithful in his service to the Light.

“Ninte calichniye no domashita, Agelmar Dai Shan,” Moiraine replied formally, but with a note in her voice that said they were old friends.

The sheer amount of Old Tongue being thrown at us in this segment is a bit annoying because most of it is just nonsense at this point. (And really later on too.)

I am so sad that we'll never get to know how Moiraine and Agelmar became old friends. They must have crossed paths many times in her twenty year search for such a relationship, which makes me wonder: why? What Black Ajah schemes was Moiraine trying to thwart? It's still a damn shame we never got the other two prequel novels.

Agelmar hesitated, pulling a map from the tangle on the table. He stared unseeing at the map for a moment, then tossed it back. “When we ride to the Gap,” he said quietly, “the people will be sent south to Fal Moran. Perhaps the capital can hold. Peace, it must. Something must hold.”

I have to note though that Jordan's having the Borderlands in this kind of state so early on in the novels really hurt the overall momentum of the story. In just a few books - a year and a half of in-universe time - the Blight will be unnaturally quiet and the monarchs of the land utterly derelict in their duties. The later quiet does make a good deal of sense (the Shadow is holding everything it has back for the Last Battle), but the overall arc isn't strong as a result and the monarchs look incredibly stupid for having forgotten what just happened and being unable to connect the dots even as Maradon comes under siege.

When he raised his head his blue eyes burned with a fierce light, but his voice was calm again, and flat. “I am a Warder, Agelmar.” His sharp gaze slid across Rand and Mat and Perrin to Moiraine. “At first light I ride to the Blight.”

In a way, this moment must be something of Lan's last temptation. He's offered what he wants, a suicidal but honorable battle in the Blight. Further, from here on out, his path is set: Moiraine arranges for him to be handed him off to Myrelle next book so there's no way for him to truly leave, and then of course Nynaeve plays interception and keeps him alive until the end. For all the tragedy of Lan's upbringing, it is good he never gave way to this option and that he doesn't now; all he would have accomplished is the loss of too many good fighters in battles that didn't matter.

Rand abruptly realized the Lord of Fal Dara assumed it was Nynaeve and Egwene who with Moiraine would fight against the Dark One. It was natural. That sort of struggle meant using the One Power, and that meant women. That sort of struggle means using the Power. He tucked his thumbs behind his sword belt and gripped the buckle hard to keep his hands from shaking.

I like how subtle Jordan has been about Rand's firm denial about what's happening to him. Even here, it's not immediately apparent that he's forcing down the revelation about what Moiraine's quest means.

“You have seen the Green Man, Moiraine Sedai?” The Lord of Fal Dara sounded impressed, but in the next breath he frowned. “But if you have already met him once. . . .” “Need is the key,” Moiraine said softly, “and there can be no greater need than mine. Than ours. And I have something those other seekers have not.”

The exact mechanics of how Moiraine pulls this off are technically obscure - she's probably right about need, but surely there's more to it than that since the Green Man decides and apparently never helped anyone twice before but...

There was a reason I mentioned the Childlike Empress, whose "once per customer" logic had a single, strange loophole. Visitors from our world were able to see her as many times as they wished, because each time was the first time. I can't help but wonder if Rand's ta'veren made it so that to the Green Man and his magic, something like this was going on as the party approached.

“The Trolloc Wars left nothing but memories, Loial, son of Arent, and people to build on them. They could not duplicate the Builders’ work, any more than could I. Those intricate curves and patterns your people create are beyond human eyes and hands to make. Perhaps we wished to avoid a poor imitation that would only have been an ever-present reminder to us of what we had lost. There is a different beauty in simplicity, in a single line placed just so, a single flower among the rocks. The harshness of the stone makes the flower more precious. We try not to dwell too much on what is gone. The strongest heart will break under that strain.”

I hope that when the Last Battle is done and the Blight is gone, the Borderlanders can embrace intricate and soft beauty again. They're not wrong in their aesthetic, stark and simple can be truly great, but there is something tragic in their being forced into it by the Shadow when they're clearly a far more poetic people than circumstances permit.

“Your pardon, Aes Sedai, but I must see to this. Perhaps he is only a pitiful wretch with his mind blinded by the Light, but. . . . Two days gone, five of our own people were found in the night trying to saw through the hinges of a horse-gate. Small, but enough to let Trollocs in.” He grimaced. “Darkfriends, I suppose, though I hate to think it of any Shienaran. They were torn to pieces by the people before the guards could take them, so I’ll never know. If Shienarans can be Darkfriends, I must be especially careful of outlanders in these days. If you wish to withdraw, I will have you shown to your rooms.”

Again with that beautiful hypocrisy. You probably do know, Ingtar. You might very well have been the man who set them to it, thinking and hoping that a fast and painful battle yesterday might lead to a retreat today, with more men spared to fall back in the capital and forestall the end just a little while longer.

Or maybe not. Darkfriends do operate in cells and this one might have been entirely beyond Ingtar's reach.

“He made me his hound! His hound, to hunt and follow with never a bit of rest. Only his hound, even after he threw me away.”

And since Ingtar has proven false, I wonder a great deal about the other major Darkfriend in this chapter. Is he playing up the Smeagol act so that they'll underestimate him, maybe even try to set him on a path to redemption so that they can all be corrupted or killed faster? Did the merger he just experienced with Machin Shin leave him pretty traumatized in an immediate sense? Is he really experiencing spells that have him alternating between the Smeagol and the Gollum, possibly as a result of all the different forms of evil running through him? Will any of this matter after book seven or so?

“Great Lord, your might is unquestioned, but can it stand against the Dark One forever? Do you not often find yourself pressed to hold? Forgive my temerity, Great Lord; he will crush you in the end, as you are. I know; believe me, I do. But I can show you how to scour the Shadow from the land, Great Lord.”

This seems to be the Shadar Logoth surfacing but getting all mixed up with the Darkfriendliness along the way. I feel like calling anyone in the Borderlands "Great Lord" is a hell of a way to make enemies.

Stopping behind Mat’s chair, Moiraine put a hand on his shoulder and bent to whisper in his ear. Whatever she said, the tension went out of his face, and he took his hand from under his coat.

I suspect that when Mat loses a great deal of his memories, this particular moment is one of the ones that goes out. Again we do see that Moiraine can be a human, caring mentor figure, she's just not very good at it.

[jedidiahxowens]

jed's main biographical-ish playlist:

listen to the full playlisit here: (spotif.y)

"Tell That Mick He Just Made My List Of Things To Do Today" by Fall Out Boy; Jed has always been a fighty kinda guy. This song speaks to the young kid in him that never grew up and never truly stopped wanting to fight at the drop of a hat. He's the guy who holds a grudge, too, so Let's play this game/called when you catch fire/I wouldn't p!ss to put you out.

"Father of Mine" by Everclear; Daddy gave me a name/and then he walked away. Since his biological father dipped and then the step father was shit, it fits.

"WILD" by Troye Sivan; he first met Rick in school and the pair, while complete opposites, hit it off, while neither of them would admit to feeling anything other than friendship for years, it was the start of something that would haunt his life.

"Bob Dylan" by Fall Out Boy; One of the recurring lines that one would find in Jed's poetry is a line from this song: Sometimes the only way out is through.

"Lean" by The National; this song speaks to the part of Jed that is tired, and how he knows what everyone needs and like the song, it's kind of exhausting... but love is a relief.

"1979" by The Smashing Pumpkins; nostalgia, 1979 is the year he was born, it reminds him of the days when he didn't care so much. It was carefree, but he was missing so many things. He knows that now and he wouldn't want to go back, but sometimes it's nice to just sit in the nostalgic feelings the song brings back to him.

"Ocean Avenue" by Yellowcard; thinking again about Rick, the summers they spent together where they were inseperable, and prior to him stepping into the role of man of the house, Rick was his voice of reason and the ONLY reason why he never got into more trouble than he did.

"Head Like A Hole" by Nine Inch Nails; just before Jed took on major responsibilities, he was defiant, especially when it came to orders from his step dad. I'd rather die than give you control.

"Ringfinger" by Nine Inch Nails; Jed definitely sees himself as a martyr for what he did for his family. Not in a pompous way, but in that he felt like he let go of everything he wanted to be to be what his family needed. A sacrifice.

"Full Moon" by The Black Ghosts; this encompasses his desire for freedom that he thought he so desperately wanted when he left home finally when the youngest brother was old enough to leave the house. He spent time wandering, living a nomadic life and seeing the United States. He couch surfed and hitchhiked all over and finally, ended up here at Cape May.

"The Only Time" by Nine Inch Nails; when he began traveling, he let go of a lot of inhibitions and simply did as he pleased.

"Boys of Summer" by The Ataris; what he didn't expect, though, was to be missing Rick so badly. When he traveled, he left Rick behind, back in Texas.

"Electric Touch" by Taylor Swift ft. Fall Out Boy; nostalgic for Rick again, realizing that he was The One with the Electric Touch, Jed traveled back home to Texas and found Rick in a relationship with a woman, expecting a child.

"Tomorrow Never Came" by Lana Del Rey ft. Sean Ono Lennon; ultimatum given to Rick, they agreed to meet up and go to Cape May until they could figure everything out tomorrow, but... tomorrow never came. Rick never showed up and never returned his calls or texts.

"Heat Waves" by Glass Animals; sometimes he gets too nostalgic okay.

"Far Too Young To Die" by Panic! At The Disco; I want to complicate you/Don't let me do this to myself/I'm chasing rollercoasters. The Aesthetic TM.

"Take It As It Comes" by The Doors; and finally, how Jed has learned to live his life, rolling with the punches instead of always throwing them. Take it easy baby/Take it as it comes.

[txxxciii]

headcanons on the main trios names!!!

(note: I know they're not suppose to have names but? it was stuck in my head for a while now)

(note2: cw - brief mentioning of morgan)

Red Guy - John Smith

• in my personal headcanon, the red people are initially very boring creatures who live under the "dystopian-utopia" system, where everyone is quite literally the same, from the voice tone to the mannerisms. and while this means that inside the "tribe" there is basically no discrimination or violence (because there wouldn't be a reason for such acts if everyone were just copies of one another), this also completely removes the individuality of each red being, to the point were every male is named john smith and every female is mary smith.

• but because red guy is the odd one, he would normally not like his own name and instead refer to himself as something more fun and creative. at one point he told yellow and duck his name, but these two couldn't properly remember it (yellow because of the dying batteries and duck because he feels like there's no need to keep in mind such unnecessary detail since "we're a family, who cares?") and eventually yellow just starts calling him "JJ". which red guy doesn't mind, as long as he isn't just "that big one".

Duck - Frederick Du Morganser

• somewhat, I always felt like if this guy would have a name, it would be one of those stupidly long ones that don't even make sense. but I actually put some sense into this one.

• first of all, don't ask me why frederick of all names, because I don't really have a coherent answer for that. I just think he looks like he would be frederick? like... in theory, it's a very noble name, but a very goofy one at the same time, especially since the shorten version of it is fred. imagine duck with a name fred. how fucking humorous.

• the prefix du is here purely because he's a duck. just without the "ck" part.

• as for morganser... now, I wasn't quite sure what kind of surname would fit this guy, but I googled some duck species and found one named merganser. and an image pop up into my mind. I feel like in this version duck would have named morgan after his own surname because of course he would.

• oh and other two don't care that much for his name. it's too many symbols for yellow's brain and red guy just doesn't feel like actually calling him that. they do sometimes mock him by calling him freddie (not fazbear) though.

Yellow Guy - William Dennis Gribbleston

• out of all the fan-made names for yellow guy I feel like dennis is the most fitting (shocking, considering I grew up with the classic fanon names). I don't know why, but when I look at yellow, I could definitely see him as a dennis rather than doi, david or even manny. perhaps it's just because of the fact that this name rhymes with tennis, which makes it ten times funnier and cute, somehow? (god I need fanart of yellow guy playing tennis please)

• william is here NOT for the fnaf reference!!! it's for the nickname, in yellow's case it's billy. billy in general sounds like a very child-like nickname (for me, personally) and I believe it fits! in the contrast with his surname I think it looks quite silly.

• I feel like yellow guy would tell the other two his name, but it would be like.. so briefly mentioned the two would simply miss it. like "yeah and then the guy asked me for my name and- and I said it and he uh.. was like oh uh- nice to see you william dennis and then I was like-" and the entire time neither red guy or duck are even listening at this point. sad.