#like. everyone would probably be genuinely concerned about how weak a!victim is.

[ruby-whistler]

Why c!Dream should (and probably will be) redeemed

Hi! I’m bad with intros. You’ve read the title, so, let’s start with the definitions.

In this essay, we are considering the popularized definition of “redemption” instead of the classical one, which is, as per the Oxford Dictionary, “the act of saving or state of being saved from the power of evil; the act of redeeming.” That’s not however the way the word is used in fandom and media.

/dsmp /rp

The definition of redemption I’ll be working with in this essay is not forgiveness by the people who c!Dream has hurt, nor is it removing himself entirely from his past actions, but moreso the decision to change for the better and abandon destructive mindsets for himself and others.

A “redemption” in a narrative sense would be circumstances and a character arc that would allow that kind of healing and betterment.

I’d like to start this off by the fact that being “irredeemable”, in this sense, also doesn’t exist; redemption is a thing of conditions and choice, not of being allowed by someone else. You can’t gatekeep healing from people who seek it, just to be clear, and that even goes for people who have done terrible things.

Since I understand there is a lot of concern for c!Dream’s past actions, here is a post from people who are much more fit than me to speak on the matter, about the way in which they see a possible c!Dream redemption arc.

Another disclaimer, I am not going to be considering c!Dream only from the perspective of c!Tommy in this essay. c!Dream appears in other people’s perspectives and he himself has his own, unseen perspective. As a character, he is an individual person in his own right rather than just the antagonist of c!Tommy’s story, and so I do not have much concern for their narratives intertwining too much should this writing choice occur.

I’d also like to note that redemption is, in this sense, always a positive thing for everyone involved - someone who’s been prone to doing bad things in the past deciding not to do them anymore and try to change, or just simply heal enough to consider it, isn’t going to have a long-term negative effect in any of the characters, but rather the other way around. Healing is an unlimited resource, and the victims do not have to heal first for the person who hurt them to consider being better.

Here’s a well-written thread on Twitter that elaborates a bit to finish off this point, and let’s move on to actually talking about redemption in the context of the Dream SMP, and c!Dream specifically.

Why a c!Dream redemption arc is not only a good writing choice, but in this case the only good writing choice;

c!Dream, as we all know, has been subject to mental and physical abuse to the point of straight up torture by both c!Sam and c!Quackity (to different extents). He has been in indescribable amounts of suffering for the past 74 days at the time this essay will be published. That is six and something times the duration of the entire exile arc in canon.

Whatever the interpretation of his words in prison is, what is undeniable is first of all the fact his mental stability is absolutely crushed at this point, second that no human being could possibly ever deserve to undergo this, and third, his stay in the prison is showing off his humanity and making him out to be sympathetic.

Now, consider this; how would it feel if c!Tommy died at the end of the exile arc? Empty, there would be no catharsis to such an end, especially because of all of the hurt he’d gone through. Objectively, a bad writing choice.

Let’s compare, narratively of course, this situation to the prison arc. Even though I would never say one of them is “better” or “worse” than the other, since both are terrible and undeserved, c!Dream’s current state checks off all of the boxes that would make his death unsatisfying in the storyline; even if people want him gone, there would still be the dissatisfaction at the current build-up and why they even did it in the first place (it really wasn’t necessary to anyone else’s story to make him out as a victim, and yet they did) if they were planning to kill him off anyways. And since the prison arc is naturally meant to induce sympathy, even from an angst perspective it would simply not make sense within the themes and writing of the plot.

So, c!Dream can’t die, and he also can’t stay in the prison forever - the build-up must lead to something, which is logically a breakout. Great… what now?

Well, the Dream SMP prides itself in accurate representation of trauma and mental instability, specifically cc!Tommy and cc!Dream who have pulled it off incredibly during the exile arc.

Now, undoubtedly, after the prison, c!Dream is going to be just terribly traumatized- considering the writers’ past creative decisions, would it make sense for him to play the role of a dangerous, heartless villain in other people’s stories, while completely ignoring the logical fallout of what he’s been through?

In my mind, no. The most possible result is that cc!Dream is going to rightfully portray someone who’s been hurt so much he is broken, scared and tortured into submissions over months of agony and slowly stripping away of his agency, his dignity, his humanity. And that is… not going to be pretty, nor is he going to be in any way the same as before.

After everything, I’d be surprised if he can properly look at shears without shaking. That’s not villain behaviour, that’s the behaviour of someone who needs help.

Which leads me to another point, which is relatability. Believe me or not, there are people out there who heavily relate to c!Dream because they have been through things that allow them to see themselves in the character - abandonment, mental illness, etc. - or who have had destructive mindsets they have struggled to let go of in the past.

To them, as well as to the viewer, redeeming c!Dream could actually be a very good example, showcasing that anyone who has done bad things or has been hurt in the past can learn that it is possible to be better, to move on, to not be stuck in a loop but to actively seek help and then use that support to find the path to healing.

Making c!Dream a better person, who in a way, wins over his past, over his trauma, over the hurt he’s caused, and manages to actually get better… is inspiring, in a sense. It shows that you can abandon unhealthy mindsets, you can find a support group of people who care about you, you can make your life better simply by deciding to be better and then sticking to that, no matter how difficult the process.

This is why I believe that redeeming c!Dream would not be bad writing, but quite the opposite, and that the prison arc is an obvious set-up. Alright, but how does that work with the character? How could someone so widely hated mentally improve in such a seemingly violent and terrible environment? Would it even make sense within the context of c!Dream’s character so far? Well,

Why c!Dream has the capacity for healing and the Dream SMP the ability to provide it;

First of all, let’s remind ourselves that through c!Dream’s entire spiral he wasn’t ever directly given a chance to change. He was regarded as someone to defeat in order to accomplish a happy ending, or as someone who needed to be removed in order to achieve power on the SMP. Ever since the 16th, which is when the corruption of the character is the most obvious, there have been no attempts to reach out or to help him. I do not blame the characters for this - I am simply pointing out that since it has never happened before, we do not know how he would respond, and that, after everything he’s been through, any bit of kindness or compassion towards him will be a new concept he will have to learn to deal with somehow.

This point is especially driven home by the fact that both c!Quackity and c!Sam would often tell him he is a monster who deserves nothing but to suffer, and that what he’s going through is never going to amount to all the hurt he’s caused - basically removing any possibility for ever getting better (because by this logic, he doesn’t deserve support, and he doesn’t deserve to get better) from his line of sight.

He also hasn’t had a support system since shortly after the 16th, when his friends left him over c!George’s dethronement and made no effort to mend their relationship afterwards. c!Dream isn’t used to having allies and people on his side, but to being hated; again, wouldn’t that mean positive reinforcement could very well be all he needs to make the choice?

His bad mindsets - attachments are weakness, ends always justify the means, people will consider you a bad person no matter what you do - have been continuously proven right by his environment, even in prison. Any kind of subversion, plus an explanation as to why they are wrong, could be of great help to c!Dream.

Just another disclaimer; I do not believe c!Dream would change thanks to the treatment in prison, but rather despite it. His mental stability is non-existent at that point, and in order to get better he needs genuine emotional support from the people around him as well as to heal before he can redeem himself.

Alright, but… c!Dream has hurt a lot of people. Who would be fit to help him?

Let’s start off with the worst option and why it’s impossible the writers would even attempt this; c!Tommy.

c!Tommy has no responsibility to help or ever forgive c!Dream - not to say he could. The two, as it is, would drag each other down instead of helping in any capacity, and only make matters worse. The two of them shouldn’t even interact in the best case scenario - the best thing for both of them would be if they got enough healing and support individually that they could live around each other and not get their trauma or toxic habits triggered when interacting for whatever purpose of the plot.

So, if not c!Tommy (and c!Tubbo neither by extension), who could redeem c!Dream?

Well, he can’t do it on his own for sure. Being in nature with animals is nice, but further isolation from other people would merely help with the prison trauma, not with the state of his tendencies when interacting with others. He, once again, needs positive reinforcement from other people for him to heal properly.

There are two main options for this in my mind, and then there’s a few individuals he could also find comfort in, including people from both groups or those unaligned.

1) Kinoko Kingdom

From the people of this new country, c!Dream has never negatively interacted with c!Karl before, he has never hurt c!George and he hasn’t directly harmed c!Sapnap. Although the relationship with his old friend group could be difficult to rekindle, none of them have grudges against him that are too personal, and they have been canonically close friends since the beginning of the SMP, so it would be very much possible to rebuild burnt bridges. They’d be familiar, and with the addition of c!Karl they could be a good source of comfort for c!Dream after he either breaks out or is released from prison - just gotta convince c!Sapnap not to kill him first.

2) The Syndicate

From the Syndicate, c!Dream has never directly interacted with c!Nikki, and from what I know of her character she never seemed to be very affected by his actions - even doing his work for him when he was planning to burn down the L’Mantree. c!Techno is an ally who doesn’t have anything against him, and as for c!Ranboo, here is why I believe c!Dream being in the Syndicate could be positively influential on his character arc as well;

c!Ranboo and c!Philza have had a conversation about change, during which c!Ranboo made it clear he thinks everyone can change except for c!Dream; who, in his mind, is “too deep down the rabbit hole”. c!Philza replied that he thinks anyone can change if given enough time.

… you see what I’m getting at?

c!Dream has been implied to be an ally to c!Ranboo’s enderwalk state (or the state when he has access to his full memory), and hence would most likely not behave negatively towards him at all. While it might make it more difficult for c!Ranboo to deal with his own issues, it might also give him more motivation to get to the bottom of it as well, especially since he now has access to the person who, presumably, started this all. While this is going on, c!Dream would show himself in a much different light than c!Ranboo sees himin, which could lead to confusion, realization of the flaws in his own logic, and hence, positive character development.

Here’s a great post about why c!Techno as a character could be a great asset in c!Dream’s healing process & redemption, and why there is not much need to worry about him not knowing or finding out about c!Dream’s actions.

Of Kinoko Kingdom and the Syndicate, as far as I know, neither c!Tommy nor c!Tubbo have ever been directly involved with these groups, nor are they planning to.

Another important point to make is that, while c!Tommy needs to be kept away from c!Dream in order to heal properly, the same goes for c!Quackity and c!Sam in c!Dream’s case. While c!Quackity has high chances to interact with either Kinoko Kingdom or the Syndicate in the future, there’s an even higher chance, in that situation, that c!Dream would be offered protection, which is also important; there is no healing from trauma without the knowledge of safety, to some degree.

So, this was an essay as to why I think c!Dream’s recovery and redemption (one needs to come before the other, naturally) is not only extremely possible but also could be pulled off well and have a positive impact on both the characters, and the audience.

#dreblr #dream smp #c!dream #c!dream sympathetic #c!quackity neg #c!sam neg #dsmp analysis #tw torture #tw abuse #long post #i really should start writing longer essays #i need more material #anyways #hope y'all liked this #just joining the debate #:]

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Lying (Next) To You (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for violence + language Warnings: Blood-drinking/general vampiric shenanigans Summary: There is no goal other than escape. You want out of this castle, no matter what you have to do, no matter the consequences. At first, the solution seems to lie with one of the very women you want to get away from. But what happens when you find yourself genuinely caring for her? Length: 5,934 words

Merely surviving had never been your intention. From day one in this foul place, this unholy castle, you had strived to escape. No matter what, you refused to allow such dismal grounds to be your grave. But leaving wouldn’t be as simple as walking out an unlocked door. It required manipulation, agility, and the willingness to screw over anyone who got in your way. Even those who you would have once called friends, or the closest thing you had to that among the servants. Was that something you were willing to do? Absolutely, without a shred of doubt in your mind. Someday, somehow, regardless of what it took, you’d get out and never look back. For now, though, all you can do is scheme…

—————————

Three targets, each incredibly difficult to get your hands on, each presenting their own unique challenges. Which would be easiest to charm? You were still debating that answer.

First was Bela: The eldest, most responsible, forced to be the “role model” for her sisters. A bookworm (a trait the two of you shared) who spent a fair amount of her freetime in the library. While not overtly cruel, she was still rather violent, especially in cases where she felt her family had been insulted. However, there were whispers that she had a secret weakness: Anxiety. None had caught her in the open throes of an attack and lived to tell the tale. But she had been overheard, more than once, quiet cries or shaking breaths. Trying to talk to her during one of these occasions could lead to gaining her affection- if you managed to do what no other had been capable of doing, that is.

Second was Daniela: The youngest, most excitable, eager to please and desperate to be pleased. Easily interacted with more maidens than either of her sisters, though not always in a good way. Getting her attention could mean getting pulled into her room in the middle of the night, for some “fun”, or it could mean getting drained of all of your blood. Sometimes she did one after the other. Like Bela, she was a bookworm, though she preferred romance novels as opposed to her older sister’s educational texts. As for her weakness? To you, Daniela seemed to be the definition of “undiagnosed ADHD”. Less exploitable for sympathy than her sister, but possibly useful in helping you trick her. At the end of the day, the largest concern with her was her inconsistent behavior, her tendency to flip moods at the drop of a hat- and a drop of the hat with her could feel a helluva lot like a drop of an axe (onto your neck).

Then came the third… the one you didn’t think was worth the risk, whatsoever: Cassandra. Middle child and acting just like it, she was hungry for her mother’s approval, attention, and respect most of all. Bloodthirsty as could be, with a mean streak eight kilometers wide, the truest monster you had ever met. Even her fondness for the arts manifested in malevolent ways. Supposedly, she painted in blood, and made sculptures from the bones of her victims, displayed proudly in her room as trophies. What could you possibly do to earn her affection? What could you ever be to her, other than a plaything or mid-afternoon snack?... Nothing, you assumed, and so you figured you might as well remove her from your list. Somehow you’d have to make do with one of her sisters. As for which one?... You decided to let fate decide, and go for whomever you found yourself with an opportunity to court.

—————————

Free time was a rare commodity in Castle Dimitrescu. While every servant did technically get one day off every week, it wasn’t uncommon to end up helping with something unexpected, even if one tried to hide away in the private quarters. For you, it was an opportune time to try and get closer to your targets. So far three weeks had passed since your “decision” to focus on Bela and Daniela, without a single interaction with either of them. Still, hope held fast in your chest, as you made haste towards the library. On this free day you intended to read as much as possible. ‘Twas a two-pronged goal: First, you would increase your chances of running into one of your preferred employers. Secondly, you could possibly learn something through what content you consumed, perhaps to be utilized in later conversations.

Or such was the hope. In truth, you did not make it to the library, nor even anywhere close. A quarter of the way there you were interrupted by an ever-dreaded noise; buzzing echoed throughout the hallway, first far off, but getting closer with every second. There was a particular ferocity to the vibrations that you knew meant danger was approaching. According to the other maidens, this was a distinction that everyone learned over time, assuming that they survived long enough. The smart thing would have been to duck away into an adjacent room in the hopes that whatever sister it was would ignore you. But your endgame weighed heavy on your mind, then forced your feet to the floor. For better or worse, you would be in the woman’s path, ready for whatever she may ask of you.

“You-” a voice snarled, as a hooded figure phased out of the swarm and into your vision. Her head was held high, eyes narrowed as they stared down at you, a snarl twisting her lips. Of course it was her. Cassandra Dimitrescu. The one daughter you didn’t want to encounter. Inside, part of you writhes in self deprecation, feeling as if you should have known better. How often did the other two buzz about so angrily?... Well, certainly a fair bit, but nowhere near as much as Cassandra. Fuck, you think, I’m probably doomed. “I’m hungry. Come here real quick,” Cassandra demands, beckoning you towards her with a single finger. In another life you would have blushed bright red at the sight. A life where she wasn’t a vampiric monster, that is.

Nonetheless, you are quick to obey, masking your anxiety as best as you can. Doing so gets much harder once your gaze meets Cassandra’s, and you see her lick her lips before smirking at you. As soon as you’re within her reach, she’s surging forward, grabbing you by your shoulders, then pivoting, pressing you hard against the wall. You can’t help but gasp at the sudden movements, which only widens her grin. Before you know it she’s running her tongue along your neck. Once more you gasp, this time softer, hating the way your body urges you to lean into her touch. Why couldn’t she simply get straight to the worst of it? Instead she takes her sweet time, slipping a finger beneath the collar of your shirt, slowly, carefully tugging it to the side. When she finally bites, it is terribly sudden. The pleasure comes before the pain, stronger than you would have expected, eliciting a sharp inhale from you that sounds more satisfied than you had intended. Even as a rush of pain follows, you can’t help the red that tints your cheeks.

“Enjoying this, hmm?” Cassandra asks, after licking away at your blood for a few moments, pulling back but not releasing you. Something in her eyes makes you need to respond.

“Y-yes, more than I’d like to admit,” you mumble, barely able to make eye contact. But she seems pleased by this, gently cupping your chin while she looks you over.

“Well then, if you survive… I might just have to drink from you again,” she whispers, before diving right back in towards your neck. This time her touch is far, far softer than before. It feels more like she’s kissing you rather than drinking from you. A strange, irritatingly familiar feeling springs in the pit of your stomach, and you can’t help but make more of those noises she seemed to enjoy so much. Hell, your eyes drift closed as you take in the surprisingly welcome sensation. When they reopen, however, you give a yelp of surprise, spotting a very awkwardly waiting servant. They were blushing, clearly not having expected to come upon this particular sight. Cassandra perks up at your shock, turning to follow your gaze, then giving an uncharacteristically resigned groan. “Damn it, Ava, is it urgent?” She asks, to which the servant gives a silent shrug. “I’ll be done in a minute. Now, where were we?”

Once more she resumes feeding, casting aside all traces of sweetness, sucking on your wound with reckless abandon. Behind her, Ava gives you a thumbs up before turning away. As embarrassing as the moment felt, you were grateful to xer, glad that xe seemed to recognize your desire for privacy. More than that… if xe hadn’t come along, would Cassandra have remembered to stop before your bloodloss became fatal? There was no guarantee either way. Yet xer intervention felt like a godsend, and you made a mental note to thank xer later. Soon enough Cassandra removes herself from you, pausing only to cup your chin for a moment, meeting your gaze with a smirk. Then she was turning away without another word, following Ava to some unknown destination.

A deep breath, then another, more frantic, the familiar sense of panic growing on the edges of your mind. Now that the feeding was over, you were left trembling with all the fear you had been so adamant about not showing before. How close to death had you come? How close were you now? Only feeling slightly more faint than you had earlier, it felt safe enough to assume you would be fine, if only physically. Inside your mind you were struggling with racing thought after racing thought. How the hell am I supposed to do this with either Bela or Daniela? You think, trying to breathe past the lump in your throat. And why did I have to enjoy that so much? They’re nothing more than means to an end, monsters undeserving of my kindness, of my joy. Your only comfort was the knowledge that this may very well have been the opportunity you had been waiting for; but only if you could shift your aim.

—————————

The difference was subtle, almost microscopic, to the point where it took you a full week to notice. But once you had? Everything felt different. You couldn’t spend more than three seconds in the same room as Cassandra without her eyes following you, watching your every move, sending a rush of both fear and excitement down your spine. Meeting her gaze only made her give the tiniest fraction of a smile. As soon as something (or someone) else caught her attention, however, you were forgotten in the blink of an eye. Yet it was nerve wracking nonetheless. This was roughly what you had hoped for, but you had underestimated the mental toll it would take on you. There was no way to tell whether Cassandra wanted violence, something softer, or her usual brand- a cruel mixture of both. Every second spent in her presence was a roll of the dice, a flip of a coin, either one weighted to put the odds against you.

But you persisted. Escape was not a dream, nor a fantasy, nor some far off cryptid. It was inevitable. Again and again you would swallow your fear until you reached your long-sought destination. No matter the cost, you think, no matter the consequences. Over time, that cost, those consequences, would grow. For now, it was a slice of your sanity. Next? More blood, it seemed.

“Casserole wants you to stop by her art studio,” the note said, cursive hand-writing ever-so-fancy and ever-so-difficult to read. Clearly from Ava, the mildly mysterious (but incredibly helpful) castle servant known for never speaking a word. From what you had gathered, xe was a confidant of sorts for the Dimitrescu family, trusted far more than the average worker. Alas, xe was loyal to the center of xer being, and was rumored to be impeccable at preventing escape attempts before they had even started. If you wanted out of this damn place, you knew you’d have to be careful around xer. Hopefully xe won’t interrupt this time, you think, before tucking the note away in your pocket.

Cassandra’s infamous studio wasn’t terribly far from your quarters, thankfully, though you weren’t even sure if you were supposed to arrive at a specific time. What if she wasn’t expecting you until later? Worse, what if she had been expecting you an hour ago? It’s a dangerous thought, one that could easily spiral into something far more drastic, and you try to reassure yourself, reminding yourself that Ava would have mentioned a time if it was important. In the end, you still found your heart racing as you stood outside the room in question. Pausing to take a deep breath, you center yourself, before raising a hand to knock. To your surprise, you get an answer before your hand even gets close to the door.

“Come in already,” Cassandra chimes from inside. Unsure of what terrible fate you were about to meet, you entered the room, somewhat reluctantly. Despite the myriad of unsavory rumors regarding the studio, there were no immediate signs of brutality. At the worst, the space was fairly messy, though not due to any, ahem, “misplaced” body parts. No, just an overflowing garbage bin, a few unfinished projects placed haphazardly wherever they’d fit, shards of glass in one corner, and tile floor splattered with a Pollock-esque layer of paint. In one word? Chaotic. Such was the type of environment that seemed to suit Cassandra best, the sort in which you imagined she would thrive. But you didn’t have time to examine anything as closely as you would have liked to. “Are you going to keep me waiting?”

“No, Lady Cassandra,” you reply, hurriedly, shaking your head to clear your thoughts. Then you’re quickly crossing the room, to what looks like a cross between a storage cabinet and a paint mixing station. In Cassandra’s hands, however, you find something less welcoming than a paintbrush: A needle and an empty blood bag. Well, you think, I guess I know why I’m here. At least there’s only one bag, right? “What do you require of me, my Lady?” While the answer was fairly obvious, you didn’t know the specific steps necessary, and it never hurt to be as polite as possible with the Dimitrescu family.

“Just sit down, roll your sleeves up, look pretty, and stay still. Try not to make any noises this time- as cute as they were last time, I have a headache,” Cassandra explains, gesturing towards the room’s only chair. Ignoring the way your cheeks heated up, you did as she asked, trying to get relatively comfortable. It was somewhat difficult to relax, considering who you were with. “Calm down, pet, I’m only going to hurt you a little. That’s more than I can say for most people who end up here.” Why did she have to use a nickname for you? Weren’t you already flushed enough without her teasing you further? Though your flustering does turn to confusion after a moment, as you wonder how she knew how afraid you were. You were under the impression that you were hiding it fairly well. Noticing your reaction, Cassandra rolls her eyes, before leaning in to whisper in your ear. “I can hear your heartbeat. Normally I’d find this… exciting. But my head hurts and I wanted to finish this damn painting yesterday. So take a deep breath, little pet, and let me take what I need from you.”

Of course she had to say it like that, and put herself so close to you. You’re pretty sure that your heart skips a few beats in response, though Cassandra doesn’t react beyond a hint of a smile, merely returning to her prep work. First step was cleaning your skin. Admittedly you hadn’t been sure if that step was necessary, seeing as the blood was (seemingly) for art as opposed to testing, but it didn’t exactly surprise you. Besides, there was a chance she’d drink the leftovers, right? Next she double-checked that the needle was properly connected to the blood bag, and that the latter was resting securely on a small stand. With that out of the way, it was time for her favorite part.

“Since your heartbeat has slowed down a little… I’ll let you whimper if you want to- but only once. Consider it a reward for good behavior,” Cassandra purrs with a familiar grin. One hand gently cups your chin, while her eyes look right in yours, just long enough to turn your cheeks bright red. The moment ends as quickly as it started. Before you know it she’s turned stoic again, feeling along your arm for a vein. This isn’t the first time you’ve had your blood drawn, but Cassandra takes no time at all to find the perfect spot, likely from a mix of practice and, well, her vampiric nature. It’s not long before she’s gently gripping your arm with one hand, briefly making eye contact before pushing the needle into your skin. Does it hurt? Hardly. Do you take a shaky inhale, hoping to please your employer, the closest to a whimper you were willing to give her? Oh, absolutely. And does she react? Oh, absolutely. Her eyes light up for a second as she bites her lower lip. There’s something else in her expression that you can’t quite read, however.

“Enjoying this, hmm?” You ask, smiling, voice soft in the hopes of not aggravating her headache. It’s a risk, and one that pays off more than you’d ever expect. Cassandra giggles a tad, eying you with the least mischievous smile you’ve ever seen from her. If not for the needle still in your arm, you might have found the moment charming, or even… romantic. But you pushed the thought away as soon as possible, reminding yourself of your one true goal: Escaping. This was a means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s what you had to keep telling yourself. Even as Cassandra ever-so-gently removed the needle from your arm, even as she carefully placed a bandage over the entry-point, even as she gave you a nod of approval.

“This should last until the painting is done, at the very least. I might need you to make another ‘donation’ next week, though. Except, hmm… your blood is quite nice,” Cassandra says. Her tone is smooth, almost sultry, but her gaze is focused on her work as she starts mixing the blood with… something? You weren’t familiar with this particular artistic process, nor did you want to be. “Maybe I’ll set up a nice schedule for you. Once a month you can be my darling little muse, and once a month you can be a refreshing snack. I’ll even make sure that my sisters don’t do anything that might spoil our fun. Assuming you continue to prove entertaining, that is.” You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried. In the end you settled for the former, chest thrumming with excitement as you felt yourself getting one step closer to your goal.

—————————

Three months pass by in an easy blur. Just as Cassandra had suggested, you find yourself in her company more often than before. Only twice a month does she take blood from you, for your own safety (which she pretends not to care about), but more and more you find her lounging around where you’re working, obviously by “pure coincidence”. Sometimes she even spoke to you! Teasing here and there, or asking you to do things that she normally did for herself, or scaring you just to hear you make one of your “lovely noises”. Honestly, you weren’t sure whether you were more surprised by how attached she had gotten to you, or by how quickly it had happened. Of course, you didn’t even know if she enjoyed your personality… or just your blood. Either way, you found yourself enjoying her presence more than you’d ever openly admit.

Eventually, when the benefits of your budding “friendship” became more clear, you started to enjoy it even more.

It was early in the morning, right when the castle residents tended to go to sleep, and when the night shift officially ended. Minutes prior you had been conversing quietly with Cassandra, dusting some shelves as you did. Now, with your duties done only slightly later than usual, you were making your way back to your quarters. Along the way you were caught off guard by the sound of distant crying. ‘Twas a sound you’d heard many times before, from many different maidens, but this time felt… different. An odd feeling of sympathy sparked in your chest, and you made the brash decision to approach the source of the noise. When you rounded that last corner, when you made eye contact with the trembling figure, you knew that your kindness could very well be the death of you. To think that you had once hoped for this encounter.

“Who’s there?” Bela Dimitrescu snarls through chattering teeth. She’s moving forward, phasing in and out of swarm mode, reaching a hand out to clutch at your throat. Well, you think, at least she’s stopped crying? More so out of being distracted, instead of feeling any comfort from your company. It’s not a terribly reassuring thought, but it’s soon replaced with a mental string of ???? as Bela pauses, grip loosening as she holds you up in the light. “You’re Cassandra’s new favorite. Damnit!” With that she drops you rather unceremoniously. Then she’s turning her back to you, sniffling before wiping the tears from her eyes. “Don’t tell anyone about this, or I won’t hesitate to string you up, no matter what my sister says. Now get lost.”

Except you can’t force yourself to move. There’s a small piece of you that remembers your original plan, another small part feels a twinge of sympathy, and a majority of your brain sees this as an opportunity. What was a little more risk?

“Would you like me to bring you some tea, Lady Bela?” You ask, attempting to keep your tone neutral, lest she think you were judging her. In response, she turns to look at you slowly, eyes narrowed, thinly veiled rage only outweighed by the remnants of her anxiety. Then she’s stalking forward with cautious, deliberate movements. For a moment she searches your eyes for any hints at your motive. Hoping to ease her worries, you elaborated on your offer, and the reasoning behind it. “I’ve read that holding something warm in your hands, like a mug of tea or coffee, relaxes the brain. I believe it had something to do with mimicking human touch?... Forgive me if I’m overstepping your boundaries, my Lady. I… I felt compelled to ask, to help in whatever way I can.”

“Oh?” Bela hums, the majority of the anger draining from her face. There’s a hint of genuine surprise behind her bright eyes. “Very well, if you say it might… help.” Before you can turn to leave, you hear her clear her throat, and say one last thing. “A little softer than I would have expected from a pet of Cassandra’s.” She certainly had a point. But you don’t bother responding, instead focusing on your self-given task. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you were really Cassandra’s “pet”, or if there was more to your dynamic. Why did you feel so weird about the idea of being a mere “distraction” to her?... Something to think about while you made that tea, you supposed.

—————————

When you assisted with serving lunch the next day, Bela refused to make eye contact, even as you set a plate in front of her, or when you refilled her wine glass. There was a stiffness in the room that you weren’t familiar with. For the most part, Cassandra is more welcoming, giving you a small nod when you meet her gaze. By the time the family is done eating and moves to leave, the sisters are grouping together to speak in hushed voices. While you clean up after them, you cannot help but wonder if they’re discussing the previous night, or if Bela was as adamant about keeping quiet as she had seemed. Regardless, you felt rather good about how the conversation had gone. Hopefully she’s feeling better, you think, surprising yourself. Not that it matters… unless she tells Cassandra, I suppose.

You don’t see her for the rest of the day. It’s a double-edged sword, in a way. On one hand, you find yourself missing her, unused to not interacting with her at all. On the other hand? All the sudden you’re realizing just how involved she’s become with you. Certainly that meant something? Progress towards your eventual goal of escaping? God, you sure hoped so. Thinking about the future, about your plans, lasts you the entire night, thoughts following you all the way into bed. Sleep feels a million years away, and you find yourself staring silently at the ceiling. Unmoving. Damn near unblinking. When there’s the sound of footsteps outside your room, you are more than welcome for the distraction.

“Wake up, little pet,” a voice calls, as your door opens, and someone quickly slips inside. Before you can even sit up, you feel them slide into the bed with you. “It’s too cold in my room. You’re much warmer, aren’t you?” Clearly your darling Cassandra come to entertain herself. Considering how late in the day it is, you feel like you should be upset, and yet you feel yourself daring to wrap your arms around her. For a moment she goes stiff, but she soon relaxes into your touch. “You’re getting so good at knowing what I want from you. Mmm, I think I’ve trained you well,” she teases, shifting onto her back so she can pull you onto her chest. Although you’ve been this close to her before, this is the first time you’ve realized just how cold her skin is. No wonder she wants to sleep with me, you think, blushing at your unintentional wording.

“Fuck, you’re freezing,” you mumble, curling up against her nonetheless. She’s laughing then, without any hint of her usual malice, and you can’t help but laugh with her. When had the two of you gotten so warm with each other? Why did it feel so natural? There’s anxiety gnawing at the base of your skull, threatening to build up into a headache, tugging you away from the softness of the moment. If Cassandra notices, she’s quicker to act than you would have expected. It feels safer to believe that her next actions are a coincidence. Feels… better, when you remember that you are playing her for cheap, that any friendliness is a mockery made for the most bitter of betrayals to come.

“That’s why I’m here, dear. Now hush, I need some rest. With how comfortable you are… I may even let you sleep in,” she teases, before pressing the gentlest kiss to the top of your head. Your throat dries up in response, blush overtaking your cheeks, and you are left unable to speak. The thundering of your heart seems to somehow lull your would-be lover to sleep, while you find yourself growing to love the contrast her chill provides. Somehow, someway, you end up sleeping more soundly than you have in years.

—————————

Another month passes. No opportunities to escape, no grand moves to make in this 4D game of chess, no clever plans to entangle yourself in. Yet you find yourself content. Happy. The work keeps you as busy as ever, but Cassandra often steals you away for her own desires. When she goes to drink your blood, she does so gently, with many soft kisses leading into the big moment. Afterwards she cleans your wound herself, touches as light as a feather, eyes sparkling with unspoken affection. At night, you find her coming to you for warmth almost every day. At first she provides little more than teasing excuses. But in time, she becomes more open, even being so bold as to kiss you on the lips every time, greeting you with quiet “dear”s and “darling”s. It gets to the poin that you cannot sleep without her presence.

Day after day, you find it harder and harder to remember why you were doing this. Was it so bad to enjoy your time with her? Was it so bad to find yourself leaning into her touches, kissing her back, gleefully awaiting your nightly rendezvous with her? Sometimes the thoughts were overwhelming, guilt and shame alike dancing inside your chest. Those days were the hardest to get through. Somehow, again and again, you go to her for comfort. To the very source of your conflict. Every last feeling was driving you towards an inevitable point. A conclusion written in stone, one that had been decided from the very first time Cassandra dug her fangs into your neck.

—————————

Screaming. Horrible, horrible screaming, somehow more pained than that of any maiden you had ever heard, echoing throughout the castle halls, achingly familiar in tone. You had never heard her scream before, and yet you knew that the sound came from Cassandra. Before you can even begin to process your realization, you are thundering through the corridor, towards the noise that rattled your mind so desperately. How could anything possibly hurt her? How often had you seen her push her siblings around, each of them taking hits that could break bones as if they were light shoves? As if the punches tickled? Horror overtakes your thoughts, imagination far worse than reality had any right to be.

When you at last reach your lover, you are frozen in your tracks, eyes wide as can be. There she is, howling with both rage and pain as someone repeatedly slams the butt of a rifle into her head. Behind the fighting duo is a sight you never thought you’d see: An open door. Wide open, enticing, leading straight into the world you had sought to rejoin. You want to leave. God, you want to leave so bad. This is what you have been waiting for- Cassandra has not even seen you yet, too busy grappling with her attacker, movements too slow to be normal. What was wrong? Why were her limbs such a strange color? Was that… frost on her clothes? Or… crystal? Your gaze flickers back and forth between her and the exit, as time seems to pause, memories of the past few months racing through your mind. Goddamnit, you think, this is what I want, isn’t it? Consequences be damned, right? I said I wouldn’t stop for anything.

And so you move, automatically, on autopilot, unable to think about anything other than what you treasured most: Cassandra. One moment you’re standing still in the foyer, the next you’re grabbing a poker from the fireplace. You’ve never done anything like this before, but the movements come naturally, as you surge towards the scrambling pair. In one swift motion you drive the metal rod into the skull of the intruder, hating the sound, hating the splatter of blood against your clothes, hating the feeling of resistance followed by a terrible, terrible give. But the man slumps almost immediately, allowing your girlfriend to shove him off of herself. Still unable to think coherently, you’re throwing yourself into her arms.

“Holy shit, holy shit, oh my god, I- I, fuck. Are you…? Fucking tell me that you’re okay, please,” you ramble, holding the dangerously cold body of your girlfriend close to you, refusing to let go. She’s crying, clinging to you as desperately as you cling to her. But she’s responding in the affirmative. Over and over, saying she’s okay, telling you that it’s okay. Before you know it, she’s the one comforting you.

“Hey, hey, look at me. Okay? Look at me, take a deep breath. If anyone should be freaking out it’s me,” she says, pulling back enough to cup your cheek with one hand. There’s blood on her fingers, making your eyes go wide, but she quickly wipes it off with a scowl. Then she’s caressing your skin again, soft repeating motions perfect for calming you down. “That’s right, see? We’re fine. You’re a fucking badass, darling, and honestly? It’s very attractive.” Now you’re both giggling, you a bit more than her. Because of course she’s flirting right now. It’s an incredible softness. One that you, quite frankly, do not feel you deserve. At first it’s a tiny voice in the back of your head, but it soon grows until it strikes the smile from your lips. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Shit, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, really,” you interject, as fast as you can, ignoring the tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra isn’t convinced, however, and gives you a pleading look. Knowing that you cannot resist her, you close your eyes, sighing, then admit your wretched truth. “The door. Cassandra, the door’s open. I… I came down the hallway and I saw the two of you and I saw the fucking door and I… I hesitated. I hesitated.” There’s a mighty tremble to your voice, teeth and lips shaking. In the moment, you cannot bring yourself to meet her gaze, eyes instead glued to the bloodstained floor. It’s so quiet that you swear you can hear your tears hitting the tile. The air around you is filled with a looming heartache, a shadow over the two of you, hungry for your tears. But the rage you anticipate from Cassandra never comes.

For fuck’s sake, she pulls you closer. She takes you in her arms, making you rest your head against her chest, one hand gently rubbing circles into your back. Shock makes you unable to do anything other than linger limply in her grip. Thankfully, she has more than enough words for the both of you.

“Of course you did. All you ever wanted was to escape, right? And all I ever wanted was to see how much fun I could get out of you before you betrayed us,” she admits, coolly, as if the words didn’t break both of your hearts. At first, you merely start crying harder, realizing that she had seen through you this whole time. Realizing that all of her softness had just been sharpness covered in sheep’s clothing. Except she’s not done talking. “Now look at us. Couple of idiots who caught feelings. So shut up, because we’re in this mess together, now, and I don’t intend to let you go, understood? You-” she pulls back, looking you right in the eyes- “are mine. Besides… you just killed for me. I think that more than makes up for any hesitance, yeah?” Before you know it you’re kissing her. You’re pressing yourself to her, smiling through your tears, forced to pause to laugh at yourself. How ridiculous had this whole affair been? How had you convinced yourself, for so long, that escape was all you had cared about?...

All this time you thought you wanted out. But at the end of the day… you just wanted to go home. How could you have guessed that you would have found a new home, here, in someone’s arms? Despite the surprise of it all… you couldn’t be happier.

#cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra x reader #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #the soft to your sharp

[marieanneline]

wait wait hold up i am actually seething about the reveal

ya boi's not a dabi stan. at all. the only reason i'm remotely interested in his character is if he's actually related to shouto and how that would affect hero society in general. i remember reading the training camp arc, seeing him being one of the villains there, him saying todoroki's full name, and thinking "SIBLINGS?????" because agshdfjlk their EYES are SO SIMILAR!! i really want to give credit to horikoshi being able to portray their similarities from artstyle alone because that's talent.

(it's more apparent in the anime since you see the eye color— but appearance-wise, shouto takes after rei and dabi takes after enji the most, so this definitely isn't the best photo to prove my point...)

anyways,,,, dabi's ideals of heroics fall in line with stain's ideals and so we all already theorized how if he was the long lost big brother touya, it would be because of the fact that his father really wasn't a hero. this makes sense. and so, we're all fucking right. props to us, really, and props to horikoshi for all the foreshadowing because i had fun :)) in terms of story and plot, i think this reveal is fantastic.

alright, on to why dabi is a dick

(i'm assuming this was his choice and no one pressured him after all)

the todoroki family is on the road to recovery!!

- shouto finally visits his mother back in season 2 and visits her every chance he gets. you see the effort he makes and it's nice to see him change from season 1 to 2 (early-roki!!)

(guys he even sends her letters- look at that sparkle by his face!! he's sweet :)) and rei's smile!!!!)

- enji (whether we wanted it or not, i don't mind much personally) is trying to atone for everything he's done to his family

- natsuo, who originally wasn't fond of shouto because he had their father's attention (although he does come to the horrible realization that shouto was one of the most unfortunate) and mother's attention (because she wanted to protect shouto), has a closer relationship with his little brother now (can you believe he didn't even know shouto's favorite food was cold soba until ch. 192?? i was sobbing). he really regrets the prejudice he had against shouto and he's trying to be an actual brother to him now.

- rei's almost recovered enough to be released from the hospital!!

- fuyumi and her idyllic "happy family"– wHICH, BY THE WAY, ALMOST CAME TO FRUITION. their mother coming home, shouto connecting with his siblings, and enji being not-the-way-he-was-before is the best outcome they could have hoped for. and it was happening.

and i realize that all of that setup is for this very moment

this? this. this. this is being broadcasted. to everyone. that means the citizens know that their new #1 hero is directly related to a member of a really bad villain organization (i almost called it a terrorist group oop-).

by ruining endeavor, the citizens faith in heroes will collapse. this also affects shouto's reputation as an upcoming hero, and i am so terrified of what this could mean for him. imagine your career ending before it even started, just when you found your passion for being a hero again. all that progress he's made for himself since starting UA could be seen as pointless to him and i would hate for him to retrogress like that because it's not his fault. i would absolutely hate it if the media starts bashing shouto for being related to a villain, when he was also a victim of abuse.

seeing this look on shouto's face is making me dehydrated istg i'm fucking SOBBING— he doesn't even look angry!! in the last few chapters he was angry and worried for his friends, teachers, father maybe, other heroes... but he just looks sad. and the fact that the panel chooses to show the left side of his face is.... there's so much to unpack.

but yeah, this is being broadcasted. does fuyumi know? the cameo she had showed her working so maybe not. natsuo's cameo showed that he was at a lecture, so he also probably didn't see.

but rei did. that's like- that's the person i would want to keep this from the most.

the effects of this entire reveal genuinely scare me. how will this affect rei's mental state? she'll realize that what enji did is actually so much worse. their first child being a villain?? i'm terrified for how she'll react, she's doing much better in recent chapters after all. her kids are visiting her, shouto sends her letters to keep in touch, and enji sends her flowers and respectfully keeps his distance. i really don't want this reveal to result in a relapse. and if she does relapse, then fuyumi's ideal of a happy family is once again out of arms reach. the future of their mother finally coming back home is so far away again and it's genuinely so heart-breaking.

:(

plus— how will fuyumi's little elementary school students react to her being related to a villain? will the school fire her because of her connection to a villain and how that might cause concerns for students and parents????

it's also hard to say exactly how this will affect shouto and natsuo. natsuo was the closest to touya when they were kids so what would his whole opinion be of what touya's become? will he have a moral crisis?

in terms of moral crisises, i guess i'm more concerned about shouto. the boy knows he wants to forgive his father, but this is just making it so much harder. and after this, will he still want to? and finding out that his own sibling is a villain... remember the stain arc? there were some parallels between midoriya's, iida's, and todoroki's positions in the last chapter and i'm worried about what that could foreshadow. from that arc alone, we know that shouto doesn't agree with stain's views at all [i forgot what he said but it was really compelling]. we know that dabi's a stain follower though, so will this disrupt shouto's sense of justice? i hope not.

but family has always been kind of a weak spot for shouto, hasn't it? i hope this doesn't affect his resolve to be a hero because i do think that there's a way to– somehow– not have a corrupt hero society and i want him to fight for that.

touya being a villain is perfectly valid though, i don't doubt that. it's just disheartening to address that while every other todoroki was working hard to become a normal family, here's their oldest brother, who's not really dead. what's going to become of that altar at their house now?

learning the extent to touya's hatred towards endeavor is truly terrifying. we know enji is or was a horrible person and his redemption arc is based on the very fact that he can't be forgiven, despite some of his family trying their best to do so or at least get over it. but the fact that touya has even thought about killing shouto? that's just. ouch. touya's definitely gone through too much abuse, and all of the todoroki family problems are because of enji's bad parenting. but this does not justify murder and especially that of his younger brother, who also got the brunt of the abuse.

needless to say, i am a fool. i don't know if anything i just said will ever be true, but the important thing to take from whatever the heck i just shat out is that all of this is/could be a result of this reveal. it's the fact that dabi seems to have no sympathy. it's the fact that he doesn't care if his blood related family crashes and burns. really, if this is solely about endeavor and what he did, there's no need to bring the rest of the family into this. rei was sent to a hospital for god's sake. shouto has a scar. it's excessive and unmoral and although questionable ethics and values are key traits of a villain, it doesn't justify how much he's hurting the todorokis.

(look at this shit eating grin he has. no remorse. he really doesn't give a shit about the others but I DO and I'M so SAD)

and assuming that the whole "endeavor's wife admitted into hospital" was swept under the rug in terms of media, will that suddenly come back to light? because it shouldn't. maybe it should be known that she's in the hospital because of marital abuse but either way rei should not be dragged back into this disaster, and neither should the rest of them. there's also a chance that the media will accuse rei of having abused her kids too, which is messed up for different reasons. they're trying so hard to have any semblance of a normal family, and if dabi's way of revealing this to the world ruins that in any way then i hATE THIS REVEAL ASDFGHJKL—

#tw: abuse #this is just a rant for myself i'm so sorry for those who have this on their dash #how the fuck do you add those ''under the cut'' things on mobile?? #and this is a long ass post #i wrote too much #and i was redundant #and i wrote this at 4 in the morning #many many typos... #i needed to let this out though #bnha 290 #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #notey

[amachaheadcanons]

Do you think the cast of Danganronpa v3 is chilling and vibin' in heaven? What happens to Rantaro and Tenko in the afterlife. Do they form a ghost relationship?

˚ᆺ˚

I've...actually never considered-- Um-- OMG YES!!!! AMACHA GHOST/AFTERLIFE AU FTW!!!!!

Or- OR. Instead of waking up the cast asap and shocking their system immediately, Team DR instigated level "limbo" as a way to ease the participants back into their real bodies. Slowly.

OKOKOK

Tenko would definitely be salty at first and seek out vengeance, however, I feel like Kiyo would be in hell due to his crimes but instead let's just say the kids are in limbo whilst the killing game is going on. . . yeah. Like a period of time to ease the deceased back into reality without simply awakening them and rendering them mentally and physically paralysed from the cruel reality they imposed on themselves!

She shakes and throws Kiyo to teach him a lesson whenever she gets close enough. Kaede and Kirumi stop her as much as they can but eventually stop trying due to her incredible persistence and the fact that it doesn't hurt him it's just time-consuming.

She pays no mind to Rantaro and Ryoma, considering they were victims. Excluding the odd degenerate comment here and there. Still harbouring some lingering hostility towards Angie.

She spies on Himiko and is happy to see her loosen up and begin her character arc. But is painfully aware of the fact they might never see each other ever again. She's rooting for her from the bottom of her heart so it's a bittersweet realisation.

Kaede still tries to help Tenko get over her bias, following around Shuichi and dragging Tenko along so she can witness his goodness. Eventually, Kaede gets tired of Tenko tarnishing his name so she turns to Rantaro as a live example. Often catching him being charismatic or really focused on something with that cute expression.

Considering they're probably going to spend eternity together, Rantaro's keen to form a bond. She throws him for being so casual about it. He doesn't mind cuz it's kinda fun. He just floats in a circle and back in front of her. Gravity in limbo is similar to on the moon only they can float. And the windy feeling when her hands brush against his limbs is really cool.

He apologises for not taking her more seriously and reintroduces himself adding, "C'mon, shake my hand, my soul's as transparent as ever," and "I'm not going anywhere Chabashira-san, no point holding a grudge into the afterlife,"

She's very stubborn at first, but considering how peaceful the living cast are, Tenko slowly realises this may potentially be the only people she'll be able to make amends with before passing into...hopefully, heaven.

Angie gets tired of the hostility and says the only way to enter heaven is to make amends. Kaede lies with good intentions, hoping her agreeance will push Tenko in the right direction.

It's a slow process until Miu is found dead. Tenko attempts to cling to the inventor, lacking protective malice as she learns there was no way to harm the searching soul. Miu acts normally and demands some alone time, complaining about Tenko's clingy nature and slips a, "Don't you get it Chabashitstain?! This is why Yusmello ran off with Yonorganism!"

Tenko starts distancing herself after that. Miu is mildly excluded until she makes it up to Tenko. Tenko verbally insists she forgives Miu. Deep down she can't hate a girl, though Angie & Miu were tempting that moral of hers.

Kaede attempts to console Tenko, followed by Kirumi, Angie, Miu, Hoshi then Gonta. But to no anvil. Gonta's pretty good at consoling too but it didn't sway her. She's startled by Gonta so much so, she throws him, along with assumptions of his murderous intent. The girl's groan in unison at her lack of hearing and self-centred nature before filling her in on how Kokichi manipulated the situation.

Tenko began to feel more and more alone despite the growing number of interactivity.

Rantaro grows concerned and bold, attempting a method unused thus far. "Chabashira-san, when you fell off a tree for the first time, did it scare you into trying again?"

"When your Sensei defeated you in a match time and time again, did you falter in challenging him again?" "How does Amami know th--" "Tenko, when you failed to throw your opponent over your shoulder, would you stop there and let the aggressor roam free?" "Of course not! Don't insult Ten--" "Then what's making you give up now??"

Cue Rantaro and his amazing words of conflicting. Being able to gently corner people with what they needed to face. "Don't run away from your emotions. Take your own advice and be honest with yourself. What else is there left for us?"

He reached her when everybody else lacked the knowledge and experience to touch her weeping heart. She starts reinviting herself into open discussions. Progress.

Tenko observes and attempts to understand the boys for the first time ever. She finds herself following Rantaro around the massive campus. Considering he's still trying to piece together the mastermind of such a grand scheme. They bond over their search. She gets to know him. And the other boys due to Rantaro being so friendly and charismatic.

By the time Kokichi joins them she's instinctively distant but Rantaro again has a soft spot for the misunderstood ones. Rantaro's kindness is so large it makes Tenko weak and frustrated. Suddenly, she worries he'll fall into Kokichi's trap. She starts worrying and watching his back silently.

Angie "gets a hint from the Gods" and starts shipping them. After a few funny comments from Angie, Kaede and Kirumi are on board. It's entertaining watching the almighty Aikido master blush, stutter, trip over nothing and float aimlessly despite her persistent walking and attempt to perfect her form.

Kaito quickly jumps on the bandwagon and suddenly their relationship is the most interesting thing that can link the kids to some form of normalcy. It was a good distraction from the pressing matters of the killing game.

Rantaro is none the wiser. However, when Kaede pushes Tenko to befriend Kaito and he notices her genuinely trying to find interest in conversing with the space-enthused boy...he's conflicted. He's proud of watching her progress unfold and honoured he took part in it, yet, feels a pang of tightness when seeing everyone boast about their blossoming friendship.

Considering Rantaro doesn't hear the teasing and gossip about Tenko's potential struggle. And upon noticing Tenko avoiding him oftentimes, he grows jealous. However, this makes the time she spends with him alone willingly, appear all the more special. He appreciates their friendship and confesses one night during training... "You've come a long way in the past month Tenko, I'm very impressed. Be proud of yourself. I know I am."

Somehow, his words make her chest tight. "I'm honoured to call you a friend."

Kokichi "boo"s him, the little eavesdropper. Angie slaps his mouth shut, Kaede scolds him, while Miu continues to embarrass the couple attempting to join their living comrades in their nightly training.

This however starts the tradition of the dead training alongside the living. Being with them in spirit and whatnot.

Tenko's bias dies down a lot in the span of 4 chapters. And when the truth is revealed to the deceased cast in the grand finale. The deceased cast is forced to awaken after Kiibo's blinding sacrifice. Tenko awakens with hasty breaths, demanding to see her friends. All of them. Boys included. Not allowing anything to take them away from her.

If Kirumi's the mum of the group, Tenko's definitely the overprotective big sister once she reaches her character arc.

I like this idea, it brings a little more hope to the despair. Plus I like the idea of them all being friends in the afterlife cuz there's no more threats or stress.

#amacha #amacha headcanons #rantaro x tenko #tenko x rantaro #rantaro amami #amami rantaro #chabashira tenko #pre game tenko chabashira #ndrv3 #text #headcanons #fanfic style #fanfic #headcanon set #pansexual tenko

[flickeringart]

The Megxit Drama

A peek at Meghan Markle’s chart

The British Royal Family has certainly been the subject of dramatic events recently – Prince Harry and Meghan Markle doing an interview with Oprah in order to explain their break with “family”, royal duties and royal life – revealing quite unsavory things sufficient to depict the firm, staff and members of the family in a bad light. Essentially, Meghan was retelling her traumatic experiences of being treated unfairly, feeling trapped, being subjected to racism, getting no help in times of emotional crisis and robbed of freedom, while her husband Harry passively went along confirming all of it. Whatever the truth is, they certainly painted themselves as victims – compassionate and good-natured. They attempted to remain respectful to the people involved in the story, yet if actions speak louder than words, they certainly weren’t particularly “respectful” by throwing the Royal Family under the bus with this interview. The couple has gotten a lot of backlash as people are disinclined to buy their narrative, partly because both seem to be quite self-serving under the guise of selflessness. Meghan made it clear during the interview that she didn’t know much about life as royalty and went into it all surprisingly clueless, almost setting herself up for disappointment. One could assume that by committing to such a structured existence as becoming a royal, that one would do the homework and at the very least expect to give up the privilege of being “an ordinary person” in favor of being of service. The British Monarchy obviously has symbolic value more than anything else, which is not to say that it’s unimportant or trivial. Symbols carry meaning and the Royal Family upholds that meaning through attempting to embody it physically. The members are not supposed to be inflated and begin to believe that they in and of themselves are princes and princesses or whatever titles they are given. They are supposed to serve the titles rather than the titles serving them.  In becoming a part of this symbol of divine reign, one merges with something far greater than the limited self. One serves to uphold an image that is immortal, ancient and has a function in the psyche of the British people. I dare assume that Meghan didn’t fully grasp this concept and went into it all with far more attitude than people would like – perhaps understandably so considering her lack of experience of monarchy. Prince Harry seemingly got pulled along with it all, presumably wanting to rescue his wife from that which killed his mother while piggybacking on the momentum of the situation and metaphorically breaking free from the “limiting container” of the institution. Harry said in the interview that he felt sorry for his father and his brother being trapped by their roles, which seems like a desperate attempt to try to gain some significance, to end up in the role of the hero and avoid living in the “shadow” of more prominent members of the family. People generally seek significance in some way and will come up with the most creative attempts to cast themselves in the role of superiority, whether it’s through victimhood, humility, bravery, sacrifice or anything else that elevates the self in some way. Whether someone’s behavior stems from an attempt to make up for the lack within or not can be hard to spot, but considering the skepticism the interview has been met with – and the scrutiny (and ridicule) that it has been exposed to – it is safe to say that people’s gut feeling tells them that something is not quite right.

(The chart of Meghan Markle on astrotheme.com)

Meghan Markle has been accused of a lot of things, of twisting the truth, of exaggerating in order to further her own agenda, of being self-serving and manipulative. Some call her “narcissistic” – which is the “usual” label thrown at anyone who lacks genuine care for others, stirs up drama and drags other people through the mud in order to benefit themselves. However, her behavior might not be intentional, but compulsive. After all, no one is 100% sure of why they’re the way they are, whether it’s deemed good or bad by society at large. Where the line is drawn between intentional and unintentional is unclear, yet the odors of shady business and dishonorable motives can be sensed – and people don’t usually like being “sold” something that isn’t what it seems. Generally people don’t appreciate being deceived, which is obviously why the backlash has been so extreme.

She has quite a charming and radiating outer appearance, which is typical of someone with their Sun in the 1st, and in its domicile at that. She also has the sweet and innocent “puppy eyed” look of a Cancer Rising, which displays emotion and vulnerability. It’s not surprising that she pursued an acting career before meeting Harry. The spotlight-seeking Leo Sun in the 1st house of self, the Moon-Saturn-Jupiter stellium in the artistic sign of Libra in the 3rd house of communication and (inter)action, as well as the boundless imaginative Neptune in the 5th house of creativity all contribute to the personality of the actress. Considering that she has an emphasis on Leo and Libra, it’s safe to say that she was in it for the refinement, admiration and class that being an actress could provide. She thrives on positive attention, and is undoubtedly sensitive to discord. With a Cancer Rising and a Libra Moon, she craves gentility and fairness, for everything to be “ok” socially. Cancer is a cardinal sign, and although it’s quite emotional, it’s also very active and motivated to create safety for the self. It does this by avoiding direct confrontation, of appealing to people’s caring side. There’s nothing wrong with this, but people might feel as if the Cancer Rising person’s innocence is “put on”. In the interview, Meghan had no problem displaying her own weakness and emphasizing her own vulnerability. She used these attributes to gain esteem, whereas another person of a different nature, with different archetypes protruding, would’ve felt humiliated leading life with that energy. Her Moon is her chart ruler, which makes her emotions the primary focus – in other words her subjective experiences, mutual care, needs and requirements is particularly emphasized in her life. The Moon is in Libra, the cardinal air sign that strives for balance and justice and awareness - especially as it relates to interpersonal relationships. Libra is famous for wanting to keep everything “civilized” and “respectful”. The tight Moon-Saturn-Jupiter conjunction in this sign points to emotional exaggeration (Jupiter) and restriction (Saturn). By entering into a relationship/business deal (Libra) she experienced harshness around her emotions (Moon-Saturn) on a grand scale (Jupiter). On a side note, Capricorn rules the 7th house, indicating that she encounters discipline and structure through partnership. The institution and structure (Saturn) that she entered into through her marriage with Harry (Capricorn in the 7th) would challenge her emotions (Moon) and it put limits on her freedom (Jupiter-Saturn) and affected her overall health (Sagittarius in the 6th).

Meghan has an Aries Midheaven, indicating that her career involves breaking new territory, doing her own thing, leading her own way. This usually doesn’t go over very well when attempting to work for authority. The person usually becomes frustrated and eager to venture out on his or her own. This is exactly what has happened. Her Moon-Saturn-Jupiter conjunction in Libra opposes her MC in Aries, which perfectly points to her attempts to keep things civil and non-aggressive (Libra), while coming off as selfish and individualistic to the public (Aries). Aries as a sign is famous for not listening to anyone and moving into unpaved territory, which she certainly has accomplished. The public now sees her as someone who goes her own way – doing her own thing and standing up for herself, for better or for worse. Her Mars is in Cancer, which is why her aggression isn’t direct and rather passively expressed. She has the stereotypical female aggressiveness that implies playing on one’s weakness and hurt in order to wear down the target. It’s also in the 12th house, which hints to it being disowned by the conscious personality. Meghan might have a hard time conceptualizing of herself as a force of impact and might not see how her pent up frustration might become an enemy to herself. She has complained about feeling attacked by the media and this is classic of a 12th house Mars attributing aggressiveness to anything but the self. Attack and unpleasantness seem to flood the person from the unspecified sources, and it can arguable be a horrific experience. In the interview she mentioned feeling suicidal at one point and desperate to not be alone with the threat coming from the outside, her own mind, or both. It’s difficult to attribute the cause to any single factor with planets in the 12th. Mars squares her MC and her Moon-Saturn-Jupiter conjunction which indicates struggle in the psyche concerning her emotional involvement with structure and beliefs, vs. her public image vs. her own fighting spirit. She certainly has confronted and challenged established structure (Mars square Saturn), albeit with an attempt to be “respectful” resulting in a passive-aggressive understanding of everyone’s difficulties and struggles.

The thing that drew her to The Royal Family in the first place must’ve been her Libran urge for class, style, aestheticism and beauty. She undoubtedly found it glamorous and exciting to get to be in the spotlight, to be respected as part of something elevated and glamorous in nature. She probably has a need for spiritual meaning, indicated by her Moon-Jupiter contact – and to have her daily work based on sharing “truth” and “generous” disposal of knowledge gained through experience (Sagittarius in the 6th). She also craves structure and order indicated by her Moon-Saturn contact, which she pursued through partnership (Capricorn in the 7th) with a member of a family with unparalleled saturnian streaks of tradition, custom and regulations. To establish herself within the family would not have been such a terrible idea for her because it could’ve met all of her needs for purpose and order. However, her Mars in the 12th house didn’t allow for this plan to work. One could say that her own self-serving function rebelled after having yielded to outside influences for too long. Planets in the 12th house are usually “given up” to whatever circumstance one is in – which often results in the person acting through being “overcome” by something - pushed into a position of having to act. Meghan declared feeling imposed on by the outside, emotionally unsafe and unwell. The 12th house is the house of self-undoing after all, and her actions might’ve proven to be quite detrimental - perhaps continuing to be. Square aspects, as that between her Mars and Moon-Saturn-Jupiter conjunction stimulates action because it’s indicative of friction. She had to fight (Mars) for her needs (Moon), control and integrity (Saturn) and for her beliefs (Jupiter).

#astrology #meghan markle #astrology analysis #megxit #cancer rising #libra moon #leo sun #sun 1st house #neptune 5th house #saturn conjunct moon #jupiter conjunct moon #meghan markle natal chart #natal chart #natal chart analysis #mars in 12th house #cancer mars #moon 3rd house #jupiter 3rd house #saturn 3rd house

[gallavictorious]

Do you think Mickey feels he got closure with terry?

Short answer and based on what we’ve seen so far: not really, no. Or rather: not yet.

Long (and I do mean really quite long) answer below.

Admittedly, writing on this topic now, before we’ve seen how Mickey deals with the aftermath of Terry’s death in the next episode, strikes me as a bit of a fool’s errand, because what we get on Sunday will (probably, hopefully) offer us more insight into how he feels about his dad and their relationship now. But I am fascinated with the subject, so I’m going to go ahead and indulge in rambling, though with the proviso that everything below is a tentative analysis that might well need to be revised once 11x09 has aired. As always, I’m glad of other people’s input, because I suspect I’m nowhere near done forming my opinion on this.

Before we start, I’d like to note that this post solely and specifically addresses how Mickey reacts to his dad and trauma on the show; it’s not a statement on how actual live trauma victims should or should not relate to their abusers. That really, really isn’t for me to say. Okay?

All right, then. Let’s get to it:

Following 10x12 I thought that Mickey was pretty much done with Terry; as far as he was concerned, that bridge was burned once Terry burned down The Bamboo Lotus, and even though they must have reached some sort of unspoken cold war type of truce (ie not actively trying to kill one another) Mickey seemed content to ignore his dad. No more asking for advice; no more helping out with various “jobs”; no more attempts at some semblance of a relationship, be it a cordial one or a murderous one. What we got in 11x06 didn’t really change that: seeing Terry thus weakened understandably stirred a lot of emotion in Mickey but both his choice not to kill his dad and his choice to eventually help him have arguably less to do with Terry or Mickey’s relationship to him, and more to do with what sort of person Mickey wants to be. At that point, he chooses to be a man stepping away from his father’s hateful legacy, wanting to be better than that. (And by God, Mickey dearest, you are so much better than that.) And that could have been the end of it, you know? That could have been closure of a sort – not in the sense that it in any way healed the wounds of the past, but in the sense that it signified Mickey finding a way to live with the hurt that allows him to move forward.

Now, we knew (from the episode descriptions) this wasn’t the end of their story, but I was still surprised by Mickey’s overt preoccupation with Terry in 11x08. This isn’t just someone doing the (more than) decent thing to be a decent person, this is genuine concern for Terry’s welfare – and while part of it might be tied to the ingrained idea that “family is family” and while Mickey is still very much aware of the fact that Terry is an utter piece of shit, it’s very hard not to read this as Mickey – once more, and probably without fully acknowledging it– being driven by a latent wish for his father’s approval, that need for connection. (As I’ve argued before, I think that’s why Ian’s not necessarily very enthusiastic about Mickey’s dedication, even though he thinks everyone should receive aid and even though he probably is quite taken with Mickey being so caring.)

But while I didn’t really see it coming, I do like it. I get why you’d rather have him finally and vocally and possibly violently denounce his dad; it’d be cathartic, surely, for a lot of people to see that. But to me, what we get feels truer to the complex push and pull of their fractured bond and is quite frankly more interesting to me because it is messy and complicated and unfinished. Terry is a nightmare; he’s still Mickey’s dad; the relationship between an abusive parent and a child is often highly complex, and I think the show has done a consistently good job of showing that. 11x08 is no exception. You might think Mickey should tell his dad to fuck of once and for all because Terry doesn’t deserve Mickey’s time or devotion (I mean, he really doesn’t), but I find it highly realistic that Mickey would opt for this instead now that it’s a possibility. (It’s relevant to note, I think, that Mickey only allows himself to approach Terry again when Terry is helpless and not in a position to actually harm him; Mickey’s ultimately in control here, and I think that’s very important.)

So yeah, I think Mickey is searching for something from his dad still, but I don’t think he quite gets it. Can’t get it, really.

See, I believe that Terry, to some small degree at least, regrets not having a better relationship with Mickey: that’s how I read “you’d probably have made a half-decent son”. However, his regret isn’t tied to any notions of “I wish I’d been better and given another chance I’d try to do things differently” but instead an expression of “yeah, it suck’s that you’re gay so I had to hate you”. It’s not an acceptance of responsibility or even a vague hint of being willing to change or to accept Mickey for who he is, and because of that – because Terry is not willing or able to change and because Mickey will no longer accept anything less – Mickey’s potential but unvoiced dreams of reconciliation cannot be fulfilled. (And let’s be clear: even if Terry did repent and changed and made what amends he could that doesn’t undo or make up for the damage he has done and Mickey has zero obligation to forgive him or spend even another second in his company.)

So it’s not enough – what could be? – but it is something. A grudging acknowledgment of Mickey’s good qualities, an admission that he is desirable as a son – or would be, if it weren’t for that one thing. :/ It’s recognition and rejection all wrapped into one, and I really like Mickey’s response: he makes it clear that he knows that he’s not the problem here and that he’s fully aware of what an evil bastard Terry is but that he still chooses to be there; chooses to feed Terry and find him a nurse, rather than scoop his eyeballs out or piss on him or use his mouth for a fucking ashtray.

It reminds me of a passage from the Swedish novel Beartown by Fredrik Backman: “She will hold all the power in that moment, but she will spare him. She doesn’t forgive, she doesn’t pardon, she merely spares him. He will always know it.” (2017[2016]:466, my translation.)

It’s remarkable too, I find, that Mickey doesn’t try to hide his hurt here: he allows himself to be vulnerable, to let his father see the pain he has caused. And Terry doesn’t pounce on it; he doesn’t scorn Mickey’s “weakness” or argue with his denunciation; he accepts the judgement and opens his mouth to accept the food without further protest, accepting – in that moment, at least – what Mickey chooses to give him. He concedes his loss of power and his dependance on the son he tortured and disowned. (But it’s not like he gives fully either – there’s no apology, no thanks, no actually asking for help: he just opens his mouth. It’s a lot for Terry, and I think we can acknowledge that, but it doesn’t change the fact that he is an utter and total asshole – and I’m glad that the show didn’t have him do more, because that would have felt… unlikely to me.)

It’s such a small thing, and so far less than what Mickey deserves, but probably more than he expected at this point. In time I think it will be helpful to him, to have gotten even this much, but at the time of Terry’s death I’d argue that it adds to rather than lessens Mickey’s burden. Because it’s possible that this could serve as a bookend to their relationship: not a reconciliation but as much of peace as they’ll ever know – eyes lifted to momentarily meet across the abyss in one brief instance of seeing, and being seen by, one another. But going only by what we get in 11x08 I don’t think that this is quite it, and rather than Mickey (in the moment) taking this as the final word or where they stand I think that he – in spite of everything Terry has done – can’t help but think of this exchange as an opening, the potential start of something. Not sure it’s a conscious thing, or how comfortable he is with this notion, because of course he is still very angry with and hates his dad, but consider the way he keeps looking at his phone and insisting they check back in with the nurse: that’s not the actions of someone who has laid things to rest and let it go, that’s Mickey doubling down on being a concerned son and… Yeah. As things stand, I tend to think that he was hoping against hope that maybe, possibly–

And then Terry is dead and Mickey is left with all of his conflicting emotions and nothing to do with them. It’d have been easier, probably, if it hadn’t been for that tiny, tiny softening; that small flare of hope I think Mickey might be quite angry with himself for feeling, if he admits to feeling it at all. It’d be easier if he could just hate Terry, you know?

Now, we don’t know what Mickey would have done if Terry (and that’s a big fucking if) had ever indicated any actual regret. But whether Mickey would have wanted that opportunity to rekindle a relationship with his father or if he’d have used to spit in Terry’s face and spend five hours telling him why Mickey would never forgive him and felt nothing but hatred and revulsion for him, that choice was forever and finally taken from him.

However, I don’t think this means that Mickey won’t find closure; I believe he will, and I think – hope – that we’ll get to see some of that in the next episode. Because the thing about Terry not being willing or able to change means that he would never have been able to give Mickey what he truly needed anyway (and as mentioned, even if he did change there’s no undoing his crimes). It was always going to come down to Mickey finding a way to live with the scars; finding a way to make some sort of peace with the past (which doesn’t have to include making peace with Terry at all) and to let it be the past. He doesn’t strictly speaking need Terry for that and given what an asshole Terry is, maybe it’s actually easier to manage it when he’s not around to fuck it up.

So yeah. It’s not likely to be sweet or neat or even very conclusive – these things rarely are and recovery is a process – but I think that Mickey will get some closure one way or another, and I believe that in the end he’ll be glad for the tiny moment they shared just before Terry’s death, even if it’s a complicating factor now.

(It should also be noted that Terry isn’t horrible just as an evil response to Mickey being gay; he was plenty horrible to him and the rest of his kids outside of that too. Consider Mickey listing the awful things Terry did when Mickey was just a kid; consider Mandy telling Debbie in season 5 that she learned how to cover up a bruise form living with Terry. The attempted murder(s) and corrective rape and disowning Mickey was a result of Terry’s virulent homophobia, but he was an awful father long before he knew Mickey was gay. So even without the homophobia, there’d be a hell of a lot to hate him for.)

There’s certainly more to say on this topic, and I think that we’ll have reason to return to it come Sunday - but for now, that’s most of my thoughts, I think.

#thank you for the very interesting ask nonnie #have 2k words in response #11x08 #mickey milkovich #terry milkovich #meta #asks

[emeraldeyes23]

Fictober/Fantober 2020 -

Day 21 - Art Class

Ash sat in his art class and was bored as always. He highly appreciated literature but art was not for him. With literature, you could escape into other worlds for days or even weeks if you had enough imagination. Especially in his cruel world, he loved doing that. It was his way to escape.

When looking at art, you also dived into fictional worlds, but the worlds were already fixed or set. Ash liked to use his own imagination in creating imaginary worlds that only he could see or dive into, so he wasn't interested in art at all.

He saw the beauty in art and also saw the effort artists made with each little detail they added, the different colors and brushes they used, and could also see how much thought was put behind each picture.

Still, art pieces, especially portraits, reminded him too much of the photos his abusers took of him, and it just hit too close to home as far as he was concerned.

So, he usually sat in art class because he had no choice since it was an obligatory class and started daydreaming or reading books until his literature class started.

Until his art teacher told everyone to form pairs and sit opposite each other. Then, they were supposed to draw each other, which meant portraits. This was a day where he should have skipped school...

But if he were lucky, no one would partner with him, and he could continue reading his book under the table.

With his bad reputation, no one would dare to sit opposite him or even draw him. Everyone was too scared to even look at him and steered clear of him.

Except for Shorter, but he was in another class since he was older than him and in a higher grade...

So, Ash began reading a book. The teacher wouldn't say anything since the teachers were as scared of him as the students. As long as he had excellent grades, the teachers tended to overlook his rude outbursts, his skipping of classes and his late appearance.

"Hey, can I be your partner for this class?"

Ash was so shocked that he looked up at the student standing in front of him. He had black hair and honey brown eyes as he smiled innocently at him.

"You don't want to partner with me. Look for someone else.", he said, turning to his book again.

"But I'd like to draw you. Can I? As a thank you for saving me the other day."

Ash had saved Eiji from Arthur, a well-known bully in school. Since Eiji was new and had not many friends yet, was way too naive and couldn't defend himself, Arthur had found a new victim in him. He was easy prey. Even if he was a good athlete, he was never defending himself and just stayed silent.

To be honest, he hadn't saved him because he liked him but because he despised Arthur. He was a jerk and a complete loser who hated Ash and everyone more successful than he was. So basically, he hated everyone and loved bullying the weak.

"That's not necessary. I just hate Arthur. That's all."

"Eiji, that's a great idea to partner with Ash.", his art teacher said encouragingly. "I'd like to see your results at the end of the class. You'll explain your drawing and your thoughts behind it." Then she turned to Ash with a more severe glance.

"And, Ash, no skipping this time. If you miss another project in this class, you'll fail this class even if your other grades are excellent. If you'd only make an effort, you could pass this class easily as well.", she told him sternly.

"Eiji, please encourage him to draw you. He seems to like you. And he can draw pretty well if he wants to."

Ash sighed and finally dropped his book. Then he shrugged and looked at Eiji.

"Whatever. Tell me what I need to do."

"I just need to see your face. That's all. I want to draw your green eyes. In Japan, people don't have green eyes. They're all a different shade of brown.

So your eyes fascinate me. Your blonde hair, too. And I heard some interesting things about you.", he said while a small smile danced on his lips.

"Like what? That I'm dangerous and was in jail? Or that I sleep with everyone around here?", Ash asked him, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Eiji's smile died instantly as his eyes burnt wildly into his. "No! That's not what I meant at all. And I never listen to rumors. They're barely true. I like to get to know people myself and get my own impression of them instead of listening to stories of others.", Eiji said firmly. Ash stared at him in utter disbelief. That wasn't the answer he had expected. "No, I heard from Shorter that you're brilliant and a bookworm. Shorter always hangs out with you, so what he tells me is probably true." Eiji smiled at him. "Your point?", Ash asked impatiently while looking at him. Eiji irritated him. He wasn't fazed at all by the rumors he had mentioned, and he wasn't scared to sit close to him and looked directly into his eyes without flinching when he wasn't sketching. No one dared to look into his eyes. Ever. Yet, Eiji kept smiling at him and talked to him without any hesitation or any traces of fear. He had huge brown eyes that smiled warmly at him and weren't hiding anything. All his emotions were displayed openly on his face so that Ash relaxed more and more. He reluctantly admitted to himself that Eiji was the first student who didn't have any ulterior motives. His innocence wasn't an act, as he had suspected at first. His honesty and innocence were genuine since he was incapable of hiding his true emotions. "I'm not good at literature, so I wondered if you could tutor me? We're reading "The Catcher in the Rye" and I have no clue about that book. And my English isn't that good. I often don't understand the slang words. But Shorter meant you love that book. So, will you do it?" "I'll give you an answer only after I've seen your picture." "I've drawn two, actually." Eiji grinned at him. He turned his sketch pad around to him and showed it to him. "This is pretty good, Eiji. Do I really look like that? So sad?" "Sometimes, yes.", Eiji replied sincerely. "You often look as if you want to be somewhere else. Escape into another world where you can be free. But something is keeping you from being free. It's reflected in your eyes. They're overshadowed by darkness." Ash stared at him in surprise, speechless for once. "That's why I've drawn the other picture. Eiji showed him the other one. It was drawn as well as the first one, but instead of the sad look, he wore a soft little smile that reached his eyes and brightened them. Eiji had even colored his eyes and his hair, highlighting them. "Why the second picture? And why do I smile like that?" "The second picture is the soft smile I want to see more often. You often wear it when you watch our training.", Eiji told him. "It looks great on you and lights up your eyes.", he clarified for him. "I don't watch your training. I just like lying there in the sun. Your training at the same time is a mere coincidence.", Ash stubbornly replied, turning away from him. When he turned around to him again, Eiji had that knowing smile that made it evident that he wasn't fooled. Sometimes, it looked as if Eiji saw more than he wanted him to see... penetrating his poker face and the emotions he had buried deep inside without making an effort. "You're lying. You only lie there on Mondays at the exact time we train there. Strange coincidence, huh?, he asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "Think whatever you like." Ash crossed his arms and avoided his gaze. Then, Ash took a deep breath and reluctantly opened his sketch pad and tried to draw Eiji. He had a hard time concentrating since Eiji smiled at him every time he looked up from his sketch pad. He finally focused on the sketch and tried to think back to the training he had watched. Of course, it wasn't a coincidence he watched the training. He admired Eiji. When he was pole vaulting, it looked for a moment as if he could fly. For Ash, that was what pure freedom had to look like. He had always dreamed about flying anywhere he wanted, about being free of all the constraints pulling him back here. He had given up fighting for his own freedom a long time ago. Then, one time, when he was walking home from school, he had seen him, how Eiji had easily lifted himself up in the air and had flown like a bird in the blue sky before he had landed on the mat again. That moment had given him new hope to try again. Maybe he could still fly if he tried... After a while, Ash was done and showed him the picture with a mischievous smile. "Liar! I knew you watched my training!", Eiji exclaimed, feigning to be offended. Then he grinned at him. "But the drawing is amazing. You have drawn it incredibly well." "I watch your training because I admire you, Eiji; you know how to fly. How to be free." Then he walked out of the classroom.

#Banana Fish #Ash Lynx Eiji Okumura #manga #anime #fictober2020 #fantober2020

[digressfromreality]

The Fall of Baby Might

Lana Yagi had been famous from the moment it was revealed who her father was, All Might, Japan’s number one hero. But had that revelation been worth it: the media scrutiny, the burden of legacy, the crippling seeds of doubt? Did Lana crumple under the pressure?

Izuku x Lana x Tomura

Part 3/Part 5

Part 4. Why should I apologize for the way I feel inside? (Sorry not sorry by Gemini Syndrome)

Her hands were trembling in anger as she saw her media moniker trend on twitter. That interview was coming back to haunt her. Edits and soundbites of the interview were circulating different platforms.

This shouldn’t have happened. She had a well strapped PR team, that she didn’t have to pay for herself! The hero society behind the scenes had taken the initiative to scrub her public image. She had to uphold the legacy of All Might; his retirement ended an era of honest, good heroes. This doctored video might be the end of it all.

The video starts out with the title, WHAT THEY DIDN’T WANT US TO KNOW. It jumps right into her answers and cuts out most of the question the reporter had asked. She was probably halfway through the interview at this point, where she was starting to get frustrated.

“You know, I get asked this question a lot actually, but my answer never ends up in the final cut or in the written press.” She sighed, leaning back into her chair, “I feel like one of these days they’ll finally release it, so I can stop being asked to reiterate it.” The reporter leaned forward, appearing concerned, it was surprise for most in the studio to hear Baby Might sound so, pessimistic.

“Do you mind explaining once again?” She smiled, but Lana could see the excitement in the reporter’s eyes. Everyone wants to know more about her father’s private life. But her answer never satisfies them.

She was not there to sing her father’s praises, but genuinely tries to make a legitimate issue have a voice in public.

The video gave an overlay of static before settling on the end of her sentence, “Society is sick. There is such a focus on what is labeled inherently good and evil, that many people suffer from its symptoms without ever knowing what is happening isn’t their fault. They are victims of broken system.”

More static, “Most have been repressed for so long, they just need to do something that is their control. Why should we dictate how they grieve?”

A slight gasp from someone in the sound crew, caused Lana’s eyes to apparent dim and off center. Possibly to look over at the crew member with a questioning look, she couldn’t remember anything really after that noise of surprise had cut off her train of thought.

More static.

“Surely, your opinion has changed, during your…absence.”

“Despite my absence, my opinion really hasn’t changed. Power can be dangerous no matter what the power is, or who is wielding it. Now imagine my father being a villain, fucking terrifying right?”

More static.

Lana is raising her hands, looking like a lunatic, it cuts in, “…like Himiko Toga. Her quirk relies on the blood of others to transform herself. With the right help, she could have famous rather than infamous. With a tiniest bit a blood she could have been a stunt double for any celebrity. I mean her acting skills are nearly flawless in mimicry!”

More static.

“We all speculated that your father, late hero All Might,” spliced in soundbite, “would be disappointed with your cavalier attitude toward villains.”

Then more static, showing the bodyguards screaming at the reporter.

“She didn’t follow the script given to her!”

“How they dare interrogate her!”

“Lana don’t even look at them!”

“Give us this tape, we are confiscating this. You broke contract!”

Lana dropped her phone, pulling at her hair in despair. What the hell just happened? How did that get leaked? Did she really look as crazy as she sounded?

No, no everything was out of context. Even the last thing the reporter said in the clip wasn’t even correct.

…Or maybe it was. She had kind of zoned in and out during the interview itself. Izuku had seen the tape perhaps-

IZUKU! Yes! She stood up, looking for her keys. She had to find Izuku, he could help her. The door to their apartment slammed with a resounding thud.

---

Tired, Deku finally made it back to entrance of his agency. He hadn’t meant for patrol to take him as long as it did, but he happen to come across a strew of incidents. First one smash his communicator, and somehow, he was pickpocketed for his cellphone and wallet. He had really no way of reaching out to Lana during the day, hopefully she would understand his tardiness.

Perhaps, he could take a long, hot bath, ease out the kinks in his neck. Lana and he could probably order delivery, she had been favoring udon as of late.

He sighed, patting his pockets once again. He’ll have to get the receptionist to give him a new badge and deactivate his old one.

Never would he ever predicted that Lana would be raising hell with reporters in the lobby of his agency. She had a hold of one man’s shirt while she was glaring him down. The rest were eating it up as she attacked one of their colleagues.

His receptionist and sidekicks were trying to push through the crowd, confused on what was the cause of the pandemonium, but it seemed like Lana was at the center of it. Izuku shivered, as he quickly, but politely tried to get toward Lana. What the public didn’t know was that Lana did possess a quirk. Although weak in comparison to One-For-All, she could force a false memory in someone’s head. The side effect for the receiver was something usually unpleasant, and the sender, Lana, would get violently sick because of the mental strain.

“Lana.” He chastised, as he pulled her to his chest. She broke eye contact, making her nauseous as Izuku jostled her around, hiding her from the paparazzi. “Calm down, please don’t do anything irrational.”

She paused, tears streaking her bloodshot eyes, how could he stand so tall and stern, just to scold her? She needed the saving from them, not the other way around. How could Izuku look at her like a vi—

#deku x oc #deku x reader #izuku x reader #bnha #midoriya bnha #izuku midoriya #mha imagines #bnha imagines #shigaraki bnha #shigaraki mha #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki x oc #shigaraki x reader #All Might #shigaraki imagine #deku imagine

[bubonickitten]

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Chapter 13 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 13: all the usual Buried-related warnings apply (claustrophobia, inability to breathe, etc.); panic/anxiety symptoms; just a smidgen of internalized aphobia; brief mention of past passive suicidal ideation; internalized victim blaming; canon-typical trauma (including discussion of victims targeted by the Fears as children).SPOILERS through S5.

Chapter 13: Center

The darkness and overwhelming pressure of the Buried make it nigh impossible to orient oneself. The only conceivable directions are forward, down, into, deeper. Jon’s only choice, when he has one at all, is to keep moving – and so he does, digging and clawing his way through the muck, making a transient pathway for himself as best he can.

“Daisy?” It comes out as a rasp. He tries to swallow, but succeeds only in upsetting his already-sore throat. It feels as though the dirt and debris have taken up permanent residence there, clogging his airway just enough to leave him chronically short of breath without cutting off his oxygen supply entirely. “Daisy, can you reach me?”

“Jon,” comes the weak reply, “I’m – I don’t know where – I c-can’t – can’t see –”

“I hear you,” Jon says. “I’m here, I’m coming to you. Just – keep talking, and –”

As he talks, he inhales a cloud of dust, dissolving into wracking coughs.

“Jon? Jon, are you still there?” For a long moment, Jon cannot speak. Daisy’s next words are steeped in panic. “Where are you? I can’t… p-please be there, please –”

“I’m still here,” Jon forces out hoarsely, stretching his arm forward as far as it will go. “I’m not going anywhere. Follow my voice, I – I think I’m almost –”

Chill fingertips brush against his, and he throws his weight forward as much as possible. He hooks her fingers in his and pulls, and with a burst of energy he manages to clasp her clammy hand in his.

“There you are,” he says, smiling weakly.

“You’re real,” Daisy says in disbelief, crushing his hand in a bruising grip. “You’re real.”

“I am.” He intertwines their fingers, as grateful as she is for a hand to hold. “I’m here, Daisy.”

“Daisy,” she says dreamily. “Yeah. Daisy. That’s me.” A pause. “Just – just me.”

Jon closes his eyes with a relieved sigh. There are no signs that the Hunt still has its claws in her. He had no reason to think that reaching her a couple weeks earlier than before would change anything, but there was still that nagging doubt.

“J-just me,” she says again, but this time there’s a waver in her voice. “Just – alone –”

“No,” Jon says hurriedly, squeezing her hand several times in quick succession, “not – not alone. Not anymore.”

“Yeah.” She grasps his hand even more tightly, as if to reassure herself.

“I’m here.”

“Yeah,” she says again, and this time it sounds like she’s starting to believe it.

“How – how are you?” Jon cringes. It’s as stupid a question now as it was the last time. Moreso, seeing as he’s already heard the answer. “S-sorry. That’s – probably obvious.”

Daisy answers anyway, likely glad of the chance to talk to someone else after so long in isolation.

“I – I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t…” She trails off, hesitating. “But it’s… it’s quiet here? I can’t…”

She seems to be struggling to find the words.

“You can’t feel the blood,” he supplies.

“Y-yeah. How did you…”

“I can’t feel the Eye, either. It’s… it’s just me. All me.”

“Where are we?”

“In the Coffin. The Buried. It’s… the powers don’t have much sway within one another’s domains. The Hunt, the Eye – they can’t reach us here.”

“The Hunt,” she echoes.

“Yes. You’re a Hunter.”

“I… I guess I was. But – not here.”

No, not here. But once they leave here…

Stop, he tells himself. One thing at a time. Escape the Buried, then worry about the Hunt.

“Come on.” He tugs on her hand. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Can’t – can’t move, and – and even if I could, there’s no way out –”

“No, I – I can get us out. I have a plan.”

“Is this like all your other plans?”

Jon chuckles, but it comes out as a wheeze.

“Yes and no. But – but don’t worry, it’s – I can do this. I just – need to – to find it.”

But when he closes his eyes and concentrates, there’s… nothing there.

“Come on,” he says under his breath, keeping his voice deliberately calm. “Come on, where are you?”

There’s nothing there. Why is there nothing there?

“Just need to… need to focus. Just – focus, think of…”

Think of Martin. Martin is your anchor. Clever, brave, loyal, compassionate Martin.

He was kind to you even when you didn’t deserve it; he cared for you even though you did everything you could to push him away. He reached out to you through the Lonely when you were at your most monstrous to remind you of the humanity you’d thought you lost. He made you want to do better, to be the person that he saw when he looked at you.

You followed him into the Lonely because you love him and because he deserved to know it. You need to return to him now, because this version of him doesn’t yet know that he is loved. If you don’t get back to him, if you don’t reach out to him – he’ll get lost, and he –

Jon’s breath hitches. The fear is starting to move in as inexorably as the earth surrounding them, settling cold and heavy in his gut.

Stop that, he tells himself. Just think about Martin, not the worst case scenario.

Everyone underestimates him, because he spent his entire life striving for the perfect balance between useful and unobtrusive. But he’s not helpless; he’s not a pushover. He took master manipulator Jonah Magnus by surprise; he fooled Peter Lukas for months. Sometimes, you think that Martin Blackwood could outmaneuver the Web if he cared to. If anyone could, it would be him. You don’t think you’ll ever fully forgive yourself for taking so long to notice.

No, Jon tells himself once more, recognizing the warning signs of a guilt spiral. That won’t help. Redirect.

In those early days after the ritual, you briefly defaulted to your old habits, withdrawing and shutting him out. He stood up to your brooding, gave your self-loathing no refuge in which to thrive, because he saw right through your sharp tongue to the vulnerable parts of you that it was meant to hide.

He is intuitive, stubborn, and patient in the best of ways.

You have a tendency to stare. You always have; you typically don’t notice you’re doing it. After you became the Archivist, it went from being an awkward habit to evidence of your inhumanity: all eyes, always watching, always demanding more, more, more until every secret is exposed and any semblance of privacy has been demolished.

But it was never just the Eye urging you to record things. You know from experience that nothing lasts forever, that anyone and anything can disappear without a moment’s notice – sometimes leaving no trace, no memory that they ever existed. It only makes sense that you would develop a compulsion to document everything for posterity. The tape recorders were only the most recent manifestation of that preexisting obsession. Before that, you made lists, you took pictures, you wrote on your hands – and, of course, you stared.

During your first few days together at the safehouse, Martin called attention to the staring. You were mortified, launched into a rambling apology – but he shut it down, reassured you that he was only teasing, that he didn’t mind it, that it was… endearing, in a way. And once you were given permission, you began to consciously catalog every little detail.

He has thirty-six freckles on his face, seventeen on his hands, and constellations of them besides: on his back, on his shoulders, on his arms, on his belly. He blushes easily, and you love it, because you’ve never been good at reading body language, and you can always use a hint. His hair is soft, and the way he leans into it when you run your fingers through it – you think he would purr if he could. You were hesitant, at first, to spend too long looking at his eyes – but unlike most people, he showed no signs that he found eye contact with you unsettling.

You gave him permission to stare, too. And he did. He never shied away from your scars. He liked looking at you – and you knew he was genuine when he said so, even though you didn’t understand it.

Martin is self-conscious about his size, painfully aware of how others see him. He rarely stands to his full height, tending to curl his shoulders in, maintain a curve to his spine, keep his arms pulled tight to his body: anything to avoid towering over others, anything to take up as little space as possible. He saw his stretch marks as flaws to be tolerated; spent most of his life assuming that his weight and soft edges made him unattractive.

There are so many things he hates about himself. It broke your heart a little, to see how difficult it was for him to believe that you like looking at him, that your boundaries regarding physical intimacy weren’t a comment on his desirability. (Though he never voiced that last concern, never wanted his own insecurities to make you feel self-conscious about that part of you. Never made you feel guilty or lacking or… or broken.)

You regularly stole his jumpers; the first time you did it, he went speechless and flustered at the casual domesticity of it all. You took turns ambushing one another with affirmations and small acts of affection like that. It became something of a challenge, a game: springing a pet name on one another here, placing a soft kiss on a hand there, delighting in the reactions it got. It’s strange how easily you settled into that routine, how natural it felt to let down your guard.

At night, he would curl around you like he belonged there, like there was no place he’d rather be – and it made you feel like you belong, too. The first time he held you in his arms, you realized that you’d never truly known what it was to feel safe until that moment – and isn’t that its own special kind of vulnerability, isn’t it such a cliché? You still had nightmares, still jolted awake several times throughout the night frantic and disoriented – as did he – but it felt so much more endurable with someone to coax you back to reality.

When you first led him out of the Lonely, it was still clinging to him. He couldn’t understand what you saw in him, any more than you could understand what he saw in you. You made it your mission to make him understand. And eventually, he did. It wasn’t the first time you told him you loved him, but one morning when you said it, he looked at you and his lips parted ever so slightly, and you could practically see the epiphany dawn in his eyes, and he whispered that he believed you.

You still haven’t found a word that accurately describes what you felt then. You kissed him, and hoped that it would say what words could not.

You never gave up on each other, even when you’d given up on your own selves. He never stopped caring for you, even when you were at your most fearsome and fearful. Despite everything, you communicated, you compromised, you comforted one another. You never stopped loving one another.

You lost him once before. You cannot lose him again. You need to find him. Why – why can’t you find him? Why can’t you feel him?

Jon feels his breath quickening, terror needling at the edges of his mind. He jumps slightly when Daisy speaks.

“Jon?”

“It’s – it’s okay,” he says, his voice shaky. “I’ve – I’ve done this once before. I can do this.”

There’s no rule saying he can only have one anchor, right?

He thinks of Georgie.

She took you in when you had nowhere else to go, even though you hadn’t spoken in years, even though you hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Staying with her felt more like home than you’d experienced in… you don’t know how long. It made you realize how much you missed her – her humor, her ingenuity, her confidence, her tenacity, her generosity, and, yes, even her perceptiveness, daunting though it may be at times. She speaks her mind and you can take her at her word. You can appreciate that, as someone who has always had trouble parsing the implicit and unspoken aspects of social life.

You trust her judgment, and she believes in you, and it makes you want to believe in yourself. You want to be there for her in the same way that she’s chosen to be there for you.

He thinks of Melanie.

You disliked one another at first meeting, even though – or perhaps because – you have so much in common. Over the years, you saw more sides to her. She’s brave and resolute, not just when it comes to fighting back, but when it comes to making the conscious decision to heal. She’s capable of kindness to those who are receptive to it. You’ve seen how she is with Georgie, how her hard edges relax, how her devotion is as fierce as her anger can be – perhaps moreso.

You know that she never deserved to suffer like she has. You know she deserves a happy ending. You want to try to reconcile with her. In your future, she went so far as to suggest that you could be friends. You think you would like that.

He thinks of Basira.

She’s had no one but herself to rely on for months. She feels trapped and alone; she hasn’t had a moment to grieve; she’s forced herself to compartmentalize and detach because if she breaks down, she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to put herself back together again. She’s told herself that her own comfort and wellbeing don’t matter. She has a job to do and she’s the only one left who is willing and able to do it. The only solid thing left in her life, the only thing giving her purpose is the mission. The mission is her anchor, because she’s lost everything else.

When she found out that Daisy was alive, she was almost angry with you for making her dare to hope. You promised that you would bring Daisy home to her, and you mean to keep that promise.

And Jon has a job to do, too, doesn’t he?

You need to stop Jonah Magnus, you need to –

His stomach clenches as the dread grips him.

Okay, no. Don’t – don’t think of Jonah. Not helpful, not helpful, not –

He reaches further. He tries to think of Naomi, of the Admiral, of –

The faraway rumbling starts up again.

“Jon,” Daisy says again, urgently, perched on the edge of panic right along with him.

This is forever deep below creation, some self-sabotaging part of his brain reminds him. Where the weight of existence bears down. This is the Buried, and we are alive. There isn’t even an up –

“I just – I just – I just need to calm down,” he stammers. He can feel his pulse beating in his throat; would be hyperventilating if he could breathe at all. “I – I can’t think straight, and I just need to…”

He thinks back to the physical details of the world just outside the Coffin.

The arrangement of the tapes –

…CASE #0160919 sits 34.2 centimeters west of the Coffin, turned at a 45-degree angle. Approximately 20.6 centimeters south-southwest is CASE #0172904; the casing of its recorder is slightly cracked at the lower left corner. 2.4 centimeters to its right is CASE #0171302; the rewind button on the recorder housing it tends to stick…

– on the floor of his office –

…where fingernail scratches are still visible in the northwest corner of the room, left there by Enrique MacMillan on 4 November, 2003, after he gave his statement regarding his encounter with a Buried-touched Leitner…

– and the tape he left on his desk –

…on top of a softcover Moleskine notebook – black, 12.7 by 21 centimeters, ruled – belonging to Martin Blackwood; the Archivist knows every word written thus far on the 68 used out of 192 total pages within…

– and on that tape are pleas that went unanswered for far too long, laced with desperation and grief and rapidly dwindling hope –

…We really need you, Jon. We – I need you …

– but Jon cannot hear it anymore.

His mind wanders to the single folded sheet of paper tucked away in the top drawer of his desk. A second message for Martin, to be read only in the event that Jon doesn’t return. A transcript, to be precise.

On their way to the Panopticon, they had been separated when they traversed the Lonely’s domain. Jon had searched frantically, resisting the urge to simply Know because he had promised. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t feel right forcing Martin to See him the way he did before. It was Martin’s domain, and he had the right to decide for himself whether to leave it behind. Even if Jon had wanted to, though, he suspected that he wouldn’t have been able to actually find Martin this time unless he wanted to be found. And in the end, he did.

Just before Jon found him, he managed to catch the tail end of Martin’s statement. Naturally, the Archive memorized every word and dutifully filed it away without any conscious effort or consent on Jon’s part.

…I am Martin Blackwood, and I am not Lonely anymore; I am not Lonely anymore. I want to have friends. I – no, I have friends. I’m in love. I am in love, and I will not forget that; I will not forget…

Before he entered the Coffin, Jon copied it down and left it behind. Just in case. Just in case something goes wrong. If he goes missing in action for too long, he trusts that eventually someone will clear out his desk, find it, and hopefully pass it along to its intended recipient.

It was a last-ditch effort to impart the truth: that a future exists wherein Martin isn’t Lonely; that he can be and is and deserves to be cared for; that it isn’t just an unattainable fantasy. And, most importantly, Jon is not the only one who can provide that, nor is Jon alone enough to fulfill that need. In the end, Martin chose to turn his back on the Lonely. He can do it again.

There’s every chance that it was a meaningless gesture, but Jon doesn’t think he could live with himself if he didn’t at least try – and if he does get lost down here, he’ll be forced to live with himself for as long as the Buried itself exists.

But Jon doesn’t want to leave Martin alone with that inexplicable scrap of statement, hoping that it’s enough to get the point across. Jon has to get home. He has to; there’s no other choice –

“Jon?” Daisy says again. “You sound like you’re… what – what’s wrong?”

“Sorry, I’m – I’m just… I can’t – I can’t feel my anchor.”

“Anchor?”

“Y-yeah. Something to ground me, help me feel the way out. It’s – there’s a void where it should be, and…” His short exhale shudders on the way out. “I think – I think we might be here for awhile longer.”

“N-not alone, though,” Daisy says, almost questioningly.

“No. No, not alone. And – and I can still get us out, I think,” he adds hurriedly. “I just – I need to… I need to come down from the panic, and it’s hard to do that when I can’t – I can’t breathe –“

His breath catches and he closes his eyes. Stop, he tells himself, you’re – you’re spiraling, talking yourself into a panic. Just… listen – listen to the quiet.

“Jon?”

“Still – still here,” he says, squeezing her hand again. “I’m not going anywhere without you, I promise.”

“Do you – if you need a break from – from whatever you’re doing…” She falters for a moment before blurting out: “C-can we… can we talk? I haven’t – I just want someone to hear me.”

“Of course. I’m listening.” When Daisy doesn’t reply, he offers a gentle prompting. “Daisy?”

“I’m – it’s difficult. I can’t find the words.”

“Would it help if I… ask?” The last time, it did help her get her thoughts out.

“Y-yeah,” she says with only a slight delay. “Do your… thing.”

“Right,” he says. For a moment, he worries that he’ll have difficulty concentrating long enough to compel an answer, but his mind clears almost as soon as he opens his mouth. Of course. “How are you feeling?”

The question buzzes like static on his tongue on its way out.

“S-scared. I – I’m – I’m s-scared…”

Daisy’s words do not deviate from the last time he was here, but he does not interrupt her as she speaks. He latches onto her voice, focuses all of his attention on her story, and tries to ground himself in the present.

“Y-you know what I thought, when I woke up here? I thought this was hell. I – I was dead, and I was in hell. And I - I knew I deserved it.” Daisy stifles a sob as she nears the end of her statement. “I don’t want t-to b-be a s-sadistic predator again. I – I don’t want to hobble around like some – pathetic wounded prey here. I don’t know which would be worse. But I’m scared now – that I won’t ever get the choice.”

One thing I’ve learned, Daisy, is that we all get a choice, he told her last time. Even if it doesn’t feel like one.

Now, though, he’s not so sure. Or, rather, now he thinks it isn’t quite that simple.

“It’s… complicated,” Jon starts slowly. “Choice, I mean. We all have choices, but – but when all the alternatives are unendurable, or impossible to achieve, or – or even conceptualize, then… well, it’s not a fair choice, is it? Sometimes because that’s just – how it is, and sometimes by design. There – there are people, and – and things out there that will abuse their power to deceive you, keep you ignorant about things that would affect your decisions. Or – or convince you that you have no options, no autonomy – or even that you can’t trust your own judgment, your own senses. Some choices can hardly be called choices at all.”

He begins to grind his teeth as he considers his next words, but stops as soon as he feels the grit between his molars when he bites down. There are a lot of things to hate about the Buried, but its refusal to allow him to engage in any of his usual nervous habits definitely adds insult to injury.

“You say you deserve to be here, but – do you think you deserved to be marked by the Hunt in the first place? Because one thing I’ve learned is… most people who become Avatars – we don't necessarily do anything to deserve the attention of the things that take notice of us. To be put in these positions, to be given impossible choices about – about things we have no right to decide in the first place.”

“What do you mean?”

“It seems that a common thread is… well, um, I think Tim hit the nail on the head, actually? In his testament before the Unknowing, he – he said, ‘The only thing you need to have your life destroyed by this stuff is just bad luck. Talk to the wrong person, take the wrong train, open the wrong door, and that’s it.’”

“You remember that verbatim?”

“It’s – it’s an Archivist thing.” Well, technically. Jon can’t access the Archive right now, but some statements have looped so many times in his head that he has every word memorized by now. “But the point is that our transgressions, they… the punishment often doesn’t seem to fit the crime.”

Daisy is quiet, so Jon continues.

“Uh, Jane Prentiss, for instance – stumbled upon a wasps’ nest in her attic, and then the Corruption infested her. In her original statement, she was afraid of what was happening to her, she was asking for help, but it… it was slowly hollowing her out. Appealed to her insecurities, whispered to her that it was the only thing that could love her, that wouldn’t abandon her. Maybe eventually she embraced it on her own, but at that point, how much of her was left to make that choice?

“And – and Michael Crew. He was struck by lightning when he was eight. The Spiral never stopped stalking him after that. He spent his childhood in fear, obsessively sought out information about – lightning, and fractals, because understanding it felt like the only way to resist a thing that feeds on uncertainty.”

Jon can relate to that, can’t he? He was always curious, but his desire to know and understand things became more obsessive after he encountered his first monster – as if he could solve any problem if only he learned enough about it. But it was never enough, and that impulse never actually kept him safe. It only offered him a flimsy illusion of control, which was something he desperately needed after the Web showed him what it was like to have none. Still, an ineffective coping mechanism was better than not coping at all – or so he told himself then.

“When Mike realized that there was no escape from the supernatural once he’d been marked by it,” Jon continues, “he decided that the next best thing was choosing which Fear to submit to – to serve. Obsessively sought out Leitners until he found the Vast, and… it offered him safety. The most basic of human needs, something he hadn’t known since he was a child. The things he did to feed his patron were – indefensible, but I can’t help thinking about the person he might have been, if the Spiral hadn’t come into his life. He… he was only eight. How is a child supposed to process something that even an adult would have trouble coping with? I’m sure many children don’t even physically survive an encounter with one of the Fears, but even those that do… they never actually escape, do they?”

Daisy makes an indistinct little noise in her throat. Jon can’t Know for certain, but he imagines she’s thinking of her own first encounter with the Hunt. When enough time has passed that she doesn’t seem ready to say as much, Jon continues.

“And there’s – there’s Oliver Banks, he’s an Avatar of the End. He just started having dreams one day, became a death prophet. As far as I can tell, nothing provoked it. It just… happened. And early on, he tried to use that ability to help people, but… the powers granted us as Avatars, they aren’t for helping or saving anyone. When you realize that, after a long string of failures, you start to become… despondent – numb, even. Maybe some misstep along the way piqued the End’s interest in him, or maybe it was completely arbitrary. I don’t know. I don’t know that Oliver does, either.”

It’s difficult to speak at length here, and Jon’s speech is punctuated by frequent gasps and stops and starts, but he plows ahead. Granted, he’s always had a tendency toward intense, rapidfire speech whenever he gets invested in a topic of interest, but it’s also that he needs to cover as much ground as he can as quickly as possible. There’s no telling when the Buried will constrict again. Sometimes there are long intervals of relative peace; other times, the bouts of crushing pressure come one after the other in a barrage. The inconsistency makes the dread all the more potent: you can never predict when the walls will close in.

“And Helen,” he says, moving right along, “before she became the Distortion, she opened a door. That’s all. Most people would have probably done the same. A door that wasn’t there before, that can’t be there – of course the human mind wants to test its perceptions, make sense of the discrepancy. Which is exactly what the Distortion preys on. It let her escape its corridors, because it would make the fear that much more potent when it came for her again, when she realized that it had never actually let her go, that there was never any way to escape. It was… it was just playing with its food.”

Like with Benjamin Hatendi, Jon thinks. ‘The blanket never did anything.’

The Fears are never merciful. For an earthly predatory animal, the pain and fear of the prey are only relevant insofar as their utility in capturing it. Granted, the majority of animals may have no qualms about eating their prey alive so long as it’s incapacitated, no concept of putting their food out of its misery – but still, sustenance isn’t derived from the experience of the prey, only from its organic matter.

For the Powers, though… terror is the food source. If anything, the misery is deliberately drawn out. The suffering is primary to the meal.

“I still don’t know how much of Helen Richardson was left by the time she embraced her new existence and began feeding” – by the time she chose to stop feeling guilty, Jon notes privately – “but she never asked to be in that position to begin with. She just… opened a door.

“And you… all you did was trespass on a childhood dare, right? You and Calvin Benchley. I did hear the tape – of your interrogation with Elias. Maybe the Hunt chose the both of you, was deliberately waiting for you there. Or maybe you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, you… you did something that most children do at one point or another, exploring out bounds – I did plenty of that myself. And – and you’d done the same thing many times in the past, there was no reason to think that things would go any differently. But that time, that time you stumbled into something that most children – most people never do.”

Jon debates whether or not to share his own initiation into this world. He never told Daisy about it last time, but he knows – and Knows – about her childhood encounter. It seems only fair to include his own.

“Actually, I… I had a similar experience, when I was eight,” he admits, pushing through his habitual reservations. “Unlike Michael Crew, though, I was an active participant in my own fate. There’s no dodging a lightning strike, but me – I… I opened a book I shouldn’t have, knocked on a door I shouldn’t have. I could’ve just… not.”

“That’s a funny double standard,” Daisy says flatly.

“P-pardon?”

“Couldn’t you just as easily say that Crew could have chosen to not stand outside during a lightning storm?”

“He – he actually wanted to go inside, but his friend pressured him to keep playing,” Jon says, almost defensively. “By the time they decided to go in, it was too late.”

“Like I pressured Calvin.”

“That’s –” Jon gives an agitated little exhale. “It’s still different.”

“How?”

“Did you have a bad feeling about the dare, or was it just like any other day? You had no reason to think that things would go wrong. I… I knew that book was wrong, and I opened it anyway.” Daisy scoffs. “What?”

“Has anyone ever pointed out to you that you’re capable of some truly infuriating mental gymnastics?”

Jon puffs out another exasperated breath before muttering, “Yes.”

In fact, she said almost the exact same thing to him the last time around. And Georgie – she used to say so all the time, especially when they were dating.

“You always do this,” she’d pointed out once during an argument, hands on her hips and a shrewd look in her eye. “Any time a conversation gets a little too uncomfortable for you, you just – throw your hands up, say it’s your fault and shut down, and nothing ever gets resolved. Why are you so eager to take the blame for things? Is it that it’s better than admitting there are some things you can’t control, or is it just easier than actually talking about your feelings?”

The answer was yes on both counts, and he had been angry with her for putting it into words. He’d already known on some level, but he studiously avoided that sort of introspection. Now that it had been verbalized, the knowledge would always be there, floating around in his mind – yet another thing to overanalyze, to obsess over, to ambush him in moments of doubt.

Since then he’s gotten better at communicating in healthy ways, but the self-blame thing… well, Martin still had to periodically call him out on it, right up until the end. It became a common refrain: “It’s still victim blaming even if you’re the victim, Jon.” The reminder did help – at least some of the time – but it wasn’t enough to undo a worldview that he’d spent his entire life internalizing.

“Y-yes,” he says again, less sullenly now, “I – I see your point.”

“Good. So – evil book?”

“A Leitner, yes. The Web.” Jon has no desire to go into all the gruesome details, not when he’s – when they’re both already being suffocated by fear. “And I only escaped through… I don’t know, some combination of mundane human cruelty and luck – or… or someone else’s misfortune, more like.” He gives a tired sigh. “Or it could have been deliberate interference by the Web, taking someone else in my place because it had other plans for me. I’ll never know the exact reason why. If there even is a reason.”

He pauses, expecting the Beholding’s characteristic objection to the idea that he should accept not knowing anything, before remembering with grim satisfaction that the Eye can’t reach him here. Nor can the Web, for that matter. A small mercy, but he’ll take it.

“But the experience led to an obsession with the supernatural. I suppose I thought that if – if I could just understand it, I could conquer the fear. It didn’t work, but an obsession like that – it persists regardless of whether it’s successful or productive or – or healthy. Eventually it led me to the Institute. Which led me… here, ultimately.” He bites his lower lip as he considers his next words. “I’m sure many of my choices along the way were mine alone, and – and I’m responsible for my actions regardless. But that first domino… it was just a restless child ignoring gut instinct, all because he needed to know.”

“Jon,” Daisy says, the hint of a warning growl underlying her tone.

“I – okay, yes, I know, I know. Double standards.” He takes a shallow breath before continuing. “My point is, most of us are just… unlucky isn’t the right word, but it’s as close as I can get. Sometimes the Fears seem to seek out victims who are already uniquely susceptible to them – people with phobias, or specific traumas. Other times it seems… arbitrary. And sometimes it seems like the difference between an average victim and those who eventually become Avatars is… compatibility, or – or in some cases, a sense of kinship, even.

“I’ve always been too curious for my own good, a natural fit for the Beholding. Jane talked about being seen as toxic, and it was the Corruption that found her. Annabelle Cane said she was well-versed in manipulation as a young child, the sort of gift that the Web favors. Jared Hopworth always had a sadistic streak, but the difference between him and any other bully is that he found The Boneturner's Tale. I… don’t really know what to make of Jude Perry. The way she told it, she always had the disposition for the Desolation. She would likely have been a nightmare with or without supernatural help, but there are plenty of people like that in the world. She just happened to be one of the few who caught the attention of the Lightless Flame.

“But – but I also don’t think preexisting compatibility is a requirement to be an Avatar. Some people really do just – stumble into it, probably. Grow into it, maybe, after enough exposure. Especially if the same Power keeps coming back.”

Jon can’t help thinking of the Distortion and its tendency to dog its victims for years. Helen said once that she couldn’t just force her victims into her corridors, that they had to open the door on their own. But that was a lie, wasn’t it? Marcus MacKenzie refused to open the door every single time it appeared throughout his childhood and young adulthood. It started to take increasingly drastic measures: disguising itself as other things, at one point even opening up in the ground in front of him, hoping he wouldn’t notice until he already stepped over the ledge and gravity did its work. When that didn’t work, it took his father. And then, even after evading it for decades, Helen eventually took Marcus anyway. Choice didn’t come into it. It didn't matter how many times he walked away – it followed him wherever he went.

“Either way,” Jon continues, “whether it’s part of some grand plan or just happenstance, the Avatars… we catch the attention of something predatory, and it sinks its hooks into the vulnerabilities it finds. There are plenty of other people in the world who may have the same… flaws, or inclinations, or experiences, but most are lucky enough not to be drawn into this world. I’m not sure exactly what determines who is, but I don’t think it comes down to fairness, or deservedness, or – or some sort of cosmic punishment. I – I don’t think the universe works that way.

“And – and after we’ve been marked, maybe we can make choices along the way. But as far as I can tell, none of those choices ever lead to complete freedom from the Powers that lay claim to us. We’re still accountable for our actions; we can fight back, we can resist – but we’ll always be struggling against our natures. Sometimes it seems like there’s… there’s really no choice we can make where things actually turn out okay. Doesn’t mean we stop trying, or give up hope, but…” He pauses to gnaw on the inside of his cheek for a few seconds. “It can be hard to ignore the fear when it’s become such an intrinsic part of you, is all. When it makes its hunger your own, and hollows you out if you don’t feed it. It can make the concept of choice seem… empty.”

When he trails off, Daisy blows out a forceful exhale.

“That was… a lot.”

“Surprised the Buried let me get it all out,” Jon says, a bit sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ve… had a lot of time alone to ruminate.”

“I think I can rela-”

Daisy’s words are cut short when all at once the earth crashes down around them with a vengeance, as if exacting payment for the courtesy of staying its hand for so long. An indeterminate amount of time passes, weight pressing down on them from all sides, leaving no room for breath or words or thought. Jon focuses on their hands, still linked tightly together, the only anchor to be found here in the dark.

Eventually, the walls begin to withdraw in tiny increments. The sinister, sibilant shifting of soil is a constant, unknown variable – it sounds the same whether the earth is compacting or moving away, and often there is no way to tell until it’s already too close and pressing down. Jon can feel his pulse hammering in his throat, can hear Daisy’s gasping breaths overlapping his own.

“I was gonna kill you,” she blurts out eventually, breathless and rushed. “You know that?”

“Yes.”

“I – I don’t just mean that day in the woods,” she clarifies. “Af-after the mission, I was planning on killing you.”

“I know. You – you realized I wasn’t human. That I needed to die.”

“H-how did you –”

“I’ve been here once before. And – and I should apologize for the dreams, I –”

“Jon –”

“I know it’s not an excuse, but I never meant to compel you that time – didn’t even realize at the time that that was something I could do, and –”

“Jon –”

“I didn’t realize then that the dreams were real, and – and when I finally did, I still didn’t have any control over them, but I –”

“Jon! Shut up a minute.”

His mouth snaps shut a little too quickly and he winces as he bites down on the tip of his tongue. The metallic taste of blood just barely registers on his tongue in the few seconds it takes for the cut to heal.

“Just – back up,” Daisy says, toning down the intensity this time. “That thing you said about… you’ve ‘been here once before’? What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s… a long story. And difficult to believe.”

“Well, it’s –” Daisy huffs. “It’s not like we don’t have the time?”

“I suppose,” Jon sighs. He’s already told this story to the tape recorder at length, but… the idea of telling it to another person, in his own words this time, feels both terrifying and cathartic at the same time. It’s just – difficult to talk about, no matter how many times he recaps it. “Where to begin… oh, I should probably preface this with ‘time travel is real.’”

Daisy sounds far too nonchalant when she says, “Okay.”

“O-okay? That’s… that’s it?”

“Sorry if it’s not the dramatic response you expected. Encounter enough – vampires, and people made of sawdust, and – and this, here, and… I don’t know that anything would surprise me anymore.”

“R-right,” Jon replies, still a bit incredulous. “Well, I’m – I’m from the future.” He pauses again, but she doesn’t interject. “And… and I came back to stop the apocalypse.”

His inflection pitches up into a near-question on the last word, certain that this will be the point at which Daisy calls bullshit. Instead, she just gives a dry chuckle.

“And how’s that going for you?”

“Well, uh, actually…” Jon’s laugh manages to sound slightly hysterical despite its brevity. “Being stuck here actually does – put it on hold indefinitely?”

“H-how’s that?”

“Because – because it can’t go forward without the Archivist.” He takes a shallow breath. “Just like the Stranger has the Unknowing, the Eye has its own Ritual. I was – I am a part of it. I – I didn’t want to, Elias – he orchestrated the whole thing, f-forced me to –” He nearly bites his tongue again when he cuts himself off. “But that – that doesn’t change anything,” he continues, almost viciously. “I’m the one who opened the door. It wouldn’t have happened if not for me, s-so it’s as good as my fault.”

“Don’t know about that,” Daisy says.

“What?”

“Don’t think I can see you making a choice to end the world, if you had any say. Doesn’t sound like you. You – Jon, you just went on about having choices taken away.” Jon is silent, teeth clenched; Daisy jostles his hand insistently. “So – so how’d it actually happen?”

“I, ah…” Why is this still so hard to talk about? “So you know how I – I… need the statements?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I – it – my appetite only got worse as time went on. Started craving live statements, and – and hunted for them. The others intervened eventually, and I stopped, but I still needed – need – statements, or else I’d… starve, for lack of a better word. So I made do with the old statements like before, but they were – less and less filling as time went on, and – and I needed more of them, and more frequently, even though I tried to – to spread them out, ration myself. And, uh, some things happened, and Martin and I went into hiding – used your safehouse, actually –”

“Which one?”

“Scotland.”

“Ah,” Daisy says softly. “I like that one.”

“So did we,” Jon says, smiling fondly. “I – we only had a couple weeks, before… b-but the time we did have, it was…”

He clears his throat.

“An-anyway, I went – hungry, for a bit, until a box of statements could be sent to us. And the first one I read, it was – a trap, by J- Elias.” He can explain about Jonah Magnus later. If he takes that detour now, he’ll never get through the rest of this. “The heading looked – just like any other statement. Statement giver’s name, date – but as soon as I started reading, it was Elias’ words. It was a, uh, statement about – about me. About what I am. I’m not just the Archivist, Daisy, I’m the Archive.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I – when I take or – or consume a statement, I, ah – experience it like I’m there, and it – it becomes a part of me. I’m like a – like a living record, a library of – of people’s worst fears, nightmares, moments that I have no right to witness, and – doesn’t matter. Elias needed a fully realized Archive for his ritual to work, so he – he created one, and he fed it a statement. And I – I tried to stop reading, but I couldn’t, even though I – I tried, I really did, I –” He laughs nervously. “Even tried to – to blind myself, but it just – healed. Then, at the end, there was an – an incantation. To open a door that could let all the Fears into the world. And when I read it… it did.”

“Wait – all of them?”

“Yes,” Jon says quietly. “Just before she died, Gertrude figured out that a ritual to bring one of the Fears into the world could never succeed on its own. The Powers can’t exist without minds to experience them, and our minds – they’re highly associative. The experience of fear is just… far more convoluted and subjective than any artificial taxonomy can capture. The Fears have overlap, and – and some of them are defined by their opposition to the others.

“A Vast ritual would collapse without the existence of the Buried, for instance. Or – the Stranger and the Spiral, they’re both tied to unreality, to not being able to trust your perceptions – which can feed into paranoia, which the Eye and the Web also thrive on. The Hunt and the Slaughter run together, and the Flesh can tag alongside. Both the Corruption and the Desolation are equally efficient and thorough in ravaging a home or a body or – or even the general concept of safety.

“Even here – we’re too far deep below creation for the Eye or the Hunt to reach us, but there’s still more than the Buried to fear. The Dark, for instance, or being Forsaken. Even the Vast can be found down here, if you start obsessing over your own insignificance in the grand scheme of the universe. The Powers are just – too interconnected, and their rituals never accounted for that.”

“So the Unknowing…”

“Would have failed even without our intervention,” Jon says bitterly. “Same goes for all of the rituals that Gertrude stopped, and all the others that have been sabotaged throughout the centuries. All of that sacrifice, and for nothing. Michael Shelley, and Jan Kilbride, and – and Tim, and you ending up here –”

“Tim?”

“He… he died during the mission,” Jon says quietly. He hears a sharp intake of breath from Daisy.

“And Basira?”

“Alive. She got out before the explosion.” He can just barely make out Daisy’s sigh of relief. “She… she told me to tell you that she’s waiting for you.”

“Oh,” Daisy says softly. “I’m s-”

Before she can say more, the Buried begins to writhe around them again, this time closing in molasses-slow. They both instinctively tighten their handhold on one another. As horrid as the crushing force is, this time it at least has the decency to press them closer together. Daisy’s free hand tentatively brushes against Jon’s free wrist. Understanding the unspoken request, Jon interlocks their fingers, and they wait.

“S-so,” Daisy wheezes when the earth finally relaxes and settles again, “about – about the rituals?”

“R-right.” Jon coughs lightly, still catching his breath. “Well, ah, Elias found out about Gertrude’s theory. Came up with a – ritual that would bring all the Powers through at once, but with the Eye ruling over the rest. It required an Archivist – Archive – directly marked by all the Powers. Elias – chose me. Made sure I’d encounter each of them, and… when I was ready, he laid one last trap and waited for me to wander in, because he knew from experience that I would.”

And it could happen again, Jon’s brain helpfully supplies.

“Huh.”

“Yeah. S-so it probably goes without saying, but if you thought I wasn’t human before, I, ah…” He gives an exhausted, humorless chuckle. “I’m definitely not now.”

Daisy is silent for a long moment before saying: “I take it you – you didn’t come here the first time.”

That wasn’t the comment that Jon had been expecting.

“No, I did.”

“Then… how –”

“I told you, there’s a way out. I just – I just have to find it. Last time I found you, and we escaped together. We can do it again.” She doesn’t respond to that, and he kneads the tops of her hands with his thumbs. “Daisy?”

“You’ve been here once before, and you escaped, and… and you came back?” She says it in such a small voice, it almost doesn’t even sound like her. “After – after seeing what it’s like, you still came back for me?”

“Yes…?”

“Why?” she whispers. “Why do that for me? I – I had a knife to your throat, I would’ve killed you if Basira hadn’t found us first, I saw the fear in your eyes and I enjoyed it – and you knew that I’d still planned on killing you the moment I got a chance, so – so why?”

“We’re –” Jon stops himself, rephrases. “In my future, we became friends.”

“What?”

“W-well, we – we were both Avatars trying to resist our darker natures. We went through this together. We just – we had a lot in common.”

Daisy offers no comment.

“I… don’t know what I would have done without you, honestly,” Jon continues, jiggling one foot nervously as best he can in the confined space. “You were… you were the only one I had, most days. The only one who knew what it was like, having the hunger consume you because you refuse to feed it. And – and you had Basira, but she… there were things she didn’t fully understand, couldn’t relate to. So you would come to me. We, uh… we helped each other. Trusted each other.” He adds, a bit timidly: “I… I’ve missed you.”

Still, Daisy says nothing. Jon is about to start rambling again – about what, he doesn’t know; he just needs to fill the awkward silence somehow – but Daisy speaks first.

“But – but what about before all that? Why did you come down here the first time around?”

“I was… in a bad place,” Jon admits. “Tim was dead, Sasha was dead, Melanie hated me, Basira saw me as a monster, Georgie wanted nothing to do with me, and Martin was… gone. I had no one, I wasn’t human anymore, I was afraid and ashamed and guilty and tired, and I… I was starting to doubt my decision to live. Not wanting to die had started to feel selfish, and I – I needed some way to justify living, some way to make myself useful.

“When we found out that you were alive, I – I just didn’t want to lose anyone else. If there was a chance of bringing you home, I had to try. And… there was nothing to lose. If I got stuck down here, it – it would be no great loss. The world would have even been safer for it – moreso than I even imagined at the time. I… honestly didn’t think that anyone would care if I didn’t come back.”

“That’s messed up,” Daisy says, a hint of wry amusement in her voice.

“Yeah,” Jon says with a self-deprecating laugh. “That’s what you said last time. Like I said, I was in a bad place. But – but in the end, we got out. I know I can get us out of here again. I promised Basira I would bring you home, and I – I – I will. I just… I need some time to find the way.”

“No pressure,” she deadpans.

Jon makes a strangled, exasperated noise in his throat.

“Seriously?”

If he could gesture at the tons of dirt pressing down on them, he would – but he can’t, because of the tons of dirt pressing down on them.

“Just trying to lighten the mood,” Daisy says, just the slightest hint of a self-satisfied smirk in her voice. Jon feels one corner of his mouth quirk in spite of himself.

God, he really had missed her.

The concept of time has no meaning within the Buried. Without any real way to observe or calculate its passing, things tend to feel stagnant. One long note of boredom and desperation and restriction. If not for the unpredictable tides of the soil around them, it might even feel as if time is at a standstill. In a way, it is: there is only one time here, and it is forever – or until the End of everything, at least. To make things worse, true sleep is impossible in the Buried. Sometimes, though, there is a lull in the movements of the earth, and within that liminal space, the mind may be allowed to drift.

Jon isn’t sure how long he’s been drifting when Daisy tugs on his hand.

“Jon.”

“Hm?”

“You’re muttering again.”

“Oh.” Jon clears his throat when he realizes how groggy he sounds. “Was I?”

“Care to share?”

“I’m just – I keep thinking about how Basira escaped the Unknowing,” he says, rousing himself. Out of habit, he tries to stretch, only to remember that he can barely move at all – which, of course, only intensifies the urge to fidget.

“Oh?” Daisy shakes both his hands in hers, prompting him to continue. Judging by the waver in her voice, the silence must be getting to her again. “How – how’s that?”

“She… thought her way out. Like a – an ‘I think therefore I am’ thought experiment.” Jon smiles to himself and shakes his head slightly. “She put Descartes to shame.”

“Not even a fair comparison,” Daisy scoffs.

“Agreed.”

“Were you thinking of trying that here?”

“I… don’t think it would work.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re not that level-headed.”

“That’s –” Jon’s indignation fizzles out just as quickly as it emerged. “That’s… okay, yes, that’s fair.”

Daisy snickers; Jon can’t help a small grin in return.

“But what I was actually trying to say is that it was a strategy uniquely tailored to the Stranger. The Unknowing was all about – unreality, about not being able to trust your senses, even your own identity. Basira figured out that the best way to anchor herself in that situation was to boil her entire reality down to simple logical premises: She existed. She existed in a place and time. The place was dangerous at that time, so she had to not exist in that place at that time. Places have ends, and if she kept moving, she could reach a different place.”

“Huh.”

“Straightforward. Elegant, even.”

“It’s Basira,” Daisy says, unmistakable fondness creeping into her tone. Jon snorts. “Shut up, Sims. You were saying?”

“The Buried doesn’t operate in the same way. Basira reasoned her way out of the Stranger’s domain by denying unreality. If we tried to do the same thing, we’d just be denying… well, reality. The earth, the pressure, the – the ‘too close I cannot breathe,’ it’s all real.”

“Good pep talk.”

“Sorry, that’s not what I –” Jon sighs. “I didn’t mean to sound… morose. I was just thinking about different kinds of anchors. Basira managed to center herself and use her own mind as an anchor, and I – I find that impressive, is all.”

“That’s one way to describe her,” Daisy says. “She’s… always been like that. Practical, reliable… centered.”

Wait, Jon thinks to himself, brow furrowed. What if…

“Daisy, tell me about Basira.”

“What?”

“I – she’s your anchor, right? And – and you’re hers.”

“I don’t know about –”

“She called you solid, a – a – a fixed point,” Jon says excitedly. “When you’re there, things make sense to her. You ground her. And now, without you, she’s… she has trouble knowing where she stands. She has no backup, no one to orient her. What she did during the Unknowing – it was impressive, but it isn’t sustainable over a long period of time. You can only go it alone for so long before you lose your bearings. She – she needs you. And you need her. Right?”

“She’s the fixed point,” Daisy murmurs, as if that explains everything – and maybe it does.

“Exactly, s-so – tell me about Basira. From your perspective.”

“Why?”

“Because this is the Buried, where we’re at the center and everything is weighing down on us,” Jon says, mind racing five steps ahead of him. “The dirt, the pressure, it’s all real, but – but the Fears are also about state of mind.”

Jon can feel his heart rate pick up, the way it does whenever he’s talking his way through a puzzle. If he could, he would be pacing right now, burning off that restless energy. Instead, he finds himself tapping his fingers rapidly against Daisy’s hands. She doesn’t stop him, though.

“I’m not saying that we can solve this with ‘mind over matter’ thinking, but it might – help, if we can both focus on an anchor – a different center point, that is, one outside of this place. Move from this center to that center. There’s a better chance of figuring out which way is up if we’re both feeling for the way out. We can orient each other. If we both feel a tug from the same direction, we know we’re going the right way.”

“I can’t feel anything, though,” Daisy says. “Or – I can, but it’s – it’s everywhere, pushing in one direction – pushing down –”

Jon grips her hands more tightly when he hears her breathing start to grow ragged.

“That’s why you need to tell me about Basira – until you do feel a pull. I could be way off, but it’s worth a try. And – and if nothing else, it might help clear my mind, so I can give finding the way out another shot.”

“A statement, then?” Daisy asks sardonically. “Recharge your battery?”

“I wish,” Jon says with a grim smile. “The Eye only likes horror stories. If any story would sate my appetite, I could just watch biopics any time I was feeling a bit peaky. Hell, imagine if a fictional story was enough. An episode of the Archers would be like an afternoon snack.”

“You like the Archers?” He doesn’t have to see her to know that her eyebrows are raised as high as they’ll go.

“You know, I said the exact same thing to you once. And no, I don’t, but you do, and you used to make me listen with you. We didn’t even make a dent in the back catalogue, but I’m an Avatar of terrible knowledge and the Beholding loves spoilers, so guess who Knows every episode now?” Daisy barks a laugh at that. “There are over nineteen thousand episodes, Daisy!”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“Anyway,” Jon says, squeezing both of her hands in lieu of nudging her shoulder, “a story just… helps take me out of my own head sometimes. Always has. You’re humoring me, not the Eye. Besides, do you have anything better to do?”

“S’pose not.”

“I mean – you don’t have to, of course, if you’re uncomfortable. I don’t want to pressure you –” Jon cringes. “Bad choice of words. I –”

“Stop babbling, Sims.” He knows that tone of voice, knows that she’s rolling her eyes right now. “We only have so long before the walls close in again –”

Daisy cuts herself off with a strangled noise, which she tries to cover by clearing her throat. She was likely trying to lighten the mood again, but the inevitability of the Buried’s ebb and flow is still too real, too close.

“Do you, uh… do you want to hear a story or not?”

“Please.”

“Back again?”

Martin jolts at the sound of Georgie’s voice. He tosses a brief glare over his shoulder at her where she stands just outside the doorway to the office, a safe distance from the Coffin. Martin discovered quickly that the Coffin’s compulsion has no impact on him, likely muffled by his allegiance to the Lonely. Georgie, though, has no such protection.

Coincidentally, it also means that as long as Martin keeps close to the Coffin, Georgie has to keep her distance from him as well.

“It’s been a week,” Martin says in a quiet monotone, tearing his gaze away from her.

“Yeah.”

“He should have been back by now.”

“Well, he didn’t really give a timeframe –”

“But you said he implied that it wouldn’t take more than a week,” Martin says impatiently. “And knowing Jon, he exaggerated how long it would take, just so no one would worry if he was late.”

“I… yeah, I know,” Georgie sighs. “I was expecting him to be back by now, too.”

Martin nods in a clear ‘I told you so’ gesture – then immediately feels childish. Why is he acting vindicated by her admission?

“Does Peter know you’ve been coming down here?”

“Don’t care.”

“Oh?” Georgie says, her voice suspiciously bland – and only then does Martin register the significance of what he just said.

“I just meant – it’s –” Martin huffs. “It’s none of your business.”

“Of course.” Martin can hear the smirk in her tone.

“Why are you here?” he snaps, swiveling to look at her again.

“Same reason you are, I expect.”

Martin says nothing to that, simply turns his back on her. For a few minutes, the only sound is the low, indistinct chatter of the tape recorders, still spooling out their horror stories on a loop.

“Have you tried calling to him?” Georgie asks. Martin continues to ignore her, teeth clenched until they ache. “It could be worth a shot. He left all those tapes running – don’t know if he can hear them exactly, but they’re meant to call to him.”

Go away, Martin thinks, his hands curling into fists on his knees.

“Your voice might be better than a recording.”

Why is she so persistent?

“Just – think about it, okay?”

When Martin doesn’t respond, Georgie sighs, knocks twice on the door frame, and takes her leave. He doesn’t look back around until the sound of her footsteps fade away.

“Sure, just leave the door wide open,” he grumbles irritably, rising to his feet to remedy the issue.

He pulls the office door shut with more force than intended, practically slamming it. The lone tape recorder on Jon’s desk, previously standing on end, topples over with a light clatter. Martin exhales heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to suppress the static buzz of nervous energy simmering inside him.

“But we need you, Jon,” the tape recorder grinds out. “Jon, please, just – please.”

“Fuck,” Martin says, voice thick and strained. He takes several deep breaths – in through his nose, out through his mouth – trying to clear his thoughts. Eventually, his shoulders slump and he sighs. “Fine. You win.”

He settles himself on the floor in front of the Coffin again, closer this time.

“Jon,” he says, then falters, unsure of what to say. “I –” He lets out an agitated breath, then follows it up with a bitter chuckle. “This is stupid. You probably can’t even hear this, can you?”

There is an uncomfortable, stinging pressure in his eyes and he reflexively tries to swallow back the tears, only to realize how dry his mouth has become. He rubs his eyes instead, digging the heels of his palms into the sockets and applying pressure.

“I – if you – if you can hear me, I… I already lost you once. I can’t do this all over again, I just – I can’t. I’m – everyone is waiting for you, and I still…” Martin sniffles and clears his throat. “Just – come home, Jon. Please.”

“I think I’d forgotten what it was like to just be… present in the moment? A – a quiet moment, anyway.” Daisy sighs. “On a hunt, you always have to think a few steps ahead, anticipate the prey’s movements so you can get out in front of it. Even when you’re present-thinking, like during a fight, it’s – it’s instinct and reflex, quick movements and jagged edges. You can never just… be.”

“I think I understand,” Jon says. “Not the Hunt aspect, but – but the intolerance of stillness.”

“But in that moment – laying back in the grass, Basira going on about the stars – I was… I was just me. I was focused on her – she gets so excited, so animated whenever she has a chance to talk about something new she’s learned, and I – I let her go on for” – Daisy laughs – “going on forty minutes, probably, about – about the Wow! signal before she looked over and saw me staring. Got all embarrassed that I let her talk so long.”

Jon can feel himself grinning.

“In her defense, the Wow! signal is a fascinating topic.”

“I thought so,” Daisy says warmly. “I mean, I must’ve, right? The whole time she was talking, I never felt the blood calling to me. Afterwards, it felt wrong, somehow – unnatural – that I’d been ignoring it. Not even resisting it, just – tuning it out altogether. I didn’t notice until then how loud it was – like for my whole life there had been teeth at my throat and I just never noticed until that moment.” She pauses. “It’s strange, but I – I think I liked it. The quiet.”

“I don’t think it’s strange at all,” Jon says softly. “I think –”

Suddenly, there’s a distinct wrenching sensation within him – like having a hook yank upwards, painless but abrupt enough to make his breath catch in his throat.

“Jon?” Daisy says warily. “What’s wrong?”

There’s something there.

“Do – do you feel that?”

“No? What – what is it?”

“It’s – wait, just let me…”

Jon concentrates, holding his breath as he waits, and –

There. Another pull, like a fish tugging at a line. And another, gentler but just as insistent.

“Daisy, I –” Jon lets out a breathless little laugh. “I think I know the way. C-come on, follow me.”

End Notes:

tbh I was tempted to split this into two chapters but it felt like it wanted to be all one thing, and also I didn't want to end on an angsty cliffhanger because:

I know I was managing a loose every-7-to-10-days-ish update schedule for awhile there, but it miiiight start looking more like an every-two-weeks schedule going forward. I've been on split shifts at work but we're supposedly going back full time soon, so that might effect how much writing time I have each day. Just wanted to give a heads up in case it takes longer than usual before the next chapter is ready.

There are several snippets of dialogue borrowed/reworked from Jon & Daisy's conversation in the Buried in MAG 132 - they're scattered throughout the chapter. (The "This is forever deep below creation..." and "One thing I've learned..." internal dialogue bits are from 132 also.) Probably goes without saying, but Martin's Lonely statement is from MAG 170 and there's also a previously cited usage of his dialogue from the S4 trailer. The Tim quote is from MAG 117. "The blanket never did anything" (still one of the creepiest lines in the podcast i s2g) is from MAG 086.

#tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #tma spoilers #long post

[acatfishconfession]

Chapter 1: Who am I?

If someone - anyone, had bothered to ask me (other than my elementary school teachers) where I could see myself at age twenty-nine, pushing thirty. It sure as fuck wouldn’t be here.

“Where is ‘here’, exactly?”   Here, is sitting in a broke down computer chair. Listening to sad instrumentals on YouTube auto-play while I sip my Dunkin refresher, binge eat munchkin donut holes and cry over my laptop keyboard.

I wish I could say that was the worst of it. Truly,  I do. But the real depth of it - the most heinous and offensive thing of all that I am doing right now is why I am here and writing this with my D.D. and emotional bullshit.  

Most of my time is currently occupied flipping between five fake Instagram accounts, three fake Facebooks, two fake Twitter accounts, a fake Tinder, a fake Bumble, and my three personal accounts on social media where I’ve already lined up my next potential ‘mask’. Which is what I like to call the unwitting victims of image theft.

That’s right, world. 

I am an online catfish.

Hate me. Hate me as much as I do.

I keep hoping that maybe if I feel enough of it - it will somehow trick the overly sensitive, non-confrontational, and social anxiety-riddled side of me into once and for all stopping this madness. Or at least making me feel guilty enough to just want this be over - in whatever way this sort of insanity can end once and for all.

I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit considering the two ways it most likely will. As well as the one that I don’t dare to even mention because it’s as foolish and more unlikely than any other.

The two main ways it will likely end are death or prison. The likelihood of death being by my own hand though, is slim. Not impossible, but most definitely unlikely. Purely for the fact that I am without doubt, the biggest pussy I know. Hell, most of my tattoos were just a means to try and impress friends. Which sucks even more now because I hate damn near all of the friends I wanted and equally the tattoos that I have. 

Still not sure if it’s because I hate the tattoo artist that did them or just their artwork in general. Either way, there it is. I’m a pussy. If you were concerned for a moment that I might kill myself and by partisan obligate you to contact someone for help - you can relax now. 

No. If I die it will most likely be homicide via crime of passion. I am fully aware that I may inevitably piss off the wrong person in my catfishing ventures, and end up at the bottom of a river somewhere. But that would probably be good old karma just doing what she’s best at. After all... When you play a dangerous game with emotions, those emotions can become the most volatile weapon anyone can wield. Especially when they are tested and toyed with enough.  As for prison... Well... I know there are many legal actions people can take in regard to how their photos are used and what is said about them. How they are portrayed by others online or otherwise falls under the realm of slander - if I’m not mistaken. Not entirely sure if we can call it genuine identity theft. I’m pretty sure the entire point of being a catfishing is to work in a lucrative enough way to which the content owners will be forever (or at least prolongingly) never the wiser to what you’re doing. So you change things like name, locations, ages, birthdays, etc. Avoid them and their circle of friends with prejudice. I don’t just mean ‘don’t send them friend requests’ or ‘don’t check their pages’. 

If you’re good at catfishing (if one even call the level of depravity you have to hit to do it well ‘good’), you pull out all the stops. Finding all of their accounts on every site and app and blocking them, their friends, their friend’s friends, and families. Whole geographic locations sometimes. Anyone from their area or who went to their school. You vanish from their potential radar.

And believe me when I say.... At catfishing... There are none better than me. At least, not that I’ve ever heard of. 

That’s not to be confused with boasting. I feel disgusted with myself in even stating it. Because that’s what it is - disgusting. This is the first time I’m admitting this in my entire life. So, I suggest you take a deep breath with me before you read what I’m about to confess. Ready?

In - one, two, three, four, five, six. 

Out - seven, eight, nine, ten.

I have catfished as (yes, I’ve counted)… One-hundred and twenty-seven people.

I know... I know... It’s impressive. Horribly and disturbingly so. And that does not account for the number of accounts I’ve had for each of them. Emails, Instagrams, Facebooks, etc. Even a few Vampirefreaks and Darkstarling accounts back in the day. I can’t even remember the names of most of them anymore. Only their faces. But even those fade over time.

You’d think for as prolific as I’ve been with getting to know them, their lives, and those around them so intimately to pull off the amount of catfishing I have - I’d remember more clearly. But I suppose if you do anything for as long as I’ve been catfishing, you’re bound to lose track of a few memories or blips of time. 

I know you’re all dying to know exactly how long I’ve being doing this for. So I’ll tell you. The answer may be as equally shocking as my ‘mask count’. Realistically, take a moment and try to guess how old I was when I started. Here’s a tip. As I sit and write this, I’m 29. Just a few months shy of my 30th birthday. Now go on.... Give it your best shot.

Got a guess?

Ladies, gentlemen, and thems. I have been catfishing since I was eight years old.

That’s right. Only eight years old. I’m sure you were thinking surely fourteen or even fifteen. Technically, you’re right. Somewhere around there is when I actually became aware of what it was exactly that I was doing. But things were much different then. When I was eight, the internet being a modern in-home comfort was relatively new. We had dial-up. Screechy AOL start up sounds that were most likely close rivals to what would be Cthulhu’s mating call. The days of poorly moderated chatrooms and weak HTML coding. Not even Myspace existed at that point (I really miss Tom. We took him for granted. Zuckerberg’s rules kind of make him seem like a bit of a cuck. But I digress.)

Before I was twelve years old, no one knew what the hell ‘catfishing’ was. We’d never experienced enough of it to have to worry that people online would lie about something as outlandish as their face. Their age, name, or location  - maybe. Shit, people have been lying about their relationship and marital statuses since the dawn of man. The internet didn’t breed lies like that, (though I’m certain it made it a great deal easier to do). Those were the kind of lies that you’d think of when it came to telling lies on the internet. But nothing like this. 

Now look at us. For every ten of your actual friends on Instagram, there is at least one catfish following you or trying to make friends with you. Not that it’s a factually proven ratio or anything, more so an idea. I’m clearly not a scientist or research analyst, and as we’ve already established - I’m way too busy maintaining fake accounts to actually look up factual catfishing statistics.

So why? Why did I do it? Why do I continue to do it? Why confess now? Most importantly, who the hell am I? The ‘whys’ are a bit more complex than just selecting reason A or B. But if you’re really curious to know and willing to hear what I have to say and find out what makes up a catfish. Or at least - me. The most prolific online catfish likely to date (here’s hoping I am because I’d hate to know there is anyone crazier than me out there). Then stick around, because I’m ready to tell you - all of you. Everyone who cares to read this story. I am going to do my best along the way to help you answer some questions you might have. What is it like, how does it make me feel, do I really feel guilty, are there other kinds of catfish, and which one am I? And of course - how to spot and potentially stop a catfish.

Maybe by the end of this blog series, and once you are past out-right hating me (if you can find it in you to get past out-right hating me.... *Insert nervous and shameful laughter here*). You’ll be at least thankful to have learned some new things and gained an understanding that you hadn’t expected to from this. Or at least be thoroughly entertained - because, who the hell doesn’t love a controversial story line? As for who I am.... 

I really wish I could give you an answer. Because truth be told - I don’t even know anymore. 

Maybe in writing this series, I’ll figure that out. Hell, you might even help me get there a bit. Aside the most obvious and recently discovered portion of that answer being, that I am first and foremost, a massive piece of shit - for stealing people’s photos and lying about who I am. 

#story autobigraphy catfish controversial writing series book author blog blogging internet fake faking socialmedia

[theories-by-majority-vote]

Why Sou's win rate was 0.0%

First to start off: let's discuss the purpose of the first trial Sou experienced. For what reason would the organization give information this vital to a candidate?  The reason for that lies in the purpose of the first trial. The death game runs on simulations and the first trial is the key to changing the entirety of the game. For starters, say Sou’s first trial had him do the key room, perhaps him having to rely on someone else to free him. Would that not change how he’d trust others? Say Sara was the one who had to play Russian roulette with two choices, just like one of victim’s first trial? How would that change the game? Simply put, it would change the number of survivors of the game, the survivors themselves and how rest of the game might play out.  The first trial is vital to how the games will go. And I do believe that the reasons everyone got the first trials that they did was not by random chance. It was purposeful that everyone experienced what they did. Back to Sou though, under the cut.  Note: The analysis in this post is not excusing any of Sou’s behavior but rather giving a possible explanation of why he acted such. 

In the beginning of the game we see him wary of revealing his name/ occupation. With Sara’s internal monologue, she assumes him to be timid.  Gin’s dialogue commenting on Sou to get a job when he makes it out results in him looking a little distressed, which Sara interprets as this:

[Image Caption: Sara’s thought on Sou Chapter 1.1: (Looks like he’s being crushed under not only the immediate fear, but an uncertain future...)]

Sou is very clearly anxious at this part of the game, the news still incredibly fresh. I would also like to think he wanted to wait til mostly everyone introduced themselves to match his information with theirs, to seem just as innocent. After all it is revealed that in actuality that Sou is Shin and instead of being a job hopping late night convenience store worker, he’s actually self employed, perhaps as a hacker, judging by his computer skills. 

In this death game, Sou recreated his identity to keep his walls up, guard up. He distrusts everyone, withheld information, used people, blackmailed people. He did everything for self preservation.

[Image Caption: Sou Speaking in Chapter 1.1: “H... Hey now, I dunno about that... You can’t trust people like that, right?”]

We don’t have data on how the games really played out, not clearly at least . We don’t know how Sou acted in the AI versions of the game, and considering that he did break the monitor with his AI, it seems like that information is deliberately left from us.  But I do think it’s very different from the Sou we know in this game, considering he abandoned “himself”.

[Image Caption: Sou Speaking Second Main game Chapter 2.2: “I absolutely can’t survive this Death Game...”]

[Image Caption: Sou Speaking Second Main game Chapter 2.2: “That’s why... I had to abandon “myself"..!!”]

A term as severe as ‘abandon’ would imply there was a drastic change. So the Sou who constantly lie and withholds information, who sees everyone with distrust, isn’t really Sou. It’s natural he became intensely distrustful though, considering he thinks everyone as an enemy. To someone who’s only information is that people are killed by majority vote and his chance of survival is impossible would only consider that he is set up to be killed every time. 

[Image Caption: Shin’s thoughts in his flashback: (Everyone will choose me by vote...and kill me...)] 

In the first main game, we see Sou snap when everyone puts their trust in Sara. The group as a whole trusts Sara because of her behavior, of how her actions speak for her. She was the only who got them through the Russian roulette, something Sou didn’t see. From Sou’s point of view however, Sara’s trust is fake, because he saw the emails and interpreted as her being with the enemies. Of course he would think that too, considering he was attacked because of him gaining this information. Sou is no fool, but he is also blinded by preconceptions fed to him from the first trial. Sara has the highest percentage of wins after all, she must be deceiving everyone, using them, that could be what is in his mind.

[Image Caption: Sou in the first main game Chapter 1.2: “ Death is just a matter of time for you. That’s the way weaklings live!”]

This line Sou says, when he snaps, is from his anger and frustration of people not realizing that Sara is deceiving them all, because he believed that to be the case, when we the player as well as other characters have an understanding of Sara because of her actions. This reaction from Sou could be targeted at his true self too, perhaps considering it to be weak and as a result the cause of his death. 

To Sou, he never survived because he was weak, too trusting, too honest. These words do not describe the current Sou at all, however. Except, we do see glimpses of his kindness in the game, particularly in chapter 2. 

[Image Caption: Sara looking at Kanna in Chapter 2.1 and thinking: They’re tears... of salvation.]

He probably is very attuned to emotions and he knows what to say to help or hurt them. Hence why he was able to write something to Kanna that helped her feel free from the guilt of her sisters death. Sou has a soft spot for Kanna, because she is too honest for her own good. She is simply a child who has  been hurt so much, and she trusts Sou to be good as well. I can imagine Sou cannot distrust her, nor think of this girl as an enemy. He did something to relieve her of her emotional pain. He did something of the similar extent to Sara, when he created an Ai of Joe just for her, and that  final gift to her was what she needed to get past her hallucinations. 

Also, one of the biggest character shifts we see in Sou is when escape is most likely, when he successfully hacks into the security system. This is when his fears of being chosen to die has faded away, because you can’t be voted to die if all the survivors simply escape the game.

[Image Caption: Sou speaking to Sara in chapter 2.2 “Ahaha..!! It worked!! It worked, Sara!!”]

Sara points out that Sou seems lively when he is working on the hacking and when he completes and successfully hacks through the security systems, he calls Sara, Sara, not Miss Sara like he usually does. He also seems genuinely happy. He also wants them all to escape *together*. He doesn’t keep this information to himself nor tries to leave ahead of everyone, and instead tells Sara that they all will go together. 

Sou could easily have tricked them at this point in time, took the information to make a run for it. If he really only cared about himself he probably would have done so. 

All this information on Sou’s true self is necessary to understand his 0.0% survival rate in the simulation games. 

In my guess, I think the reason hes never survived the game is because he chose not to. If he died, it was not by the choices of everyone else, but his own choice. He would have acted such that in the end, everyone would have chosen him.

To elaborate on this, I do think that after the first main game, if Sou did survive, he would have done anything it took to make it so one of the people who died would be him, whether it would be by taking the sacrifice card, or convincing everyone to choose him. 

Just before the second main game, we get a glimpse of this scene/memory of sorts:

[Image Caption: Sara holding a dying Shin Tsukimi with Q-taro and Mishima in the shot. No dialogue]

Sou is dying, similarly to how he was killed in the second main game. Some things to notice, is that Professor Mishima is there, implying this may be a memory from a simulation. The dialogue in this scene shows concern and worry for Sou, there is not hatred, nor any animosity or indifference to him. From this scene, its clear that he was not hated by, at the very least, the people shown here. 

With as little information that we have here of the simulation games, I do find that coming to the conclusion that Sou self sacrificed himself in every game (that he survived the first trial of) to be highly plausible, especially considering his reaction to Kanna trying to self-sacrifice herself in the place of Sou. 

[Image Caption: Sou in the second main game Chapter 2.2 to Kanna: “ Don’t be ridiculous, Kanna!!”] 

His face is of shock and desperation. It is so incredibly clear that he cares so much about Kanna. If you do choose to kill her, he is beyond mad. He hates that someone chose to sacrifice them self for *him*. Especially someone he cares about. 

[Image Caption: Sou in the Kanna’s death Scenario Chapter 2.2: I’ll kill everyone one of you who killed Kanna...!!] 

When do kill Sou though, he says, “that’s fine” and accepts that Sara hates him.  He accepts the decision because that’s what he wanted. He wanted it so he would die in the place of Kanna.  

When it finally came to his death, he didn't curse them or hated them, and instead he accepts his fate. I think it’s at this point, when he is dying, does he realize why he didn’t survive any other time, hence why he says this:

[Image Caption: Sou dying, in Chapter 2.2: “Maybe I should’ve believed... in everyone...”]

Sou, if he had believed in everyone from the start, would only change how everyone perceived him, but not his fate, because to Sou, he could never let anyone die in his place. 

To conclude this particularly long theory/analysis, I must bring back the first trial once more. Why did the organization do something like this to Shin Tsukimi?  I think it went against the purpose of the game. The game about trust and distrust relies on each person’s opinion of others. And should Sou, sacrifice himself, it no longer is a game on majority vote but rather a single person’s personal decision. The organization had to change this part in Sou, and such, force him to take the drastic decision that resulted in everyone current perception of him. 

Thank you everyone who made this far in this theory post!

-Bee

#Yttd #Sou Hiyori #Shin Tsukimi #Your Turn to Die #Kimi ga shine #Yttd Bee Theories #yttd spoilers

[ultravioletsoul]

Can you rank your fave CoD antagonists?

Hello there nonny, sorry for taking so long to reply and thank you for your ask ♥♥

Rank my favorite CoD antagonists? Sure, I can do that! There are several antagonists in the series, but I’ll only rank my top 3. Hope that is okay with you c:

3. Jonathan Irons

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Advanced Warfare may not be a series as popular as BO or MW, but I actually enjoyed the game and I also liked Irons. Honestly, I don’t think we’ve gotten that many antagonists that started out as our allies in CoD (at least I don’t remember any others atm), much any less an American antagonist, so that kinda made him stand out to me.

I’m not familiar with Kevin Spacey’s works, and I barely watched any trailers pre-release. So to see Irons go from someone who I believed genuinely wanted to make the world a better place, where every human being could live in peace and thrive, away from the pointless wars that governments waged, to someone who was willing to use any means necessary to achieve his goals, regardless of how many lives he had to sacrifice... well, that was something that hit me hard.

This man who gave my character a second chance, who treated me (Mitchell) as his son, who cleaned up after the colossal mess that others countries made, helped people from devastated war-zones rebuild their lives and gave them hope for the future, turned out to be someone I was forced to betray because of different viewpoints and philosophies. Despite everything, I think Irons had his heart in the right place, but his methods were ultimately terrible and in his messianic delusions he ended up doing more harm than good, so of course he had to be stopped.

And what I liked about him was that he didn’t start out as a bad man, he didn’t do all those things because of greed, and his characterization wasn’t that of a cartoonish villain. In a way I could find logic in his arguments, he made a few good points about the current state of the world and the inability (or indifference) of many politicians to solve the real problems of the people. But the root of it all lies in the loss of his son, his only child, to a government he no longer trusted nor had any faith in doing what was right. Despite having served in the military in his youth, Irons had grown disillusioned at the way the US handled domestic and international policy, and strongly disagreed with them— opposing the status quo in favor of change. 

One could argue that serving in the military was entirely Will’s choice all along, and as a grown adult he knew what he was getting himself into. Still Irons couldn’t help but think that if that war had never happened, Will would still be alive. So that left him with a bitter taste, and it served as the catalyst behind his actions.

If nobody else would bother to do anything to actually solve the world’s problems, then he would be the savior to do it— whether they liked it or not. And he didn’t care what methods he had to use, how many had to die, or if he had to plunge the world into total chaos before he could ultimately end all wars and bring everlasting “peace” (perhaps one of the greatest ironies) as his dream seemed to be. Even at the cost of such a high price.

I don’t think Irons gets the credit he deserves.

2. Raúl Menéndez

Original gifset

BO2 is one of my favorite games and Raúl is undoubtedly one of the most memorable antagonists in the series. Much like Irons, his actions were heavily motivated by the loss of a loved one but his life is also one sad story, so it’s no wonder he turned out the way he did. Not to justify him, but it’s not hard to understand what led him to do all those things.

From a very young age, his life was destroyed by the actions of Americans, from the horrors of the dictatorship in Nicaragua (in which the Contras were supported by the US); the crippling and disfigurement of his young sister Josefina, due to the greed of an American owner who burned down a warehouse in order to obtain 11,000$ through insurance fraud. After losing everything during an earthquake, and becoming homeless, Raúl and his father started over by selling drugs, successfully establishing a cartel that was so powerful in Nicaragua that they were equally feared and admired among the people.

But this status and power they had newly acquired concerned the US government, and it wasn't long before they sanctioned an assassination order on Raúl's father and sent the CIA in to kill him. Raúl observed it all, a teenager back then, and managed to escape thanks to his father's training. Though he could do nothing to stop it, nothing to save his father, this event marked him and further embittered him against the US and the West. And the last straw was the unfortunate death of Josefina, at the hands of Woods. He lost his sister, the only living relative he had, and his world fell apart. But if we think about it, Raúl was indirectly responsible for her death too, after the horrible torture he put Woods through in Angola. So the next time Woods saw Raúl he lost his mind and threw the grenade that tragically bounced into Josefina's bedroom and killed her.

So he spent all his life orchestrating a huge plan, a brilliant plan, that would shake the US from the very ground. And he was damn charismatic while executing it, earning the support and approval of billions of people all around the world— even from those who lived in US soil!— to begin a world revolution and end the dominance of capitalist nations that had subjugated other weaker countries, amassing huge riches through market economy and wars for resources, destroying lives and sinking many in poverty. And he also manipulates and pits two superpowers against each other... sending everyone to the brink of another world war, or a second cold war at best.

He wanted revenge on the US for playing with the lives of other people, for taking everything he loved away from him, by making them live in fear and destroying everything they had built. He wanted them to feel the same pain, to suffer the way he did. And he wouldn't rest until he achieved that because he had nothing to lose anymore.

Depending on the outcome, he can get revenge on Woods for Josefina, as well. And though we all like it when the "good" guys prevail and foil the plans of the villain, I think this particular ending had a much deeper and stronger emotional impact. The conversation they have at the end is something I didn't expect. Raúl has come to kill Woods but they're both in a place where the years have beaten them down with the weight of they’ve done and rather than an over the top scene, what we’re given is quite the opposite of that. 

There’s no screaming, no heated argument between them, no dramatic lines. It’s just two old men who had to live with what they’ve done, and who have come to terms with the inevitability of that moment. Raúl slits Woods’s artery with Josefina’s pendant, and then he does something that surprised me: he closes Frank’s eyes, takes him off the wheelchair and lies his body on the bed. Something that is a huge contrast with what he did to Hudson many years ago... the savagery he used when killing him. For Raúl to behave that way with Woods, the man he considered to be his sister’s killer, it raises the question as to whether he still hated Woods after all these years, or maybe deep down he finally acknowledges that his actions (namely torturing Woods and killing his whole team) was the true motive that led to Josefina’s death.

The thing is, Raúl knows that he's to blame for what happened. It's also the reason why he burns himself alive in front of Josefina's grave. It’s because he has to pay for what he's done to her, too, and he chose to do it in probably the most horrible way possible but it didn’t matter to him. Nothing was more painful than living with the knowledge that his sister died because of what he did.

To him Josefina was the true innocent soul, who didn't deserve any of the suffering she went through.

1. Vladimir Makarov

Original gifset

It’s no secret that Vladimir is my most favorite antagonist (and character) in all of Call of Duty.

Though his background and motives weren’t as well developed and explained as those of other antagonists in the series, his untold story (which you won’t find anywhere in the game, though you can deduce if you have a basic idea of the situation before and after the fall of the Soviet Union) perhaps says a lot more about him than one might expect.

There’s not a lot we know about his past other than the meager information that was provided in some loading cutscenes, but it’s reasonable to think that Vladimir wasn’t always the trashbag that we see in the games. He once was a young man with dreams of patriotism, who wanted the best for his country, who loved Russia with his soul, and who would do anything to protect her, because as a soldier that was what he was taught to do. As a soldier, that was his purpose in life and without that reason to drive him on, he had nothing left.

And however vague his backstory may seem to be, it gives you an idea that Vladimir in a way was a victim of a system that imparted a type of soft indoctrination on him, from a very young age (as many states do all around the world in some form or another, even those who hold democratic values), all the way to his education in the military academy and his brutal training in the special forces, that further cemented this undying love for Russia, maybe in a way that bordered brainwashing.

His true radicalization came after the fall of the Soviet Union with the loss of his homeland and the Soviet culture as he knew it, as well as Russia becoming weak and losing much of her power and influence across the world. Then came his deployment in Chechnya in 1994, where he lived the horrors of a war that most likely left him psychologically scarred after the experiences he had to go through. And when he returned home, he was kicked out of the armed forces under accusations of human rights violations during the First Chechen War. And they may be true, he probably did a lot of bad things there (under the illusion that he was serving his country for a higher cause), and sadly it’s something commonplace in many armed conflicts. I’m going to leave this short post here for some details on that.

When he returned from war, he didn’t receive any professional help or if he did, it didn’t work. He didn’t know how to cope, he ultimately was unable to adapt to a normal life, he became a misfit. He had lost his job, he had a stain in his career, and finding a decent way to get by was very difficult at the time when the country was in the middle of a political, social, and economic crisis.

He was in financial ruin, and it was hunger that pushed him to become a criminal (something that wasn’t uncommon for ex military men in 90s Russia). Not just that but also hatred for those in power as well as society as a whole, and what they represented: total decadence and the reason why Russia was falling apart with these “stupid” western conceptions about freedom that in his eyes did nothing but give leeway for debauchery and corruption, which he ultimately sought to “fix” by returning Russia to what it used to be (a god-fearing empire under the autocratic rule of a tsar that was likened to a father to all his subjects, and where religion was used as a resource to legitimize his power and as a moral regulator that maintained the social order).

He pretty much felt abandoned, betrayed by his government— a leadership that had done nothing but sink Russia deeper and deeper into ruin, destroying the values under which he was raised and turning people like him into cynical masses that had lost faith in everything and were adrift without any real purpose in life, no future to look forward to, completely disillusioned that the dreams they’d bought into, the promises they had been sold by the west, were nothing but lies.

He’s still a piece of garbage, we know that, but I also think that he’s gone through a lot of struggles and bad experiences in his youth that marked him and filled him with resentment. Everyone sees Vladimir as the puppet master of the storyline of MW, and we have to give him credit for that, but deep down he’s just a man who has been a slave to his own obsessions and ambitions, unable to free himself from the hatred that has poisoned his mind for years, which led him to commit so many atrocities and strip himself from any semblance of humanity— all for the sake of a higher cause, as he undoubtedly tried to justify his actions at the end of the day.

In conclusion, all three were marked by losses in one way or another, and saw themselves as men who had to take the hard path and do what had to be done. And it’s also curious that Call of Duty, while not a game with any deep meaning on the surface, almost seems like social commentary on how war ruins lives and how anyone can do horrible things if put through the wringer enough times. It’s like these stories are trying to say that bad circumstances can make bad men out of seemingly good people, who wouldn’t have done any of the evil they did if maybe things had been different.

And I think that’s what makes these characters so interesting.

#vladimir makarov #raul menendez #jonathan irons #call of duty #modern warfare #black ops #advanced warfare #i'm really sorry again #it took me a while to write this one! #but it's done at long last c:

[orionsangel86]

.

You know when I first joined Twitter I had many reservations. I had always heard that Twitter fandom was pretty toxic and for that reason I tried to avoid it as long as possible. Eventually with Tumblr slowly dying I just went for it. I was... pretty damn naive when I joined up.

I have always said, over and over again, that my main reason for even being in fandom was to meet new people and make new friendships that would outlast Supernatural. At this point in time I feel I have accomplished this, though I am always open to making new friends. I like to think, that this being my primary reason for being here, it makes me a genuine person. I am not altogether that interested in popularity, getting the most followers, making my opinion the one everyone MUST believe in, and I never had much interest in “fighting” antis first hand. Sure I liked writing meta and would defend myself if I was attacked, but seeking out drama and forcing my opinion on others were never things that I cared about.

Twitter changed me. I said I was naive, and I was particularly naive to people seeking me out, being super nice to me, inviting me into lots of various fandom GCs and welcoming me with open arms. When people do that, you feel loved, you feel like you are a part of something, and very quickly it can become addictive. You very easily start feeling like those people are your friends, and you get protective of them. You support them, stand up for them, and turn a blind eye when their behaviour gives you pause.

The other thing you should know about me is that I am an empath. Sometimes this is a strength, and sometimes it is a weakness. I hate the idea of upsetting people, and I feel strongly towards those who are upset. I always try to see different points of view in a situation, and I am very consciencous of offending people - When I have offended others, I tend to dwell on it for a long time afterwards, wanting to make things right. But I also think that being empathic can make me prone to manipulation. Especially of the emotional kind. When that happens I can get defensive myself, when I suspect emotional manipulation I shut down very quickly, and I can get spiteful towards it. It’s a defense mechanism. I often regret my actions later. I feel like Twitter fandom has brought out some of my nastier qualities, but I feel that I need to explain where I think this has come from.

I was invited into a GC that in hindsight, was a bad place. It was supposedly a place created to vent about things that upset us, and to keep an eye on that “other” side of fandom - the bronlys. It was a secret place, you must never talk about this GC, I was told. This GC didn’t exist. I’m going to talk about this GC, and in doing so will probably get attacked, subtweeted, called out directly, called a liar, exposed for being this that and whatever, probably have my private DMs shared, and yeah... a whole bunch of shit probably. I’m altogether not prepared for any of that, but since I have that whole bunch blocked now, I’m hoping any shit they say about me will blow over. Anyone who truly knows me, knows I am not the person they make me out to be anyway.

When I first joined that GC the point was to call out hate towards the cast and the writers. To find tagged tweets and bullying and harassment and make sure that the wider fandom knew exactly who the problem people were. I believed in that process. I believed that we were doing good for the fandom in making newer fans aware of who needed to be avoided, as I had heard stories first hand of people who had come into fandom reached out to bigger fandom accounts and immediately been shut down and bullied just for saying they liked Castiel or shipped Dean and Cas. I was angry at those hateful people and wanted some kind of justice for them, so yeah, I joined in happily with the call outs.

But over the past year, things have changed. First, it was not just calling out bronlies, it was calling out extreme stans, who also tagged the writers in their hate. Sure, I wasn’t happy that anyone was tagging the writers in hate, so fuck those people. They can go to hell. I’ll support the calling out of those names too. Then, when people started turning on meta writers like me and taking the piss out of our meta, calling it bullshit and mocking us, it was hurtful, so when that GC rallied together to support me and my fellow meta writers and call out those assholes I was all for it. They were screencapping my meta and calling me deluded after all, why shouldn’t I defend myself and get my friends to help? People in fandom can be dicks when they want to be. But then again, so can we all.

Then it got weird. I think people in fandom started getting nervous about the final season announcement and how the show would end. Cas stans started getting extremely negative about his chances for survival. Destiel shippers started complaining about Destiel being queerbaiting and planning on going after the writers if it didn’t go canon. These were people who I was mutuals with, whose accounts I followed, and whose opinions, whilst they were kind of upsetting for me as a positive fan, were untagged personal opinions and not hate. Those people weren’t attacking positive fans, though sometimes discussions got heated, arguably it got heated on both sides. When the GC started going after those people I started feeling uncomfortable. But I kept quiet. This, I have come to realise, was a huge mistake.

Suddenly other fans were fighting against the GC people. They (we) were called “the fandom police” and “the bully squad” by so many others. I started noticing how other fans, fellow Destiel shippers, were blocking me and avoiding me for my associations with this group. I watched as the GC people started slagging off accounts that were my long time mutuals, my close friends, people I had met in real life and knew to be good people all because they had voiced a slightly negative opinion about the show. If you are relatively well known in Supernatural fandom, chances are this GC has slagged you off.

At the same time, I had watched how some of my friends within the GC “clique” had started changing, how their behaviour online was becoming aggressive and mean. How they were antagonistic and bullyish. My friends. People who I knew were good people before. The dog piling, the condescending tones, the entitled sense of righteousness, it all added up. I started trying to voice my concerns, both to people I was close to within the GC privately, and timidly within the GC itself - for which I was shut down. I started reconsidering my own behaviour online. Had I too acted like this? Had I also aggressively gone after people for simply voicing a negative opinion? Had I also shown myself to be exactly what this GC was supposed to be fighting against?

Some of the others privately admitted to feeling the same way. Some of us backed off and stopped associating with the main GC accounts. We kept our distance from them, some I know muted them. But none of us left the GC. I wish I had back then rather than letting it escalate further.

It had once again got worse from just going after people with negative opinions, now they were going after anyone who disagreed with their specific opinions. Either you agree with us, or you are an idiot. I couldn’t stomach it anymore. My friend, who was also in the GC, decided to query this new line of thinking because she disagreed with the “big opinion”. This is what kicked off all the drama. I’m not going to go into detail about it because otherwise it’ll get too obvious and personal and I want to keep this vague because whilst these people have hurt me and spread lies about me I actually don’t intend to call them out personally or reveal whose who in the group.

Just know this. By the time I eventually spoke up it was apparantly too late. My admittence of my discomfort was seen as a betrayal. There were private DMs in which I got defensive and snapped back whilst emotional about basically losing all my closest Twitter friends, and some messages I sent which I am not proud of. If they get out, fair enough. Judge me all you like. Just understand that I was extremely upset and confused how no one else apparantly saw the issues I was seeing; that this GC was indeed bullying and policing fandom, and that these people were intimidating, threatening, and manipulating everyone into believing they were victims.

I tried to let it drop, I tried to ignore it. I wanted to keep quiet. But my quitting the GC, my request to those who were calmer and less inclined towards bad behaviour to at least keep the ones who were bullying fandom in line, didn’t stop them. Their behaviour has only escalated further and Twitter fandom right now is an awful place because of it. The bronlys must be laughing at us, because Destiel fandom has turned cannabalistic.

I spoke out recently. I tried to keep it vague in a tweet about the recent drama in general. But one thing I said gets pulled out separately and suddenly I’m the big bad wolf invalidating people and I’m a horrible person who is clearly fetishising destiel as I want them to fuck on the map table apparantly?!?! I mean, this is what these people do. They take something and blow it up. They twist your words, they basically throw a dictionary of large complex words at you claiming you are x,y,and z. they use terms like gaslighting and strawmanning aimed at you and in the confusion it takes you forever to actually realise that they are doing those things themselves. Constantly. To everyone.

Look I took it too far. I subtweeted too. I exhibited those bad behaviours as well. Hell, I learned from the best after all. I was in that GC for a year. Of course I am still trying to unlearn those behaviours. I am not proud of my behaviour on Twitter. After this post, I will try to do be better. Everyday. I will be better. I apologise to anyone I may have hurt by supporting and encouraging that behaviour.

I have had mutual friends tell me privately that I need to stop. What upsets me, is that those mutuals aren’t exactly telling the others to stop too. No. Those were the mutuals who stayed quiet whilst those particular people just constantly attacked and bullied everyone. So I’m sorry, but this is me not stopping, this is me making one last post on the topic. This is me telling my story as I see it. This is me pouring my heart out and getting it off my chest. This is my truth. I’m not spinning lies here, I’m not trying to twist anything, because I think I also come across quite badly. But the recent accusations against me, claiming I don’t care for anyone else in fandom, that my calling out “so called bullying” is just my personal vendetta against people who used to be my friends. Well, yes. Technically you’d be right there, they did used to be my friends, but no. Where you are wrong, is saying I don’t care. Because if I didn’t care about the bullying that I am STILL seeing on my timeline via upset mutuals reacting to the hurtful tweets of those I have blocked, I would just ignore it and not cause myself further drama. If I didn’t 100% believe those people were bullies, they’d still be my friends. I wouldn’t have called them out. Why would I put myself through all this if I didn’t 100% believe what I’ve been saying? That’s just madness.

Because here’s the thing, I HATE bullies. I have been bullied my whole fucking life, and what I hate MORE than that, was that through that GC I also became something that I hated. Because by associating with them for that year, I might as well have called myself a bully too. And that I just can’t forgive.

So my reason for writing this post is twofold.

1. Yes, it’s to defend the lies spread against me. So that those wondering if I am actually a fake bitch with a vendetta against certain people can make up their own minds. Perhaps this post exasperates that, or in your minds confirms their accusations about me. Maybe it does. I would argue that I am not fake. This isn’t fake. This is my personal truth and a very personal account of things that have greatly hurt me and caused me much internal conflict over the past few months. Those people who I am accusing (whose names I have left out to stupidly protect their privacy because believe it or not I’m not a bitch who encourages harassment against anyone even people I consider bullies) will never admit that their behaviour is wrong. They will continue to attempt to convince anyone who asks that I turned on them for no reason, or because I blindly follow my friend who they are also attacking and exposing right now for getting emotional and taking a DM convo too far. If you choose to believe them that is your right, clearly you and I were never close enough for you to trust my word over the words of people whose behaviour is clearly and proudly splashed all over their own social media accounts. Frankly, if you see all that, and still believe that behaviour is okay, you are no friend of mine.

2. It’s because I want people to know that actually, through all the pain and drama and emotion and loss of friendship, and conflict and struggle with my mental health, I do care. I care too damn much. If I didn’t I wouldn’t have spent an hour of my Sunday writing this out. Because this has been toiling and whirling inside me painfully for months and I am fed up of it. I had to write it down. I had to get it out of me. I want these people out of my life for good, but I can’t sit by and let bullies continue to manipulate my fandom, my mutuals, my friends who I see encouraged by their behaviour to imitate it. They are unfortunately very good at encouraging others to also partake in their behaviour. Please do not fall for it. Please consider your tone when tweeting or replying to someone with an opposing opinion. Please don’t feed bad behaviour by liking it and tweeting it just because you agree with the specific opinion buried within the condescension. Please don’t throw around strong accusations like homophobia against your fellow queer fans just because they have different desires from this dumb show that we all love.

If you can all do that for me, then I will promise to do it for you too.

I am terrified to post this post. I know that in doing so I am burning quite a few bridges. I know that those I accuse will do everything in their power to make out that I am insane, that I am a psycho. I know that I am exposing myself to more attacks, more harassment. I am sure there will be plenty of twitter threads dragging my name through the mud. They’ll dismiss all of this, call it bullshit, once again claim its just my personal vendetta against certain people. I guess I’m hoping that by anticipating all this and writing it down, it might give those people pause to just stop and leave me be. Stop the cycle of bad behaviour that has caused all this escalation and go back to enjoying the show without policing everyone else.

At this point I just want everyone to know the truth. Whether you believe it or not is your prerogative. This show ends in a few months time and I just want to enjoy it without seeing bullying in my timeline. That’s what this has always been about.

We must stand up to bullying. We must not let it ruin the final few months of this show. This post is my final word on the topic. I won’t respond to anything else. I won’t respond to any threats, any subtweets against me going forward. Hateful anons will be blocked. I won’t respond to anyone asking me for more info and I have no intention of naming people personally or giving more clues as to the GC or the people who were in it. So please don’t ask. Just keep an eye out for bad behaviour in fandom and if you see it, block or mute the source, only call it out if you know you have the mental capabilities to tackle the gaslighting. But absolutely do not support it. Do not feed the bullies as attention is what they want most of all, that and making their words the only words fandom follows.

I am done with this now. I won’t discuss this more.

#personal #fandom wank

[jennifersylvesters]

not so subtle - part thirteen

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x reader Word Count: 2.9k~ Warning: swearing A/N: first ‘not so subtle’ / fic piece i’ve written for the year. holy cannoli. probably one of the shorter pieces i’ve written in a while. anyways, sure would be super if you left feedback. enjoy ~

One hundred and sixteen calls. 

Seventy-eight voicemails. 

Two hundred and three text messages and counting. 

It was official: Harrison Osterfield definitely used up his data plan for the month. Still, it didn’t discourage the flood of messages pouring into your phone. 

You wanted to keep the matter private; why fill the world in on your inevitable heartbreak? 

Of course you never got what you wished for. Within a week all your friends heard the story that transpired Halloween night. What’s worse: everyone seemed to have a say. 

Some sympathized with you, cursing Harrison as an asshole. Others pleaded for you to give him another chance. Sure, mistakes had been made but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be redeemed. Actually, that’s exactly what it meant. Nothing could change your mind. 

Harrison Osterfield was officially a blacklisted topic.

If you pushed out the memory far enough, you’d end the suffering. You’d be content. So you ignored Zendaya’s calls about how you should let him speak his peace. Zendaya, you beautifully majestic, innocent gazelle. You’re too good for this world. You deleted Harry’s texts about how you both needed closure. Closure can suck it. Nothing would make a difference. 

So maybe that’s why you weren’t expecting that certain visitor at your doorsteps. 

You had no reason to suspect anything exciting. After all, you called off the annual Thanksgiving dinner. You kept quiet amongst your friends so you hadn’t been expecting company when you trudged up your apartment steps. 

But there he was. 

You blinked in surprise at his presence. Huh? Huh. 

There, at the stop of your steps, sat Tom. You couldn’t help but notice the prominent dark bags under his eyes. Upon clearing your throat he glanced up. 

Out of everyone, Tom chose to remain mum to the situation. It only made sense that he would side with his best friend; his silence on the matter only served to confirm your suspicion. Perhaps he had something to add? Oh, no. You weren’t sure you were ready for that. Already forming an excuse, you began to greet him. 

“Hey, Tom. I’m actually-”

“He’s an idiot.” 

You blinked once. Twice. That was definitely unexpected. 

“Um, would you like to come in?” you offered. He nodded, dusting off his pants as his face soured at whatever thoughts troubled him. 

“He shouldn’t have done that” he scowled as he entered your apartment. Even in his outraged state, he found time to take off his shoes and hang up his jacket neatly. What an odd sight to see an infuriated Tom tidying up your home. 

“I told him he shouldn’t have done that!” 

“Who are you talking about?” you asked gently, peeling your own jacket off before haphazardly tossing it on your sofa. 

“Haz! That bloody idiot, Haz!” he fumed as he picked up your jacket and hung it up on the coat rack. “He shouldn’t have…He shouldn’t have done that!” 

No, he shouldn’t have. The two of you certainly agreed on that. Still, it was strange to know Tom sided with you. This was Harrison’s best friend. Wasn’t this the moment where he pleaded Harrison’s case? Wasn’t this the man who insisted the two of you belonged together? What did it mean when Tom stopped believing in that potential?

Tom stormed about your kitchen as you stared confused, watching him open cabinets until he found the kettle. 

Of course he would make tea at a time like this. 

He grumbled under his breath as he fussed around, muttering how his best friend was an absolute git. You wanted to agree, but it seemed wrong to insert your opinion during his mini tirade. 

A couple minutes later Tom handed you a cup of tea before pouring his own. 

Studying his furrowed brows, you quietly took a sip. What was Tom’s angle here?

“Even though he’s an idiot, you must know that he cares about you.” Ah, there it was. You rolled your eyes as you took another sip. The beverage burnt your tongue but it was better than speaking about the issue at hand. 

“He does” Tom insisted. “He just…” 

“If you say he made a mistake, I will toss your tea into the sink” you calmly warned. It didn't matter who made the tea; this was your house, and he knew you would follow through with the threat.

“He just-”

“Tom, I genuinely don’t care” you lied, turning to grab honey. You ignored his look of concern, proceeding to sweeten your tea. “Really, I don’t. I don’t care.” 

“Y/N, there’s never shame in caring” he commented softly. 

“There’s certainly shame in caring too much” you snorted, taking a swig. 

“Is that what you really believe?” Tom tilted his head, almost heartbroken by your display of honesty. You hated that look. God, you despised that look. Stop that. 

“I’m not getting into this with you, Tommy.”

“He cares a lot about you. He really does.” Stop. Please. 

“Not when it matters most.”

“He didn’t mean to have this escalate.” Please stop. It’s too much. Just...stop. 

“I don’t care.” 

“He didn’t mean-”

“It’s not about what he did or didn’t mean to say or do, Tom!” you cried out, flinging the cup down onto the counter. You were so exhausted hearing the same excuses over and over. “It’s not about what he wanted to do or what he wanted to say! He hurt me, alright? And I get that he’s your best friend! I do. I really do! But what he did?” You felt your face hot, tears rimming your eyes. 

“I’m not okay, Tom” you heard your voice crack. “I get that you see him as this great guy who made a mistake but I...I’m...I’m not okay.” You looked down at the tiles, unable to face him. “I wanted to believe we’d work out. But it’s not that easy. How am I supposed to forget all the things he did?” 

Tom set his cup down before crushing you with a tight bear hug, startling you completely. You stood in his arms, unsure of what to make of this. 

“I’m sorry” he whispered into your hair. “I’m so sorry.” 

The two of you had never been close, but in that moment you understood why Emma loved him so much. You understood why everyone adored him. This person felt so strongly, cared and considered your feelings so thoughtfully, that the idea of his best friend breaking your heart hurt him too. 

Slowly your arms wrapped around him before clinging to him tightly. Tears rolled down your face as you began to sob. How strange to think that Tom was the first person you cried to since the incident. How strange to be vulnerable with the best friend of the man who cut you deeply. Yet you wouldn’t have traded this comfort for anything. 

He consoled you, brushing your hair as you choked out all your despair. Every so often you heard him repeating his apologies, how you didn’t deserve any of this. 

By the time you finished crying, your throat felt raw. Using your sleeves to wipe away stray tears, you managed to collect yourself somehow. The two of you moved to the couch where you sipped on the now lukewarm tea. 

Tom was the first to break the silence. “I know you don’t believe me, but things will get better.” 

“Please don’t tell me he’ll fix things” you groaned. Tom gently nudged you before placing his hand on yours. 

“Then I won’t say it. I’ll just think it.” The two of you mustered weak smiles at his comment. 

Once again, silence crept into the space. The two of you sat quietly as Tom racked his brain trying to formulate the right words. 

“Y’know, when we’re hurt, we lash out to protect ourselves” he started slowly. “I’m not excusing anything, but-” he hesitated, staring down at his cup before glancing at you. “He felt hurt as well.”

Good. He deserved it. 

Did he though?  Did he deserve you attacking him mercilessly? 

Despite all the anger and frustration, you never wanted to truly hurt Harrison. That was never your intention. After all, you cared too much for that. 

But that’s what you did that night, didn't you? You hurt him, and you did it on purpose. You provoked him, prodding his weaknesses and exposing his flaws. And for what? It was trepidation that he’d hurt you again. 

You did just as Tom described; you guarded yourself by lashing out. 

Shit. 

All you could do was simply nod at Tom’s words as you let the realization sink in. 

Harrison hurt you. You hurt Harrison. Neither of you had been in the right for what was said and done.

It was discomforting to come to terms with that you weren’t simply the victim, but you needed to acknowledge the truth. The two of you wronged one another, both to blame for that night. 

“You’re a lot more clever than we give you credit for, Tommy” you smiled softly at the Brit. 

He chuckled as he nudged his shoulder gently with yours. “I’m not asking for you to forgive him right away. Or maybe you haven’t got to forgive him at all. The things he did- that’s hard to bounce back from. But you two?” He glanced at the carpet, letting his foot dig into the fabric. “Really can’t imagine the two of you being happy letting this go unresolved, ya know?”

Oh, how you knew.

Tom’s words played in your mind from that day on. “Really can’t imagine the two of you being happy letting this go unresolved.” 

He was right, of course. It was difficult to move on when your thoughts constantly lingered on Harrison. That didn’t mean you could simply give Harrison a quick ring. What would you say?

“Oh hey, Harrison. You were an absolutely dick, but I guess I was a complete twat. We should probably put it in the past.”  Haha. Yeah, right. 

Turns out you didn’t need to phone him. 

A couple days later you returned from classes where someone nervously paced back and forth in the middle of your staircase. 

You stood at the base staring up at the sight of him. You knew he came by frequently attempting to apologize in person. Kimberly wouldn’t allow him, stating he’d only hinder your mental health. 

You knew her girlfriend once threw something at his head and barked at him to beat it. You heard him yelp before escaping down the stairs. 

You knew he left voicemails after his visits, pleading how he just wanted a minute to speak. But hearing his voice was a completely different sensation than seeing the man before you. 

It didn’t matter how nervous or messy he looked; Harrison Osterfield looked good and would always take your breath away. You wondered if his handsomeness would ever fade. Maybe never. 

“I’m so sorry.”

How many times had he apologized in voicemails? How many texts had you read with him repeatedly stating that? Strange to think how a word could lose its strength when so overused. 

“Sorry about what?”

“Everything.” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” An exasperated look crossed his face causing you to roll your eyes. Perhaps having him slightly grovel was a bit petty, but you felt entitled to that. 

You climbed the stairs, finding yourself ready to slam the door in his face. Fuck unresolved feelings.

Right as you were about to breeze past, the realization dawned on Harrison that you wanted a proper apology. His hand bolted out, gently grabbing your arm. It dropped when you glanced at his hold. He murmured an apology, wiping his sweaty hand on his shirt. 

“I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry for grabbing you like that. I’m sorry for how I treated you on Halloween. I’m sorry for every stupid mistake I made when it came to you.” Suddenly, he was confessing all his faults. They poured out, apologizes for every time he hurt your feelings or made you cry. 

And you understood he meant it. He genuinely felt terrible about his mistakes. He wanted to right the situation.

But you weren’t ready to move past so easily. 

It’d be so simple to forgive everything and say you were fine. Yet you weren’t alright in the slightest. 

Yes, you hurt him. Yes, you were to blame as well. You knew this. Still, the scorn he released on you felt fresh in your memory. The way his words snapped without second thought terrified you. You could forgive, but you couldn’t simply forget. 

Adjusting yourself on the staircase, you made yourself eye level with him before speaking. “Fine.”

“Fine?” he echoed, clearly unsure what this meant. 

“Fine” you repeated. “I accept your apologies.” You shrugged on the verge of turning when his hand took hold of yours. 

“What...Is that all?”

“What else do you want from me?” It was a loaded question, something he hesitated to answer. 

“It doesn’t matter” you brushed off when he didn’t speak. “It’s fine, Osterfield.” 

“C’mon, Y/N. I just-”

“I said it’s fine. I don’t care.” 

“You can’t meant that.”

“I don’t care. I’m done with this, alright? You came here to apologize, and I accepted the apology. What more is there to say?” 

“How about talking about us?”

“What about us?” 

“We can move past this. We can take this slowly. We can make this better” he urged. 

“But what if we can’t?” His face fell at your words. “I get what you’re saying. I mean, I laid it on the line for you. And no doubt you laid it on the line for me too.” The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “But we never really stood a chance, right? That’s what we learned on Halloween.” The glimpse of a smile vanished from his face. “We’d just...We wouldn’t work. So I’ll be the first to admit I’m done.”

It hurt to say, but it was for the best. Wasn’t it?

“I still care about you, Y/N” he squeezed your hand gently. You wanted so badly to squeeze it back, but you wouldn’t allow that softness. 

“You cared enough to throw my insecurities back in my face? Is that your version of caring?” you countered. He flinched at your response. 

“I never meant to-”

“But you did.” You stopped, remembering your discussion with Tom. As frustrating as the situation was, you had no right to throw this back at him. 

Softening your tone, you continued. “I’m sorry for that. That was out of line. If this” - you gestured to him with your free hand - “was to ever work, I can’t imagine how happy we’d be together.” 

Except that wasn’t true, was it? The two of you would’ve been great despite both of your faults. The two of you could’ve been magic. But your hesitance made you terrified to dive in. 

“So like I said, I’m done.” 

The two of you stared at one another, your determined glance taking in his own. Eventually he released your hand and you climbed the remainder steps. 

Goodbye, Harrison. 

As you slid the key into the lock, you heard a loud laugh. 

“You know what? No.”

 Turning around, Harrison stood at the top of the steps smiling at you. Why was he smiling like that?

“I fucked up. I know I’m an absolute div, the biggest div to ever exist for hurting you like that. You could probably put me in the competition for the diivviest thing to ever be done and I’d win hands down.” 

Glad you two could agree on that one. A soft nod was all you offered in acknowledgment. 

He paused, head tilting before shaking his head and chuckling to himself.

“But there’s no way I’m giving up on us. I’m not giving up on you.” 

Sucking in your breath, you couldn’t turn away. What was going on in that mind of his?

“I know you’re scared of this, that you’re imagining how we’d hurt one another. Because we’ve done that in the past. Particularly me, which again, I’m a complete div for acting that way.” You couldn’t help by smile at that. 

“But you don’t see what I do. How happy we’d be together.”

He began inching forward with every sentence. “Do you know that every time I see you, it’s like the whole world lights up? People talk about how great and funny you are, and I just can’t help but think how lucky I am to know you. I’ve always been glad to know you. Even when I wasn’t falling for you, I liked being around you. It wasn’t just that you were amusing, either. You were...You shine in a way that no one else could ever compare. Guys would talk about you, and I’d get jealous. It’s so bloody stupid, but I’d get so protective over you and we weren’t-” he paused, glancing down at the ground.

At this point you were too focused to look anywhere else but Harrison. As he glanced up, you held your breath. “Do you know how proud I’d be to call you mine?”

By the time he was only a couple steps in front of you, you could see those beautiful blue eyes shining. “You and me? We’re it. We’re magic, love.” 

Your heart was pounding as you looked at the beautiful confident boy smiling at you. “What do you want me to say to that?” 

He shook his head, that charming smile never fading. “You don’t have to say anything, darling. Because I’m gonna prove this is worth it. Despite both of us being too bloody stubborn for our own good, I’m gonna prove we’re good together.”

tags list: @hypnotized-so-mesmerized, @sleepybesson, @sophiatomlinson23, @supernatural-girl97, @tomhaz | @alt-ernativewonderland, @blackstarryroses, @bringmethehorizonandpizza, @butithasntkilledyouyet​, @chims-kookies​, @choke-me-sweet-pea​, @deleteidentity​, @divosterfields / @bbk8lin​ (idk if you wanted me to still tag you in this?), @highladyjel​, @hollandhearts​, @jessiq31​, @kateelyse96​, @kayla-m1996​, @lexshead​, @lovelytrashure​, @maybemona​, @otheenglishsetters​, @sarcasticvodka​, @soccerstud004​, @spider-mendes​, @thefallenbibliophilequote​, @valkyriesqueen101​, @wolvesofthewinter​

#harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield fanfiction #harrison osterfield x y/n #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield imagine #haz osterfield fic #haz osterfield imagine #haz osterfield fanfiction #haz osterfield au #harrison osterfield au #haz osterfield x y/n #haz osterfield x you #haz osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield #haz osterfield #my writing #fic: not so subtle

[fandom-smut-shots]

Jughead Jones - Sharing a Shake

Sharing a Shake – Jughead Jones

Anon

Words: 1,182

           You’d lost track of just how many hours you’d been sitting in the corner booth at Pop’s, the one furthest away from the door, curling into yourself and watching hot tears drip onto the polished table before you. The sobs had come and gone – you’d bite your lip to keep the whimpers in, squeezing your eyes closed as tears streamed down your cheeks. You’d calm down, return to normal breathing patterns, perhaps glance out the window. One moment would pass, then another. Without warning, a new batch of salty wetness pooled behind your eyes, spilling out with no filter and you ducked your head to hide your shame from the world.

         Maybe you should have gone home. You’d considered it a hundred times since you sat down. But as soon as you’d move to stand, you’d be reminded of why you’d run to the diner that had become your sanctuary in the first place, and you’d be blinded by tears and crippled with anxiety at the mere thought of someone catching you in such a state. You friends knew where you were, but not why. The reason you were hiding was probably out having fun right now, and you didn’t want to run into him or his stupid friends.

         The bell above the door chimed, though it had done so frequently enough throughout the day that you’d learned to tune it out. You heard the mumblings of a familiar voice ordering food at the counter, but your exhausted gaze remained fixed on your lap.

         Until a figure was sliding onto the bench across from you, and you stiffened as anxiety crawled up your spine.

         “(y/n)?” Jughead’s voice questioned, soft and dripping with concern. He’d never seen you cry, and you’d known each other for years.

         You remained silent, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of your hoodie.

         “(y/n), what’s wrong?” he inquired. “Come on, you know you can talk to me. Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

         His gentle tone and genuine worry had your lower lip quivering. You’d run out of tears, so you simply trembled in your seat, closing your eyes and ducking your head until you were completely hidden beneath your hood.

         Jughead was quiet for a moment, sitting back in his seat and thinking through all of the occurrences that could have possibly led to your current situation. He exhaled a soft sigh, grey eyes gazing softly at you though you couldn’t see it. “It was Chuck, wasn’t it?”

         You visibly twitched at the name, and the boy across from you made a noise very akin to a growl like one would hear from a protective wolf. Jughead was the only person you’d told about your being in a relationship with Chuck, the resident man-whore. He’d advised you against it, insistently, but you’d assured him that you would be fine. The entire student body was quickly made aware of your relationship, as Chuck and his football buddies liked to loudly gossip about the people they were dating. Everyone was accustomed to hearing too many details about their sexual partners, whether such things had actually happened or not. Unfortunately for you, you thought that Chuck had changed, that he truly cared about you, and you’d let him have you.

         In one dreadful blink of an eye, all of your private business was buzzing through the halls of Riverdale High. Most of the students pitied simply because you’d gotten with Chuck at all. Some of the self-appointed “popular kids” stuck their noses up, claiming that you should have known what you were getting yourself into. Chuck and his friends were the worst of all, twisting the story into a fairytale about you being desperate and begging for Chuck to claim your virginity.

         A fist slamming into the tabletop caught your attention, and you hesitantly lifted your gaze to glance at the brunet sitting across from you. His lips were twisted into a frown, his brows furrowed with what appeared to be anger. His usually soft eyes were stern, swirling with emotions that you couldn’t quite identify. Your teeth nervously gnawed at your lower lip – was he mad at you? Did he think you were stupid for trusting a jock?

         “I should have known,” he grumbled. “I should have known that jerk would do something to you. I’m so sorry, (y/n). I didn’t want you to be with him but… I didn’t want you to feel like I was controlling you. It’s not my place to say who you can or can’t date. I’m your best friend, not your dad.”

         He sighed heavily just as Pop padded over with a chocolate shake. Jughead thanked him, holding it close and taking a long sip. He then paused, glancing at you before sliding the glass across the table. It slowed to a stop just in front of you, and your eyes darted between the dessert and your best friend.

         Jughead rolled his eyes. “Drink it. I know ice cream makes you feel better.”

         “It’s yours,” you shook your head. “I couldn’t.”

         The writer rose from his seat, and you winced, thinking that he was simply going to leave. Instead, he approaching your bench and slid in beside you, taking hold of the milkshake glass once again.

         He took a sip before handing it over to you. “Come on. Share it with me. Please?”

         You couldn’t help but chuckle at his insistence. To appease him, you took a small drink, failing to stifle a sigh as soon as the chocolate reached your tongue.

         Jughead grinned beside you. “That’s what I thought. I know this is your weakness.”

         “Thanks, Jug,” you murmured. You shifted closer, resting your head on his shoulder.

         He secured an arm around your back. “Anytime.” His head rested on yours, and he would alternate between drinking the shake and pressing the straw to your lips.

         After a long while, with the glass now empty, he glanced down at you. “Are you feeling any better?”

         You couldn’t meet his eyes as a large sigh fell from your lips. “I’m in the playbook.”

         Jughead tensed beside you, and you bit your lip. You knew that would get his attention, and that he would want to do something about it.

“Sounds like the football team is about to fall victim to larceny.” His arm tightened around you.

You didn’t want to start drama but… you had to admit, Jughead wanting to fight for your honor made your chest swell with pride.

Using one hand to gently grasp your chin, he tilted your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes. Your tears had long since dried up, but your eyes were still red and puffy and exhausted.

The writer leaned in, pressing the softest of kisses to your lips. You simply hummed in response. He pulled back, offering you a smile, which you bashfully returned.

“I’m always here for you,” he promised, and you nodded softly. He eventually bought you dinner, and when the two of you were done eating, he walked you home, where you insisted he spend the night and continue comforting you.

#jughead jones #jughead x reader #riverdale #reader insert

[unohanadaydreams]

How The Current Captains React to Falling In Love!

Shunsui Kyōraku

He would be ecstatic, but I think he would hesitate to tell someone he loved them. Outwardly, he would be reveling in being intimate, showing them off, and lavishing his love with gifts and physical affection, but I think it would take a little time for him to say the actual words “I love you” in a way that isn’t purely playful.

His cheer isn’t false, but it’s often amplified for other’s (and his own) benefit and the wait for him to share the more somber, sincere heart he hides on his colorful sleeve will be worth it.

SoiFon

Her love would be realized like the stages of grief. She won’t be able to sleep from the heavy amount of denial looming over her dreams of the person she loves. Despite that, she will be extremely jealous of those who attempt to court them and her attitude would turn away those who aren’t truly determined to be with her.

She’ll fluctuate from hot and cold for quite a long time until she’s sure of their feelings and can settle into her own. A lot of indignant shouts and backtracking of words. A lot of secret gifts and longing looks as well.

Rose Ōtoribashi

He’ll probably realize it all at once. It hits him like a guitar riff; he knows he’s in love. One day, they were someone he could enthuse about hobbies with in passing and then before he knew it, they peeled back the layers and exposed the silly, hopeful man he reserves for those he cares about.

He won’t hesitate because if he falls in love with someone, it’s because they’re already comfortably fit into his life. He’s a staunch friends before lovers kind of guy. Expect a mix tape full of love songs when he realizes how he feels.

Isane Kotetsu

She’s certain that it’s one sided at first, even if it’s obvious to everyone else that it’s not. She will be very cautious, but still hopeful; she WANTS to fall in love, but she doesn’t know if she can handle being rejected. She can think of a million reasons why she’ll be disappointed. She might even pull away a bit emotionally. But anyone who loves her back will be there to reassure her and she’ll blossom under the shower of affection. (Also she panicked to her sister, who absolutely told the person she loves what’s going on).

She shows her love in a nurturing way. Meals cooked with love, clothes folded with care, and a shocking thoroughness when it comes to physical intimacy for someone so outwardly timid.

Shinji Hirako

He panics in the aloof way that only he could. He starts teasing the person he loves more, trying to get rise after rise from them, hoping to get the ultimate read on their feelings once they’re frustrated and their guard is down. He probably knows that the person he loves shares his feelings, but he wants to be SURE. He dances around his feelings, using that reason.

Once he’s gotten them to blurt out their feelings, he’ll smirk and say he already knew, but the inner relief and security it gives him to hear it will be immense. He’ll take to spontaneously slow dancing with them a lot, humming a jazz tune. He’ll bully those he thinks are a little too close to them, in his deadpan way. He’ll seem almost a little overbearing because he’s so relieved after his initial panic.

Byakuya Kuchiki

He has a good handle on his feelings, but when he realizes he’s in love, he’ll feel completely overwhelmed. He’ll throw himself into work further to distract himself. Finding out isn’t exactly unpleasant for him, but it feels suffocating at first, because he feels it so intensely.

He won’t hesitate for long, because he understands what he wants from life and love is on that list. He definitely is already close to the person he loves; after his first wife he can’t bring himself to be as spontaneous as he used to be. He’ll try to make the moments he lets down his guard and shares his feelings feel like a fantasy (think a picnic under the light of a full moon), but he’ll do it at his own pace, with a sense of privacy. (Which is sort of ruined by Rukia suddenly calling the person he loves her sibling).

Tetsuzaemon Iba

He might take a while to figure out that what he’s feeling isn’t a combination of lust and contentment, but when he does come to terms with his feelings, he’ll be direct if not nervous. He’ll probably stutter when he says “I love you” out loud. He’ll try to mask how he’s truly feeling (nervous) with a forced macho attitude and pre planned “cool” actions, but it’ll be easy to see through.

He’s chivalry incarnate and will treat the person he loves with honor and dignity even if it’s tinged with nervous energy. He’ll kiss them on the cheek when he drops them off at work, but he’ll blush when he turns away for doing it in public and call them “babe” or some other “cool” nickname. It’ll take him a long while to be more comfortable about his romance in public.

Lisa Yadōmaru

It’s rare for her to feel romantic love, but if she discovers she’s harboring those feelings for someone, they don’t stand a chance. She is bold and even more sexual in public and private to the one she’s chose and twirls them around her finger easily. Not because she wants to control them, but because she wants them as close as possible; because she wants more of what she’s feeling and she’s going to get it.

She’ll delight in small acts of exhibitionism (lifting her skirt in public to her lover, quickly, for example). Brag about the one she loves in matter-of-fact way. And want to explore new things with them day after day.

Kensei Muguruma

As he’s fond of saying, he won’t be mature enough to hold back his feelings. But he always won’t lay it all out from the start. He’ll test the waters he’s comfortable with before he dives into saying “I love you”. He’ll get more intimate sexually, be more concerned with their health and day to day routine, before he starts to admit that he wants to fall asleep and wake up to them. And only them.

Outwardly, it might seem like he treats the person he loves in a more strict manner, but he really just being loud and proud in his own way. He might bark out annoyance at the person he loves for being late, but he’s really broadcasting that he gives a shit they’re late in the first place. And the lingering hug he gives makes it clear.

Tōshirō Hitsugaya

Although he’s always acted mature and is older, he is definitely childish in love. He’s scared to admit his feelings, but tries to (in his mind) subtly let the person he loves know that they’re cherished. Truly, he’s not as sneaky as he thinks; he’s possessive enough that everyone gets the message that the person he loves is important to him.

He is finicky at first and goes back and forth on if he should or shouldn’t pursue the person he loves, but he ends up admitting his feelings before he can push them away. He’s pretty smug about being with his lover and will feel secure because he feels more grown up for being in the relationship.

Kenpachi Zaraki

He’ll be a bit surprised. He didn’t know he had such depth to him, because he finds contentment in surface level stuff (fighting, napping, and sake). But he’s all for it. He’s a force that will not be deterred and to other people he’ll seem obsessive. Because he sort of will be. It’s a rush, like crossing blades, but different, and the person he loves is the only one that can give it to him.

He’ll be possessive in public, always having a hand on them or carrying them around, because he wants every eye that looks at his lover to know very well that they’re HIS. He’ll be paranoid about if he can really trust the person he loves at first, but once their loyalty is clear, he’ll feel less on edge. The person he loves will be privy to gentle naps on grassy knolls after an insane about of sex.

Mayuri Kurotsuchi

His love is very rare to appear, so out of anyone, he’ll spend the most time ruminating on it. He’ll slap down a thesis and make sure through self-experimentation that he isn’t just very curious about them or falling victim to the human weakness of loneliness. He wants certainty. And even then, he’ll be elusive and slow to act in a way that anyone would recognize as love.

He’ll show his affections by wanting them near him, always, but in a work environment. He’ll want them to improve and be their best, but by reprimanding and insulting them to greatness. He’ll want to possess them, so he’ll put a tracker on them and maybe even a self destructing bomb so if he can’t have them no one can. His love is hard to understand and his intimacy will burn slow like a frustrating Victorian novel times one hundred.

Rukia Kuchiki

She tries to smother her feelings as soon as they pop into existence. She views letting someone see all the tender parts of her heart as one of the scariest things that could ever happen. Nonetheless, she can’t help but feel giddy about her discovery and will vent out her feelings with lots of cute bunny drawings and blushes that refuse to leave her face.

If she admits her feelings depends on the person she feels them for. If they can’t kick her hard shell open and be earnest then she’ll probably dance around her feelings until they bow out and move on to the next partner. She’s slow to melt, but once she does, they have one of the most genuine, goofy gals in the entire Soul Society at their side for life.

#bleach headcanons #bleach scenarios #bleach imagines #gotei 13 imagines #gotei 13 headcanons #gotei 13 scenarios #rukia kuchiki #mayuri kurotsuchi #kenpachi zaraki #toshiro hitsugaya #kensei muguruma #lisa yadomaru #tetsuzaemon iba #byakuya kuchiki #shinji hirako #isane kotetsu #rose otoribashi #soi fon #shunsui kyoraku #bleach captains