#he looks the same but also wildly different in everything I’ve drawn him in

[aris-has-a-paracosm]

And we are so proud of him for that!

#hermitcraft #tangotek #hermitblr #gave him his funky S8 glasses bc why not #hermitcraft charity stream #what is style consistency #he looks the same but also wildly different in everything I’ve drawn him in #also why is his hair so difficult to draw??? I swear the hair alone took half the time??? #aris paracosm art

[here4theheartbreak]

Afternoon Naps (myg + pjm)

AO3 Link Here!

Relationships: Jimin x Yoongi Genre: smut Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~5.5k

Tags: Smut, Consensual Somnophilia, Vampires, Dirty Talk, Multiple Orgasms, Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, Vampire Sex, Vampire Biting/Blood Drinking, Sleeping Medication, Consensual Necrophilia (Technically), Temporary Character Death, Vampire Min Yoongi, Human Park Jimin, Bottom Park Jimin

Summary: Jimin finds out his boyfriend's biggest secret, and reveals his own biggest kink. They realize that this can benefit both of them.

A/N: Fifth Kinktober fic, day 7: somnophlia; this fic is also filling a request from ages ago. @sujigguk requested a fic with “you’re not human”

A/N 2: The fic contains technically necrophilia -- vampire lore in this fic has the vampire "dying" (i.e. heart/breathing stops, body goes cold, rigor mortis sets in) while resting in their coffins. All sexual acts are discussed and consented to by both parties prior to this.

“Jimin!” Yoongi’s voice was sharp… And not all that happy when he opened the door of his apartment. Jimin smiled sheepishly. 

“Surprise?” He said softly. 

“What are you doing here?”

Yoongi looked tense as he stood in the doorway. From what Jimin could see over his shoulder, his blinds were drawn, and his apartment was still mostly dark. Strange, given it was nearly ten in the morning.

“Did I wake you?”

Yoongi hesitated. “No.”

Jimin’s smile faded a little. “I wanted to come by… It’s been a week.”

“We’ve been texting.” 

Jimin’s smile disappeared completely. “I disturbed you. I’m sorry.” He backed up, ready to head down the hall.

“Wait, no, Jimin. Don’t go. You just surprised me, I’m not used to visitors coming by unexpectedly.”

Jimin looked at him, trying to gauge if he was being sincere. Jimin and Yoongi had been dating for nearly six months. It was great. Yoongi was always there for him, their dates were fun, and they never ran out of things to talk about. The sex was mind blowing. Sure, they fought a little, but never a big thing. The one oddity in all their time together… Was that Jimin was never invited to sleep over at Yoongi’s. Yoongi had stayed at Jimin’s a few times, and Jimin had come over once or twice, but never for more than a few minutes. 

The last time they were together in person, Jimin had hinted at wanting to stay over at Yoongi’s one night. Yoongi had seemed okay with the idea, but also a bit stiff about it. 

“I should have texted,” Jimin finally said.

“Yes,” Yoongi agreed. “But… You’re here, I can spare a few minutes.” He sighed heavily and stepped aside, letting Jimin in. 

“Dark,” Jimin commented as he entered. “Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.” He reached out for Yoongi’s head, only to have Yoongi jerk away.

“I’m fine.”

Jimin scowled then, crossing his arms. “What’s wrong with you?”

Yoongi blinked at him. 

“You’re acting weird. I’ve been with you half a year, I know when you’re not yourself. What’s wrong?”

“It…” Yoongi’s shoulders sagged. “It’s very hard to explain.”

“Well try. I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark. Literally or figuratively.” Jimin went to flip on a light. 

Yoongi grabbed his wrist. His hand was frigid, and his grip was tight. Jimin gasped. 

“Don’t.” Yoongi’s voice was sharp.

“Wh… What’s going on? You’re kinda starting to scare me.”

“I don’t mean to.” Yoongi let go of Jimin’s wrist.

“Why are you so cold?” Jimin went forward. Yoongi backed away but Jimin ignored him, grabbing his face. “Jesus, you’re freezing. Are you sick?”

“Not exactly,” Yoongi mumbled.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

“Jimin, please…” Yoongi leaned into his touch, his eyes screwed shut. “Please just go home… I promise, I’ll explain everything tonight.”

“No. You can explain right now, Min Yoongi.” Jimin crossed his arms and stood in front of the door, facing Yoongi. 

“It’s not easy,” Yoongi muttered. Jimin remained silent. He sighed. “Fine. I… I really wanted us to last.”

Jimin narrowed his eyes, not liking how this was sounding. Yoongi stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

“I’m a monster.”

“What makes you a monster?” Jimin pressed.

“Fangs? Death? Drinking blood?” Yoongi shrugged. “Any number of things. I mean a literal monster.”

Jimin laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, come on, don’t be silly. Yoongi, what is it really?” He asked. He flicked on the light. Yoongi winced visibly, raising his hand to shield from the indoor light.

Jimin’s entire body went cold. Yoongi was standing in front of him. His Yoongi – lean muscle and a sweet, round face, gentle eyes and guitar callused fingers… But not his Yoongi at the same time. The person in front of him was paler than Yoongi – his face almost grey it was so pale. His eyes were dark. Not just dark, but the pupils seemed to have expanded, filling the whites of his eyes and giving him a demonic gaze. 

Yoongi let his hand fall, his expression timid despite the horror his features implied. 

“You’re not human,” Jimin whispered.

“I’m a monster,” Yoongi agreed. “A vampire… Specifically.” He looked down. “Are you going to run away screaming now?”

“Make me, you troll,” Jimin grumbled. He let his arms fall and took a cautious step forward. 

“I’m a vampire, not a troll.”

Jimin grinned at that, seeing the curve of a smile on Yoongi’s lips. “I’ll get it right eventually… Am I in danger? Standing here like this?”

“No. I have excellent control over my feeding… Why aren’t you scared?” Yoongi looked up, meeting Jimin’s gaze.

“I am.”

“You aren’t showing it… Aside from a fast heartbeat… I can’t see any fear on your pretty face. And your heart beats fast around me all the time.”

Jimin smiled. “Flirting isn’t gonna get you out of the doghouse… Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“You’re right.” Yoongi snapped his fingers. “I always forget. When is the right date to tell your new boyfriend you died and came back as a bloodsucking creature of the night? That once a week you have to spend a day in a coffin literally dead or you get wildly sick? Isn’t it the third? Or no, the seventh?”

Jimin slapped Yoongi’s shoulder with some force, smirking when he cried out, rubbing it. “Weak for a vampire.”

“I’m immortal, not immune to my boyfriend’s abuse,” Yoongi grumbled.

“Do you drink blood?”

“Of course I do.”

“Human?”

“When I can.”

“From live people?”

“Is that jealousy I hear in your tone, Mr. Park?”

Jimin glared. “You lied to me for six months, I’m allowed to interrogate you.”

Yoongi smiled softly. “I’m frankly just… In amazement that you’re still standing here. And no… Not live humans, not for a very long time. You may proceed with the interrogation – but I insist on us moving out of my hallway and to an actual sitting location.” He pointed to the couch.

“Do you have anything to drink? If I open your fridge… Will I find bags of blood?”

Yoongi made a noise of offense and crossed his arms. “Of course not, I’m not some barbarian. You’ll find a recyclable bottle of that’s filled with blood. But my sodas are in the door.”

Jimin went over to the fridge and opened it. Sure enough, there were three large water bottles filled with a very suspicious reddish liquid. He grabbed a soda from the door and went over to the couch, sitting next to Yoongi.

“How old are you? I’m guessing that twenty-seven was a lie.”

“I was twenty-seven when I died. Thirty-one years ago.”

“Oooh, I bagged myself a silver fox, huh?”

Yoongi huffed once more. “I died at twenty-seven.”

“Mhm… And now you’re fifty-eight.” 

“Jimin, I’m gonna…” 

Jimin giggled. “I guess I shouldn’t tease you… You might bite me… Would you?”

“Bite you? Not unless you asked.”

“Would it turn me into a vampire?”

“No. There’s a very specific ritual for that.”

Jimin nodded. “Cool. So, what does a vampire do? Aside from drinking blood… What’s special about you? I’ve seen you in the day. You complain a whole lot, but you don’t sparkle or ignite like a firework. We’ve taken plenty of pictures together… And you eat way too much garlic. You also sleep at night, and probably too long… And you aren’t any stronger than I am.”

“You’re making me feel real great here, Jimin,” Yoongi joked, smiling as he spoke.

Jimin laughed. “Sorry—I just mean… You seem human. I’ve never… Really assumed anything was off about you.”

“The great thing about humans, is that you all really like to assume everyone is like you. You avoid the things that support the opposite. Inhuman behavior, to some degree, so long as it’s not shocking or jarring, you can brush off as an odd quirk, a funny trait. I’m close to human, yes, but I am not human. I complain in the sun because my skin is sensitive. Bursting into flames is a myth, but I do burn far easier than most humans. My skin’s melanin has decayed over the years without cellular growth.”

“Which is why you’re so pale too.”

Yoongi grunted an affirmative. “Garlic is a myth, as is the no reflection thing. I’m sure hundreds of years ago, maybe? There might have been some truth to it, but modern technology and modern mirrors work different, so I can see myself the same as you. I am stronger than you, but I do well at hiding it most of the time. Any displays of it, you either don’t see, or brush aside. I do also sleep at night, yes – because I’ve put myself on a human schedule. I do this so I can live among you all without problems. Once a week though, I must sleep during the day. Sleeping at night is akin to a human living on a series of short naps at mid-afternoon. It’s not fully restful and it’s dangerous to do long term. I compensate by sleeping through the day one day per week, in the appropriate resting place.”

“R… Resting place?”

“My coffin.”

Jimin’s eyes bulged. “Coffin?”

“Yes, I am dead. I have a coffin.”

“That you sleep in?”

“Once a week. Otherwise, I sleep in the bed.” 

Jimin nodded, his brows furrowed. 

“Gonna run yet?” Yoongi asked.

“No… Is there anything else different?”

“Well… We’re excellent in bed,” Yoongi joked. Jimin glanced up. “I mean it. We have a… Special thing about us. You’ve had sex with other men before me, right?”

“Yeah, a few.”

“Haven’t you ever noticed that when we have sex… I’m much—”

“Harder.”

Yoongi nodded. 

Jimin pouted. “I assumed it was because I just really turned you on. It’s because you’re a vampire?”

“Well, no, you really do turn me on... A lot. But a few days after I do my daytime sleep, I get naturally more rigid. I’m not sure why – I think it has something do with… Ah, well it’s gross. But it just happens.”

Jimin sat back, sighing softly. “You’re immortal.”

“Yes.”

“Honestly… I think that’s the thing that bothers me most about this. Not that you’re undead or drink blood or… But that you’re gonna never grow old. And I’m…”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispered.

“If we work out…” Jimin began. “And stay together… You’ll turn me, right? You’d have to – for us to… Be together.”

“Not necessarily. While I wouldn’t hate the idea of someone’s company in my life… I know that a limited existence is so valued and important. It’s something that I would be willing to discuss… If we work out, and when you are older.”

Jimin nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Yoongi pressed. “That’s it?”

Jimin shrugged. “We all have secrets, Yoongi.”

“I doubt you have a secret as big as this, Jimin.”

“No… But I have one that… People have left for.”

Yoongi seemed to perk up a little at that, his brows furrowed. Despite the difference in his eyes, the sleek black, Jimin found his expression endearing and sweet. 

“I like your eyes like this… Can you change them at will?” He asked.

“No. They’re like this because I’ve not fed for a while. I have to keep myself fed and rested or they shift; they’ll be back to normal after I wake up and drink… What secret could you have that’s so big, Jimin?” 

“Well… I…” Jimin winced. “God, it’s weird as hell, I’m so sorry.”

“I won’t run,” Yoongi promised. “You’re sitting here next to me after finding out I’m a living dead monster. The least I can do is listen to your secret and try to understand.”

Jimin smiled softly at that. He nodded. “I like… Sleep sex.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I like the idea of… Having sex with someone while they sleep or are unconscious. With their consent! I mean… I’d never… Do something nonconsensual.”

Yoongi remained silent a moment, thinking. “Do you want someone to have sex with you while you sleep? Or do you want to have sex with someone while they sleep?”

“Both, I guess. I like the idea of both. I’ve never done it. Most people stop talking to me after I tell them.”

“Why would they?” Yoongi pressed. “We all have kinks and fantasies.”

“Yeah, but a lot of them see it as a form of rape. And I get it, it’s a super grey area. You can’t change your mind while you’re asleep, so like… If you say it’s okay, and then as you drift off to sleep decide you don’t want it… Then it becomes nonconsent.”

Yoongi nodded in understanding. “Well I think that can be resolved just by open communication,” he said, touching his hand to his chin in thought. “If you trust your partner and they trust you, you two should be able to communicate what is and isn’t okay. I don’t think a kink like this is unsafe or unhealthy, as long as – like you said – it’s done with full consent.”

Jimin smiled cautiously, his heart skipping a beat. “You mean… You don’t find it gross?”

“Not at all.” Yoongi smiled. “I’m glad you shared it with me. I still don’t think it’s worse than me being a blood sucking monster… But I know it’s a secret you hold close, so I appreciate your trust. But… Would you want to try this with me someday?”

“Would I ever?” Jimin asked. He chuckled a little. “I fantasize about it a lot.” 

Yoongi smirked. He moved little closer, pulling Jimin to him. “Would you want to try it today?” He asked softly.

Jimin’s eyes widened. Yoongi continued. “Look… When I sleep… In my coffin. I’ll be honest with you. I don’t breathe. I don’t move. I am… For all intents and purposes… Dead. I don’t decay, obviously. But my body goes very cold, my lungs and heart go still… And my body stiffens, as a corpse would. That includes… My dick.”

Jimin remained quiet, processing what Yoongi was suggesting. Yoongi slid his hands over Jimin’s shoulders slowly as he spoke. “So, if someone… Say my very curious, very human boyfriend… Happened to get horny while I was sleeping in my coffin… He could climb in and use my body… Ride me… And I’d remain fully unconscious no matter what.”

“Because you’re dead…” Jimin clarified. 

Yoongi nodded. “Temporarily. I wouldn’t wake for anything, unless you shined sunlight on my body. So… If you want to do this…”

“Would you fuck me when you wake?” Jimin said quickly. “If I was sleeping, would you… Return the favor?”

“I wake in the late afternoon usually. You’d likely still be up.”

“Not if I took a sleeping pill,” Jimin suggested. “I have some, I used to get nightmares and they help. I don’t use them often, but I bring them just in case. I could take one after… And you could… Help get rid of your afternoon wood with my body.”

Yoongi shifted visibly on the couch. His tongue darted out, swiping over his lips. Jimin smirked. He leaned forward, sliding his hands up Yoongi’s thighs. “Does that idea sound good? You like it.”

Yoongi nodded. “I do,” he breathed. 

“We can do it today?”

“Yes but… Jimin… You understand what I mean. When I lay in my coffin… You will be looking at the equivalent of a corpse.”

“I understand. But you’re still you. You say you’ll only be still and cold… You won’t be decaying or rotting or anything you associate with a dead body. And you’ll be waking up and… We’ll be together.”

“Of course.”

“Would it turn you on? Knowing I used you while you… Rested?”

Yoongi smiled softly, lowering his gaze. “Frankly? That’s… An incredibly sexy thought. The thought of you climbing into my coffin with me alone is enough to… Well… I’ve thought of it more than once. I never even imagined you’d be willing to… Let alone wanting to… Do more.”

“Should I stay in the coffin with you? After I finish?”

“I’m afraid not.” Yoongi shook his head. “Waking from my rest is a very jarring thing. I fear I might accidentally hurt you. I have a bed in my room next to the coffin, you can sleep there.”

Jimin nodded. “I do want this as long as you do. And I do want you to… Do the same.”

Yoongi leaned forward, kissing Jimin gently. 

“Hey… You’re a vampire… Don’t you have fangs?”

“They retract. When I’m resting they will come out, so don’t kiss me – you could get poked. But when I’m awake I can pull them in and out as needed.”

“Can I see them?” Jimin whispered. 

Yoongi seemed to be thinking about it. He grinned then. His wide, gummy grin suddenly became something much more frightening… And sexier, when Jimin realized his canines had lengthened and transformed into sharp, deadly points. Jimin’s breath left in a rush. 

“Oh wow…”

Yoongi’s smile dropped again to a relaxed expression. “Satisfied?” He asked, his tone slightly breathier with the fangs in the way. 

Jimin nodded. “I think you need to go to bed soon,” he murmured.

Yoongi smirked, one fang peeking out of his lip. “Horny bastard.”

“Not my fault.” Jimin squeezed Yoongi’s thighs. “Should I wait out here?”

“Please. Though it’s not disturbing I do like going to sleep alone. You’re free to come in in about fifteen minutes… I’ll be resting by then. The lube is in the top drawer of the dresser in the bedroom. 

“See you in the evening,” Jimin said. Yoongi rose and leaned forward, pecking Jimin’s mouth gently. 

Fifteen minutes had never been so damn slow. Jimin finished his drink and paced around the apartment, trying to distract from the ticking clock. He took the time to explore Yoongi’s place; he’d never had a chance to before. He had quite a number of interesting trinkets that Jimin wanted to ask about when he woke up. He pulled off his coat and tugged on one of Yoongi’s hoodies, hugging himself in it as Yoongi’s scent drifted into his nostrils from the warm fabric. 

Finally. Fifteen minutes had passed. Jimin entered the bedroom carefully, letting his eyes adjust to the room, even darker than the living room. He found a lamp near a comfy looking bed and flicked it on, looking around. The light was soft, diffused by the heavy shade. In the center of the room was a large, dark coffin. Jimin approached it carefully, his heart in his throat. Inside was Yoongi, looking much paler than usual. He was entirely still, arms resting across his bare belly. He was in his boxers, his cock comically rigid, tenting the front up obscenely. He was stunning. 

Jimin hurried over to the dresser and opened the drawer, finding the lube easily. He shucked his jeans and boxers, crawling onto the bed. He set his sleeping medication on the bedside stand and relaxed into the pillow. It smelled richly of Yoongi’s scent, his cock thickening against his thigh. He moaned softly, stroking himself. He looked over at the coffin, his stomach clenching. This was really happening. He poured some of the lube on his fingers and spread it over his hole, sighing contentedly as he pushed a finger in to prep himself. 

When he was ready, Jimin rose, sliding the lube and his phone into his pocket. He went over to the coffin, taking a moment to gaze down at his beautiful lover. A vampire… He knew he’d likely have a moment of realization down the line – the understanding that this simple confession had flipped his life upside down. But he’d never been one to shy away from the macabre or bizarre, and he always wondered if supernatural creatures existed. Yoongi’s confirmation of that was… Unexpected, but not unwanted. 

Jimin carefully straddled Yoongi’s lap. He knew he couldn’t wake him, but the fear was half the fun. Yoongi was still hard, his position entirely unchanged from the first moment Jimin saw him. Jimin pulled his boxers down just under his balls, smirking when he saw the tip was a deep purple red. He wrapped his hand around it and stroked gently, surprised to find it cool to the touch. Yoongi really was a living dead person. 

A surprising twinge of arousal spiked through Jimin, making him shudder. He wondered if Yoongi could still come in this state. Only one way to find out.

He shifted over, taking the lube from his hoodie with shaking hands and adding some to Yoongi’s cock, and more to his own stretched hole. He moved over and began to settle into Yoongi’s cock, muffling his quiet gasps in his other hand. Yoongi’s cock was so hard it was almost painful. There was none of the give he was used to, forcing his ass open wide to take the tip, and sliding deep into him. He whimpered, shuddering hard when he took his entire length. 

“Yoongi,” he whined softly. Curious, he reached out, touching Yoongi’s pale, cool face. He held his hand by his nose for a moment. Nothing. No movement of air, no shift, nothing. He moaned again, reality slowly sinking in. There was nothing normal or right about this. But God, it felt good. He dropped his hand down, pulling Yoongi’s top lip back. As promised, there they were, sharp fangs, glinting dangerously. Jimin touched one, ever so tempted to prick his finger on it, let Yoongi taste him… But no. Jimin pulled his hand back. That could be discussed at a later time. He settled back on Yoongi’s stiff cock and whimpered. There was no give. He was gonna lose it fast at this rate.

Jimin began to ride him, moaning openly as Yoongi’s cock slid over his prostate. He reached into his hoodie and removed his phone, holding it up. He found his camera app and angled it to show his face first, his cheeks mottled red with arousal. He moaned openly as he pressed record, not bothering to shy away from looking and sounding obscene. 

“Your cock is so hard, Yoongi. You’re gonna break my ass in half, oh!” He shuddered, biting his lip and twisting his hips down. “Fuck, I’ve never had something this hard up my asshole, Yoongi… I’m gonna gape for hours after I’m done with you.”

He whined, his throat clicking as he struggled to swallow. He turned the camera, filming Yoongi’s body before turning it and balancing it behind him, so he could film himself riding Yoongi. He glanced back, smirking when he realized the camera was catching each long stroke, Yoongi’s cock sinking back into his ass. He spread himself and leaned forward, giving more light for the camera. He fucked himself hard and fast onto Yoongi’s cock, moaning and begging for more, not hiding the pleasure he was getting. He reached back and grabbed the phone, holding it up again.

“I’m gonna come, Yoongi,” he whined. “I’m gonna come from using your thick, hard cock, right here in your coffin. Wanna see?”

He turned the camera and lifted the front of the hoodie. His cock was bouncing with each thrust of his body, slapping gently off Yoongi’s still stomach. 

“I’m so glad you slept shirtless,” Jimin panted. “Make me come, Yoongi… Oh God, please… Fuck my ass harder…” He moved faster, whining high in his throat. It shifted to a shout when his cock began to spurt, shooting ropes of come over Yoongi’s hands and belly. He stroked himself, still riding Yoongi’s cock as he milked the last come from himself. He shuddered and giggled, moving the camera behind him as he pulled off Yoongi. He held his ass open, feeling the cool air tickle him far more intimately than it should.

“Look at that gape,” he mumbled. “Too bad it’s not dripping with your come.” He pulled the camera back as he crawled out of the coffin.

“I think I’m gonna leave you like this… Covered in my come, boxers down… Just so you wake up and know what I did to you.” 

He walked back over to the bed in the corner. “Now, Yoongi… I’m gonna leave the lube right there.” He angled the camera to show himself setting it on the nightstand and picking up the sleeping pill. “And I’m gonna take my sleeping medicine.” He angled the camera back to his face to show him swallowing it. 

“Now I’m going to sleep just like this… No shorts… And I would love it, if you want to… To repay the favor and use my ass while I sleep.” He smirked. “I wonder… Is your come as cold your body was when you first come back? You should let me know… I wonder how that feels inside me…” He shook his head. “Sleep well… See you soon.” He ended the video and sent it to Yoongi, forcing himself to stay awake long enough to hear the buzz of Yoongi’s phone in his coffin. He let himself drift off to sleep, dreams full of sexy, arousing thoughts. 

Jimin’s ass was on fire. He moaned softly, opening his eyes blearily. The first thing he saw was the coffin. He turned his head, spotting the clock… Nearly seven hours since he’d gone to sleep. 

“Morning Sunshine,” Yoongi murmured. Jimin turned, spotting him at his desk. A cup of deep red liquid sat next to him as he worked on something. “How’s your ass?”

“Sore,” Jimin mumbled, reaching back. He was met with a gush of body temperature fluids, pouring from his gaped hole. He whined. “Fuck…” His cock throbbed against the mattress. “What did you do?”

“Me? I simply did as you asked in your video… Very sexy, by the way. Would you like to watch?”

Jimin rolled over, groaning weakly. His cock was hard despite the pain in his ass. It was perfect. “Show me,” he whispered.

Yoongi rose and grabbed his phone. He went over to the bed and sat on it with Jimin, passing him the device. 

Yoongi did far less teasing and talking in his video. He set up the phone at an angle on the nightstand, allowing it to capture most of Jimin’s sleeping body. Yoongi slicked his cock, looking into the camera as he sank into Jimin with a moan. He began to thrust into him quickly, holding Jimin’s ass open as he did. He maintained looking at the camera most of the time, his eyes the same black they were when he went to sleep.

As Jimin watched himself get used on the phone, Yoongi pulled him onto his lap. He’d withdrawn his cock, Jimin could feel. He hissed and whined softly when Yoongi dragged him over and slid back into his come lubed hole.

“It’s sore,” he whined.

“You can get off then, I don’t mind,” Yoongi said, letting his hips go. Jimin smirked. He shifted to get a better angle to watch the video and began to bounce lazily on Yoongi’s cock.

On the video, Yoongi had picked up speed, grunting as he fucked Jimin’s sleeping body. He tossed his head back, shouting and baring his teeth.

Jimin moaned, catching sight of Yoongi’s fangs. He touched his own neck, a little disappointed at the lack of bite marks. Yoongi on video shuddered, his hips going still. He leaned forward, kissing Jimin’s shoulder.

“There’s my first load, Jimin. It was as cold as ice… I’ve never felt your hole squeeze me so tight. Next time I’ll do it when you’re awake… I bet you’ll squeal so pretty when it fills you…” 

Jimin moaned, leaning back against Yoongi. “I wanna feel,” he confessed.

“I’ll make sure you’re awake next time,” Yoongi promised. “Wanna see the rest?”

Jimin nodded, riding Yoongi a little faster.

On video, Yoongi picked up the pace, fucking Jimin’s ass harder than before. He used him for nearly forty minutes, filling his hole three times. Finally, he sagged his shoulders, kissing over Jimin’s back. 

“You’re so fucking sloppy, baby,” he grumbled. He grabbed the phone and angled it down. Jimin’s ass was red, his hole swollen around Yoongi’s cock. He pulled out slowly and come bubbled out, obscene sounds filling the air. Yoongi chuckled. “I’ll leave you like this. When you wake up I’ll give you one more, if you want it.”

The video went black. Jimin leaned forward, his ass aching at the new angle. “I want it,” he whispered.

Yoongi shifted, pulling out only long enough to get onto his knees. He sank back into Jimin’s  already filled ass, and they both moaned at the sloppy noises. Jimin leaned up, wrapping his arms back around Yoongi.

“Bite me when you come,” he whispered.

“You sure?” Yoongi was fucking him hard, his cock twitching.

“Yes,” Jimin promised. He reached down, stroking his cock in time with Yoongi’s thrusts. 

Yoongi was huffing erratically, holding tight to his middle. His fangs grazed Jimin’s shoulder. 

“Are you mine?” Yoongi panted in his ear.

“Yes—“

“Give yourself to me.” Yoongi grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand off his cock. “All the way. Are you mine, Jimin?”

“Yes, yes!” Jimin moaned. 

“I’m yours as well, Park Jimin,” Yoongi whispered. He slammed his cock deep. It began to throb, spilling inside Jimin. At the same time, Jimin felt a sharp pain and then a pressure on his shoulder. Pure pleasure washed over him. His cock began to spurt ropes of come, jerking hard enough to make them land on the floor in front of him. He shouted Yoongi’s name, reaching back and holding his neck as Yoongi drank from him. 

The two collapsed on the bed as their orgasms faded. Yoongi kissed and licked at the wound on Jimin’s shoulder until the blood clotted, sliding his softening cock carefully from Jimin’s aching ass.

“You okay?” Yoongi asked, nudging Jimin’s shoulder with his nose as they cuddled back to chest on the bed.

“I’m great,” Jimin whispered.

“No regrets? Still okay with it?”

“Fully… You?”

“It was so exciting,” Yoongi admitted. “When I woke and felt your come on me… And then saw you sleeping… And that video was stunning. You were so beautiful.”

Jimin smiled shyly. “We’ll have to go easy the next few nights… I’m really sore.”

“Of course. I’ll be gentle for a while, let you heal up.” Yoongi kissed over his shoulder. “Did the bite hurt?”

“No. It felt good… How often can you drink from me?”

“I’d prefer not to often. Living human blood, not bagged, it’s… Very rich and sweet, almost like candy. It can become addictive. I’m honored you let me, but I’ll save it as a treat for myself, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course.” Jimin turned as well as he could. His gaze searched Yoongi’s face, finally dropping down to his mouth, lips pink and cheeks mottled. “It was so interesting. Seeing you in your coffin.”

“I know it can be frightening.”

“No…” Jimin shook his head. “I think it sank in… That I was looking at someone who wasn’t alive. But knowing you’d be awake soon after, it was… This bizarre sort of… Taboo but sexy thing? I’m a freak, aren’t I?” Jimin’s shoulders sagged. 

“No more than I.” Yoongi nudged him again. “We can be freaks together.”

Jimin grinned. “Yoongi?” He said softly.

“Hm?”

“I feel gross.”

“Because of what we did?”

“No, silly.” Jimin laughed. “Because your come is gluing my ass and legs together. I need a shower.”

Yoongi laughed brightly, nodding. “Agreed. Let’s get one... It’s almost dinner, you’re probably starved.”

“You aren’t,” Jimin teased, rising slowly. “No, but I could eat. I’ll take you out after the shower.”

They walked together to the bathroom. “How does eating human food work with being a vampire?”

“Same as it works being alive,” Yoongi said, turning on the water. “It’s just empty calories for me – Which is why I never eat much.”

“There’s so much I feel like I have to learn about what you are… How life is for you.” Jimin crossed his arms as he waited for the water to warm. Yoongi straightened up and wrapped his arms around him. Now that Jimin was aware, he could feel that Yoongi was a few degrees cooler, his skin just a bit paler than human. 

“You can ask anything you need. We have time, and I’ll tell you all you want to know.”

“Yoongi…” Jimin leaned against him, hugging him tightly. He could hear Yoongi’s heart, glugging along at a lethargic pace. He smiled softly. “Can I confess something to you?”

“Hm?” Yoongi asked, resting his chin on Jimin’s shoulder. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you,” Jimin whispered. 

Yoongi went still, his heart skipping a little faster. “Jimin… Say that again,” he said.

“I… I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Jimin could feel Yoongi’s lips curve up into a smile against his shoulder. “In nearly sixty years of existence… I have never heard more beautiful words,” Yoongi admitted. “I love you too, Jimin… I feel like I’ll love you forever.”

Jimin pulled back, meeting Yoongi’s gaze. His eyes were back to their normal soft brown. He smiled. “Coming from someone who is immortal… That’s the most beautiful thing I could hear.”

Yoongi leaned forward, kissing Jimin deeply. He pulled him close, and Jimin melted into the touch. Yoongi may have cold skin, may drink blood and die once a week – but Jimin had never felt safer or warmer than he did at that very moment in Yoongi’s arms. 

#thebtswritersclub #yoonmin #jimin x yoongi #yoongi x jimin #jimin smut #yoongi smut #jimin #yoongi #mywriting

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Evil Scar on 3rd life? I really like your writing btw

3rd Life rly is just a place for people to have villain arcs lmfao /hj also thank you, i’m so glad you enjoy my stuff :D

(just a reminder: do not tag this or any of my work as shipping of any kind)

…

  “Mrrow.”

  Etho chuckles and leans on his pickaxe as his cat, named Pineapple Pizza, sits down on the staircase behind him, looking up at him. “Heyo. What can I do for you? You hungry?”

  Pineapple meows again in response.

  “Okay, then. Let’s get you some fish.”

  Seemingly delighted with his response, Pineapple jumps up onto Etho’s shoulders and curls herself round the back of his neck. Etho grins and tickles her under the chin as he goes back up the stairs of his mine and emerges back in the swamp. His wool bridge stands proud through the middle of the swampy water, looking rather good for a build made of white wool. 

  Etho roots around in his chest for some fish, but by the time he finds some, he realises that Pineapple has jumped down from his shoulders. Glancing around, he spots a figure moving around in the trees and heads over to investigate.

  As he approaches, Scar emerges from behind the tree and spots him. “Ah, Etho! Good to see you.”

  Etho blinks, acutely aware of the red heart on Scar’s neck. “Hi, Scar,” he says warily, but still with a friendly tone. “What can I do for you?”

  “Oh, I was just in the neighbourhood and I-.”

  “Meow.”

  Scar breaks off as Pineapple appears between them, sitting down and starting to lick her paw.

  “Is this your cat?” Scar asks, bending down and picking Pineapple up. 

  Etho starts to reach for his cat but stops, as if afraid of spooking a wild animal. “Uh, yes. Yes, that’s Pineapple Pizza, Piney for short. Scar, could you, um… Sorry, but would you mind not picking her up? She doesn’t like being held by anyone who isn’t me.”

  “But she’s so cute.” Scar strokes the top of Pineapple’s head. “I’ve been looking for a cat, you know. Haven’t seen any Jellies on this server so I guess this one’ll have to do.”

  As Etho stares at him in shock, Scar turns and walks out onto the bridge. Etho falls into step beside him. “Scar, please,” he pleads. “She’s my cat. I can help you find one of your own, but-.”

  “No, I like this one. Not only is she adorable but she seems to be in need of a new home.”

  “No, please!” Etho’s voice rises. “Scar, please don’t take her from me! Please!”

  Scar steps back, still holding Pineapple in his arms. “I’d stay back from me, if I were you. Otherwise you might lose more than just your cat and your extremely flammable bridge.”

  “Wh-.”

  Before Impulse even finishes his word, Scar turns and strikes his flint and steel, setting the wool bridge on fire. 

  “NO!” Etho screeches.

  He charges forwards and attempts to stamp out the fire but it’s already spreading, and all he succeeds in doing is burning his leg. Stumbling backwards, Etho realises quickly that his bridge is a lost cause. As the flames explode outwards, all he can do is dive over the edge into the swampy water. 

  He swims to safety and climbs out onto the shore. By the time he turns around, his entire bridge is alight. Abandoning it, he dashes down the swampy banks, searching wildly for any sign of Scar. 

  But his former friend is long gone, along with his beloved cat. 

…

  As the sun rises, Etho sits on top of the hill with his knees drawn into his chest, gazing numbly down at where his bridge used to be. All that’s left is two blocks of wool and some fences. He’s shed so many tears tonight that he has nothing left in him. 

  Everything he loves is gone. His tree, his bridge, and even his beloved cat. He has nothing now. Nothing. 

  “Etho!” comes Tango’s call from somewhere to his left. “Etho, where are you?” 

  Etho doesn’t respond. 

  After a moment, Tango and Impulse emerge from the forest and discover him sitting on the edge of the hill. Neither of them speak; they’ve already heard what happened. News and gossip travels fast on the server. 

  They sit down on either side of him, neither of them entirely sure what to say. 

  “How you holding up, buddy?” Impulse asks eventually. 

  Etho closes his eyes briefly, releasing one stray tear he didn’t know was there. “Why does Scar hate me?” he whispers. 

  Tango and Impulse exchange a sympathetic look. 

  “He doesn’t hate you,” Tango begins. “He…” 

  “He burned down my tree and my bridge, and took my cat away from me. I must have done something to make him hate me.” 

  “No, buddy.” Impulse puts his arm over Etho’s shoulder. “Scar is… He’s… different than how he used to be. This server has changed him, and I guess it’s changed all of us. Just… him in a different way.”

  After a moment, Etho stands up, shaking Impulse’s arm off his shoulder. 

  Tango and Impulse also simultaneously rise to their feet. “Are you gonna be okay?” Tango asks. 

  Etho takes his gloves out of his pocket and puts them on. “Eventually.”

  “Not sure I like that answer. Etho, don’t push us away, okay? We’ll help you out, we’ll support you. Anything you need.”

  “Yeah,” adds Impulse. “Anything.” 

  “Alright, I appreciate that. I think I just need to be left alone for a while.”

  Exchanging another look, Tango and Impulse reluctantly nod. “Okay,” says the former. “You know where we are if you need us.”

  Etho waits until they’re out of sight before climbing into his boat and taking off across the swamp. He has somewhere to be.

…

  Etho climbs the sandy hill and stands a safe distance away from the small castle at the top. “Scar!” he calls. “Scar, come here!”

  He spots Grian dithering just inside the entrance of the house, but before he can call to him, Scar brushes past him and stands in front of him, crossing his arms. “What do you want, Etho?”

  “I want my cat back,” Etho responds steadily. “You’ve now burned down two things that meant a lot to me and I couldn’t stop you, so I’m here to fight for the only thing I have left. If you don’t give her back to me, I WILL resort to violence.” 

  Grian glances sharply at Scar. “That black cat is Etho’s?” 

  Scar shrugs. “So what if it is? He’s not gonna do anything about it. The rules say that PvP can only begin if a red lifer initiates it. And if I do initiate violence, I promise you, you won’t last long enough to strike me back.” 

  Etho’s narrowed eyes flicker to Grian, who reluctantly nods. “He’s right. If Scar strikes first, you’re allowed to strike back. But if he doesn’t, you can’t legally touch him.”

  Etho curls his hands into fists. “Why are you doing this, Scar? First my tree, then my cat, then my bridge. Why do you delight in taking away everything I care about?”

  “You have no idea how delicious it is to take things from people and watch as they slowly come to realise they can’t do a single thing about it,” replies Scar, grinning maliciously. “Maybe if you had a red heart like me, you’d understand.”

  “You get how being on red isn’t a GOOD thing, right?” Grian says warily from behind him. “One more death and you’re gone. And Etho could kill you right now, you know. He’d be breaking the rules, but that wouldn’t bring you back from the dead.” 

  “You shut up, Grian,” snarls Scar. “I didn’t ask for your input.”

  Grian flinches and turns away. 

  Seeing his friend mistreated like that pushes Etho over the edge. Grian is clearly scared of Scar. There’s no reason for him to be, unless Scar isn’t exactly his friend anymore. 

  Etho grabs Scar’s lapels and shoves him against the wall. Before Scar can even make a noise, Etho shoves his face close to Scar’s and snarls, “WHERE. IS. MY. CAT.”

  “I-I put her upstairs in the bedroom,” yelps Scar. “G-Grian, save me! Don’t let him kill me!”

  “I’m not gonna kill you.” 

  Etho shoves Scar aside and barges into the building. Grian wordlessly leads him upstairs to the room in question, where Etho finds Pineapple curled up on the bed. “Piney!”

  She opens her eyes and, upon spotting him, jumps down from the bed and circles his feet, rubbing her head against his ankles. 

  Etho almost cries with relief. “Oh, Piney… I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  He picks up Pineapple and lets her lie across his shoulders, before turning to Grian. “You don’t have to stay with him anymore, Grian. I know you said you owe him your first life, but just look at yourself. You’re miserable here with him. Scar’s turned into a bully, and you’re the person he targets when there’s nobody else around. You don’t have to live like this anymore.”

  Grian sighs quietly. “Where would I go? I burned all my bridges when I came here with Scar. And would I even be safe from him?”

  “Come live with me in the swamp,” Etho urges. “I’ll protect you. He may be on his red life but if he strikes one of us, the other can take him down. I’ll make sure if he strikes either of us, it’ll be me. You’ve been through a lot since Scar’s first death; you deserve your freedom.”

  For a moment, Grian doesn’t seem convinced. 

  Then Scar’s voice yells his name from downstairs and Grian again finds himself flinching. 

  This clinches it. He can’t spend the rest of his time on the server doing Scar’s bidding, waiting for either Scar or himself to die. That’s no way to live and he knows it.

  Finally, he nods. “Okay, I’ll come with you. Th-Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  Etho leads the way back downstairs. He finds Scar standing in the doorway, arms crossed again, seemingly having regained his composure. “I heard what you said. Do you really think you can get away with stealing my cat AND my best friend?”

  “She’s not your cat,” snaps Etho.

  “I’m not your best friend!” Grian bursts out at the same time.

  Scar blinks. “Grian, what’d you just say?”

  “You’re not my best friend, Scar! Not anymore. Ever since you lost your first life, you’ve been different. And you’ve only gotten worse since you lost your second. I-I can’t live here with you anymore.” Grian’s voice cracks. “I’m sorry.”

  Scar’s shocked expression quickly turns into a ferocious glare. “Fine, then! Go, both of you. But don’t expect any mercy from me when I’m ready to start killing people. I’ll be coming for you first.”

  Grian freezes.

  Etho takes hold of his wrist and skilfully pulls him past Scar and out of the house. “You’ll be okay, Grian,” he says reassuringly. “I promise.” To Scar, he says a simple, “Goodbye.”

  Scar turns away as Etho and Grian head down the sandy mountain. “Did that really just happen?” Grian says numbly. “Did I really just abandon Scar?”

  “You did,” says Etho warmly, putting his arm over Grian’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

  Grian takes a deep breath. It’s the same air, but somehow, it tastes fresher. “Good, I think. You?”

  Etho smiles as he feels Pineapple rub her head against his cheek. For the first time, he hasn’t let Scar get away with taking something he cares about. It feels great. 

  “Never better.”

#3rdlifesmp #3rd life smp #goodtimeswithscar #grian #etho #ethoslab #vaunna’s requests

[cutesilyo]

no place in the world (like manila) — an amephil fanfic

A few months after the outbreak of the Philippine-American War, Alfred falls in love with and is betrayed by a bright-eyed teenager with the prettiest smile on this side of the Orient in a single night. 

This is not a love story.

Also available on AO3.

—

"Sir, I don't think it's safe for you to leave the camp," Major-General MacArthur warned. "I don't know how, but the revolutionaries know your face. They could attack you!"

"Pshaw," Alfred snorted. "I'm a nation. What could they do that could take me down, huh?"

MacArthur's mustache bristled in displeasure. "Be that as it may sir, might I remind you that you only arrived in Manila a week ago? Knowing you, you'd just get lost and I'd have to put together a whole squad of troops just to hunt you down. You could get captured, Alfred. I don't know how to tell you just how badly that would bring down morale."

Alfred just wagged his fingers, a bright grin on his face. "Look, if I get captured, I'd bust out of whatever crappy holding place they'd put me in without barely breaking a sweat! And knowing our soldiers, that's just the stuff that would make a great story to tell at dinnertime. How's that for morale?"

The way that MacArthur simply stared at him blankly told Alfred that this was not a convincing argument.

"I hate it when you do that," he groaned, slumping back on his seat. The leather was hot with the heat of the tropical sun and it stuck uncomfortably to his skin. Oh, how badly he wanted to just finally get up and leave. "I'm just saying, I can't stay inside here forever just waiting for you to dictate our next move."

"It's part of our strategy—"

"And it's boring. I'm bored, Major-General. I might as well look around." Alfred's eyes glinted dangerously. "Besides, you'll capture the whole nation for me soon enough, won't you? No harm in wanting to see what we're winning once this war is over."

The silence lasted for a few seconds before the major-general sighed in defeat.

—

Private Patton R. Wilkes was assigned to “accompany” Alfred while he roamed around Manila, but he knew that MacArthur just wanted someone to make sure he would actually return to camp instead of getting lost or, God forbid, taking the next ship back to America. Though the both of them were dressed in civilian clothing, the private carried himself with a strict stiffness that just screamed hardened military man. If Alfred wanted any chance of escape, it looked like the private would be hard to shake off.

Alfred tried to stay optimistic about the trip anyway. He hadn't paid much attention to the city while he was on the way to the American camp, but he certainly expected it to have an air of exoticness. He was a bit disappointed not to see anything like the palaces of Japan or the distinctly oriental architecture of China. Instead, he found street signs written in Spanish, the excited chatter of fast-talking brown-skinned people, and the cacophony of guitars, church bells, and the sound of horse-drawn carriages trotting along the stoned roads. Walking around Manila was like looking at a funhouse mirror version of Mexico: more or less the same, but with just enough differences to make his head spin.

"Uh, you alright there, sir?" Patton asked.

"Was just thinking about a bad memory, is all," Alfred grimaced. He's sure that Alejandro would have his head once he returned to the continent. He's been pissing off a lot of Spanish-speaking nations recently, that's for sure. "Come to think of it, the Philippine Islands must have its own personification too, right?"

The private's face darkened. "He's a force to reckon with, sire. Haven't seen no hide nor hair of him myself, but some guys in the other squadron barely survived after fighting with the kid."

"A kid?" Alfred furrowed his eyebrows. He didn't know there were still nations out there who were that young. Then again, he was only a teenager himself, and he was even younger when he fought against Arthur as well. "I don't know how I feel about fighting a kid. Couldn't I just give him a lollipop or something and this could all just work itself out?"

He meant it as a joke, but Patton seemed to take it seriously and started furiously shaking his head. "Don't think you could even try negotiating with him sir, the kid's a savage. Hacked and slashed his way through the guys with some kind of golden knife, they said. We're lucky our medics are so darned fast, otherwise, we would've been down almost a dozen men from him alone."

Something in Alfred's resolve hardened at the thought of losing his soldiers to someone so brutal. He clapped the other man on the shoulder and said, "Don't you worry, Pat. We'll end this soon, and when we win, we'll make sure that nobody from these islands ever lays a hand on any of our own."

That seemed to comfort Patton somewhat, though he was still shaking with anger. "I'll give them a good walloping right by your side, sire."

"Now that's the kind of patriotic determination I wanna see!" Alfred crowed. He then immediately scrambled for his wallet and hurriedly gave the private a wad of bills. Some onlookers openly gawked at seeing the number of dollar bills in his hand. "Tell you what, why don't you buy some booze, head back to camp, and inspire your fellow soldiers, eh? God knows we need some fun around here."

"Um," Patton blinked, caught off-guard. "I don't know if Major-General MacArthur—"

"Tell Major-General MacArthur that I'm just trying to boost morale," Alfred winked. "Also, tell him I'll back by next morning!"

He didn't get to hear Patton's response as he took off running wildly in the opposite direction. He barely registered running past the stores, wet market, and the cathedral; he just wanted to be alone and independent, exploring this new land to his heart's content. The buildings were shorter and the roads were narrower here than in his own country, but Alfred was just so glad to finally be in a place filled with people just like he was used to.

Alfred collapsed on his knees, winded. When he looked up, he was surprised to see that he had apparently made it to one of Manila's many ports. Past the numerous small fishing boats and trading boats, he could see that the sun was already beginning to set. The sky was painted in a pretty combination of pinks and oranges in contrast to the ocean's blue, the stars already starting to twinkle faintly into appearance one by one. The rhythmic lapping of the waves against the rocks seemed louder than everything else around him — a stark reminder that no matter where he went, there was always something bigger to discover.

He stood there for a moment, mesmerized when a loud grunt startled him out of his stupor.

He turned to find some kind of bull staring at him with its beady eyes, its long horns curving towards the back instead of to the front. It was pulling a wagon full of leafy vegetables that Alfred couldn't recognize, and the old man riding it looked startled to come across a foreigner.

"Hijo, padaan naman po," he said, with a strained smile.

"Oh, sorry, I don't know what you mean," Alfred tried, but the man just continued smiling at him. He was starting to think that maybe abandoning Patton, who wasn't fluent but at the very least conversational in Tagalog, was a bad idea.

Luckily, someone came to his rescue. A teenager with bright eyes approached him, an amused twitch of the lips on his sharp face. He was dressed simply: unlike the suit and tie ensemble of the richer Filipinos he'd come across or the pale blue uniform of the Philippine Army, he wore a thin white top and trousers cut just above his ankles. The scabbard on his hip would have been concerning if Alfred didn't know just how many Filipinos carried knives in their daily lives. All in all, he looked just like any other street vendor, but the red handkerchief tied around his neck was vibrant enough to make him stand out. "You are American, yes?"

"Ah yeah," Alfred flushed, a bit flustered. The way the stranger leaned in was a little too close for comfort, but he looked harmless and at least he spoke English. "Can you help me? I think that man is talking to me, but I can't understand what he's saying."

The teenager grabbed his arm to pull him to the side. The old man tipped his straw hat in thanks, and the teenager smiled, saying: "Pasensya na po, lolo! Hindi kasi taga-rito."

The two of them watched the wagon pass them by. They stood there in silence for a moment, and then Alfred blurted out, "I didn't know I was in the way, I swear."

"You did seem quite distracted." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other boy laugh. The both of them turned to each other at the same time, a small smile on each other's faces. "Not that I blame you. I am sure you have sunsets in America, but it is different here than in other countries. I think the colors are more vibrant, do you agree?"

"Certainly takes my breath away," he admitted. "I do have to ask, how come you speak English so well? I've only been in Manila for a few days but I don't think I've met another Filipino that's as good as you are."

The teenager only laughed again and held on to Alfred's arm tighter. As he looked up at him, his eyes and grin were equally bright with mirth; and despite himself, Alfred was a bit charmed. "Us Filipinos are not as stupid as you think, señorito. Now, you say you are a stranger to Manila, yes? Come with me, and let me show you around my city."

—

They ended up hailing a tranvia, a carriage made to carry a whole group of people instead of just a pair. Alfred found it small and quaint, making an internal note to build tram lines in the city once he was able. Yet the energy that the teenager had with him was larger than life. He had apparently noticed the other passengers giving Alfred a suspicious side-eye, and immediately launched into a round of jokes to dispel the tension. Though he barely understood the jokes due to them being told in a mix of Spanish and Tagalog, the way that the whole tranvia burst into loud laughter was enough to assure him that his companion was quite the comedic performer.

When they got off, the driver even thanked them for the entertainment and told them not to pay the fare anymore. Alfred let out an excited whoo! as the teenager did an exaggerated bow.

As the carriage rode off, Alfred turned to his new friend and exclaimed, "Wow! The way you handled that was amazing! I mean, I've been through worse than an awkward train ride, but you definitely saved my ass back there."

The teenager blushed slightly. "Think nothing of it. I would rather see my companions happy and comfortable in my care than anything else."

"Still, that thing you did was certainly a swell sight." Alfred breathed in the cold evening air and let it out with a contented sigh. He looked straight into the other boy's eyes as he said, "And it's really nice that you're going through all the trouble to be with me tonight too! Like, we don't even know each other's names but you just whisked me away like some kind of fairytale hero! That was really awesome of you, I have to say."

"You are a man of sweet words," the teenager said, with a smile that looked almost bittersweet. Then, as if he had completely forgotten about his melancholy, he grabbed Alfred's arm again and dragged him towards the next street corner. "But let us not waste time talking! Most of these shops close soon, and I would hate for us to miss them!"

Helpless, Alfred let himself be strung along.

Sadly, most of the shops they went past had already closed for the day. Still, the teenager cheerily talked his ear off about what wares they sold and the local gossip about the people who ran those stores — like Pepito, owner of the clay pottery store, who had apparently given away all his lotto winnings to the next city's blacksmith. The one time that they had actually been able to buy something was when they came across a small, brightly-colored cart that apparently sold the Filipino version of ice cream. Both the vendor — Mang Tomas, as he was introduced — and the teenager had chuckled when he brought out a wallet full of dollars, so the teenager had to reach into his own pocket to pay with a few coins. As they walked past yet another cathedral, Alfred caught his friend singing the hymns under his breath. When they reached the plaza, the teenager then asked the lady standing nearby — Aling Nena, he was told — to give him a jasmine garland, the scent of the white flowers so powerful that it immediately made Alfred sneeze on his friend's face when he put them around his neck. Yet instead of getting mad like he expected, the teenager had only laughed and told him he looked handsome.

No matter where they went or who they talked to, his friend always seemed to know everyone's names. Alfred had no idea how he had the time to possibly get so familiar with all the people around him, but he certainly understood the sentiment; he loved talking with all the Americans that he came across with too. Personally getting to know the people who made his nation always made him feel more connected with them in a way that war and politics never could.

And if the Philippine Islands was truly to be his someday, Alfred knew he wanted to treat them similarly. More than anything or anyone else though, nobody in the archipelago had intrigued him most than the young man beside him whose smile was brighter than any star.

Yet all his experience in small talk failed him tonight, and not for lack of trying. Every time he asked questions about his friend, he was always diverted away from the topic.

Which part of the city are you from? was met with a vague Do you ask the flower which vine it came from? You are better off simply enjoying the whole garden.

Where is your family? had been completely ignored as his friend said You must be hungry, yes? I know a place with the best empanadas this side of Binondo.

What is your name? earned him a cheeky wink and a teasing If your mind still ventures to inane questions like that, then I am not doing very well in completely impressing you.

How old are you? made the teenager burst out into loud, hearty laughter that lasted for more than a minute. Alfred didn't even bother to try asking anything else after that, choosing to focus on his empanadas and arroz a la valenciana for the rest of the meal.

Later, when they were served a bottle of gin to share along with a bowl of peanuts, his friend had the grace to apologize for his behavior.

"I truly am sorry," he said, but the playful grin on his face made it difficult to take his apology seriously. "I simply do not think that you knowing more about me is more important than us having a good time together."

"How am I supposed to find you again if I don't know who you are, huh?" Alfred couldn't stop himself from whining. He ignored the glass in front of him, taking a swig straight from the bottle and letting the alcohol burn down his throat. His friend watched him in bemusement. "This has been the best night of my life in a long time. And if this is the last time we see each other, I don't think I'm going to forgive myself if I don't push you into giving me a hint."

This time, it was his friend's turn to take a drink: he filled his glass half-full and downed it all in one go. "You are certainly bold, señorito, I will give you that. A good friend of mine warned me about how loud and annoying Americans were, but it seems he neglected to tell me about how forward you all were as well."

Alfred resisted the urge to roll his eyes; of course, he would get deflected yet again. "Alright, I'll bite. Tell me more about your friend."

The teenager looked surprised. "You wish to know more about a man that insulted you?"

"If this is the closest I get to you telling me more about yourself, I'll take it," he shrugged. "Besides, I'd love to know how this friend of yours thinks. Americans are the greatest people in the world! He must be stupid if he doesn't know that."

The other boy laughed. "Of course you would say that, you biased brute. And I will have you know that my friend was quite smart, actually. One of the smartest men I have ever known."

Alfred felt like he wouldn't like the answer, but he asked anyway: "Was?"

All traces of laughter from his friend's face faded away into a hollow smile. "Killed by firing squad a few years ago."

Silently, Alfred poured gin into both of their glasses. They drank in solemn solidarity.

"My sincere condolences," said Alfred, and he meant it: he had lost too many friends himself over the centuries. "And I'm sorry I called him stupid."

His friend waved it off. "No worries. Pepe was incredibly intelligent, but he definitely had his fair share of stupid moments — you wouldn't believe how many times that man fell in love over the course of his short lifetime. Still, I miss him terribly and I wish he was still around. God only knows what he would have thought about everything happening at present."

"Oh, I know the feeling." Despite him dying decades prior, Alfred still longed for George Washington's steadfast guidance sometimes. He reached, a bit messily, for another drink. "It's uncanny, yeah? Some people just have this weird ability to analyze the present and predict the future. I certainly don't know how they do anything like it, really. I kind of just talk big and hope for the best."

"Funny that you talk about the future," the teenager chuckled. "Somehow, my friend even managed to predict that you would come here, Alfred. I did not believe him at the time, of course, but here you are."

"Here I am," Alfred repeated faintly. "Hold on, how did you know my—"

"Why were you all alone in my city, señorito?" His friend interrupted, looking up at him through his eyelashes. He leaned closer, close enough for the skin of their arms to touch, and Alfred suddenly forgot about all his worries. "I was very surprised to see you on your own, looking every bit like a lost little lamb. You are very lucky that I found you."

"Lucky indeed," he murmured, adjusting the collar of his shirt. It felt like the temperature in the room had risen by a dozen degrees. "Just wanted to explore, is all. MacArthur told me we had to stay low for a few more weeks, I got bored, and he let me out."

Those bright eyes were practically glittering as the teenager looked up at him, his fingers slowly tracing up his arm. "And you were alone? I always thought American soldiers traveled in pairs, but perhaps I was mistaken."

"No! No, you're right, you're definitely right," Alfred stammered out. He was sure his face was completely red by now. "I was with Private Wilkes earlier, but we, ah, got separated. He must be on the way back to Bulacan by now."

"How unfortunate," the other practically purred, clearly delighted. "Say, tell me, how did this Wilkes look like? Because I am sure that he does not look as handsome as you do."

That damned smile, now coy instead of kind and sweet, was tantalizingly close. If only he had the courage to lean down—

Alfred, trying desperately to distract himself, grabbed the bottle again and took a long swig.

There were about a million promises that threatened to spill from Alfred's lips, each one more outrageous than the other: Come with me. Stay with me. I'll keep you safe. I'll love you. Yet at the moment, he found himself tongue-tied. He didn't know if it was the alcohol or the atmosphere or the way the young boy across the table had so effortlessly allured him, but he felt like he was about to go insane. He barely registered the both of them standing up to leave, didn't question why they didn't need to pay at the restaurant, paid no heed to what his friend had whispered to the men standing guard by the door. His mind was in a muddy haze, and all he could focus on was the fact that his friend was holding his hand as he was led into the dark streets.

Dimly, Alfred thought that however striking he looked by the setting sun, he looked much more ethereal bathed in moonlight.

He must have said this aloud because the teenager laughed.

"You are a man of sweet words," he said, and there's that oddly bittersweet smile again. "And I wish we could have met in better circumstances."

"What's wrong with the way we met today? I had fun," Alfred argued. He swayed slightly on his feet, and his friend held on to him to keep him from falling. "Didn't you have fun?"

"You forget we are at war, señorito. And you forget that you are seeking to control me and my people, not find a lover." Despite the harsh words, the way his friend said this was soft and sad. Almost like he was somehow hurt. "It does not matter what we feel today if we are bound to fight each other tomorrow. Should you not know this by now?"

They walked together in silence, each supporting the other. Slowly, Alfred's alcohol-induced dizziness began to subside. It was replaced by a growing emptiness in his chest — and a heavy, heavy realization.

"You knew I was America this entire time." When his friend deigned to respond, he continued. "Then, why...?"

At this, the teenager laughed — broken and wistful and desperate, all at once. "I do not know myself. I was ready to attack you, but for some reason, the look in your eyes as you watched the sunset stopped me. I thought, if you could look at my country with such amazement, then you could see that this war is unnecessary. That if you could know my land and my people the way I knew them, full of vibrancy and color and light, then you could realize that they did not deserve to die.

"Yet as the night went on I began to realize my efforts were fruitless. It was not them you were looking at anymore, but me." Here, his friend faced him; Alfred barely catching a glimpse of his wet eyes before the teenager looked away. "Believe me, I would love to spend another night like this with you. But you have your responsibilities and so do I."

"Fruitless," Alfred repeated hollowly. The cold night wind was in stark contrast to the hot rage he felt bubbling inside him. He forcefully wrenched himself away from his friend, yelling: "You made me tell you classified information!"

In seconds, he watched the teenager's face go from shock to hurt to an angry glare.

"Do you not understand how badly I need to win this war? My people did not give their lives to free me from Spain just so you could swoop in and take over! So forgive me, señorito," his friend spat mockingly, "for trying to find whatever advantages my poor nation can get against such an imperialistic nation like you!"

"And do you not understand what we're trying to do here?" Alfred shouted. "We are fighting this war to save you! Don't you see that your country is a mess? That you're underdeveloped, uneducated, and unfit for self-rule? I was the hero who helped save your people from Spain, jackass, and—"

"—and you promised to give us independence, and yet all your countrymen seem to do is kill." The teenager finished, both his eyes and the hilt of his knife glinting golden under the moonlight. "Is that what freedom means to you, America? I beg to differ."

As Alfred stepped away from him in furious, furious betrayal, all he could think about was that the other boy looked so small.

"I thought of you as my friend," he said.

"And I thought of you as my liberator," the teenager said coolly. "I see we were both wrong."

A harsh whinny interrupted them both. Alfred turned to find Patton riding a chestnut brown horse, his face red from exhaustion but seemingly unharmed. The private stopped in front of him, dismounting without grace on the pavement. His face was red from exhaustion and his clothes looked considerably ruffled, but otherwise, he looked unharmed.

"It ain't my position to say this sire, but don't you dare ever try to run away from me like that again," Patton panted, giving a quick side-eye to the other teenager before dismissing him. "We best hurry now, because those two won't be happy about their stolen horse."

Just as he was about to ask who those two were, a pair of Filipinos with muskets turned the corner and ran towards them. He vaguely recognized them as the same two men who were standing guard at the restaurant. They shouted loudly, a mix of Tagalog and Spanish expletives that Alfred could barely recognize, and a phrase distinct enough that he felt like it was something significant: amang bayan.

Patton evidently recognized the words. He looked at him in a wide-eyed panic, saying, "Sire, we need to leave—"

And as quick as lightning, Patton fell to the ground with a sickening crack. Caught completely off-guard and his arms restrained, he was helpless against the teenager who had a knife at his throat: a knife that, as Alfred began to realize with a horrified lurch of his stomach, was engraved with golden flowers and the insignia of an eight-rayed sun.

"You must be Private Wilkes," the Philippines smiled. "I do hope you are enjoying my country."

"Get off him or else!" Alfred screamed, the combined events of the night making him feel like he was about to reach his breaking point. He reached for the pistol he kept hidden on his belt and took aim, hoping to God that the other nation wouldn't force him to shoot. Even after everything, he didn't feel like he had the nerve to hurt Philippines after the hours they spent together; maybe some other day, but not tonight.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the two men had caught up to them. They angled their muskets at him from a distance. The horse, which Alfred had been planning to use for escape, had already taken off running in the commotion.

Patton stared up at him with fear in his eyes, a bleeding gash on his forehead, and Alfred's hands began to shake.

Above all else, Philippines was still smiling: eyes bright, amused twitch of the lips on his sharp face. Slowly, he stood to approach him.

Like a switch had been flicked, his features turned soft and kind again — more like the boy that Alfred had met earlier, the boy who had dragged him around the streets of Manila with lighthearted laughter, the boy whose smile was brighter than any star. All Alfred could do was stand there, mesmerized once again, as his hand was gently pried away from the gun.

"Alfred," Philippines said this quietly, almost like he was invoking a prayer. He motioned the men to stand down. "I do not wish to fight."

"I don't want to either," Alfred admitted. Maybe there was hope... "C'mon, we can talk this through, right? Look, we haven't had a battle in months. It should be really easy to negotiate, yeah? I'll set up a meeting with your generals and mine, we'll have a civil discussion with no weapons allowed, and we'll reach a compromise."

The other nation was leaning in, and this time, Alfred took his chance. He held Philippines' cheek in his hands and they kissed, soft and quick and chaste.

"Of course," Alfred said, as he pulled away. "I would need your complete surrender—"

He was swiftly kneed in the stomach, disarmed, and shot.

"Alfred, I do not wish to fight," Philippines said, as he watched Alfred collapse to the ground. "But I have to. I hope you understand."

He vaguely registered Patton reaching out to him as his eyes closed and the blood pooled around him, but all he could focus on was watching the other nation walk away into the darkness.

—

When Alfred came to, he was already back at camp. Without thinking, he immediately trudged to the general's war office.

"Good morning, Major-General MacArthur," he smiled, bright and cheery. "Gather the troops. I want to destroy Manila immediately."

—

Notes:

This is set in October 1899, during those months when there were no battles or skirmishes between the two armies. On the first day of November, the Americans launched a major attack on the Filipinos. This attack happened in San Fabian, Pangasinan, not in Manila, but let's forget about that.

Major-General MacArthur is, of course, Arthur MacArthur Jr., who was a major military figure during the Philippine-American War. I also claim artistic license in hinting that the American camp was in Bulacan because it probably wasn't.

Alfred's comments about Manila looking like Mexico are based on a comment by former president Manuel L. Quezon when he visited Mexico back in 1937: "Everything was the same." He meant that very, very affectionately.

Here's a nifty map of modern Manila. Alfred and Patton start out in Quiapo, which is basically the heart of downtown Manila. Alfred runs all the way to Muelle del Rey, which, coincidentally, happens to be the same place where the Jones Bridge stands today. Alfred and Phili take the tranvia to Binondo, Manila's business district and home to the world's oldest Chinatown.

The names of the store owners and vendors that Phili talks about are references to assorted media in Philippine pop culture. Pepito is a reference to Pepito Manaloto, a long-time comedy show about a man who won the lotto. Mang Tomas (Mang being an informal way to refer to a male adult older than you) is the name of a popular brand of gravy. Aling Nena (Aling being an informal way to refer to a female adult older than you) is a reference to the song Tindahan ni Aling Nena, about a boy who falls in love with a storeowner's daughter.

The garland of white jasmines that Phili puts around Alfred's neck are supposed to be sampaguitas, our national flower. They're usually sold near churches and are given as a sign of respect.

I have no idea if there are actually empanadas and valenciana sold somewhere in Binondo, but let's jot that down to artistic license. But these are very much Filipino foods that were adapted from Spanish foods, which is why Phili brings it up when Alfred asks about his family.

The old friend that Phili keeps talking about is Jose Rizal, our national hero. He is primarily known for being a great writer, whose novels inspired the Philippine War for Independence, and for being killed for it. He is also known for being having a long list of lovers, many of them not even Filipino. Lesser known is the fact that he visited America, hated it, went on a train ride with an American, and hated it. He wrote a whole diary entry about how much he didn't like America and Americans. He had also predicted that out of all the world powers, it would be America who would probably take an interest in conquering the Philippines when Spain was out of the picture. Go figure. Rizal was also affectionately known by his nickname, Pepe.

I imagine Phili to be particularly proficient in arnis, which is also known as kali or eskrima. It's a kind of Filipino martial art, most easily recognizable as that one martial art where everyone is dual-wielding a pair of sticks. The sticks are actually for training. Traditionally, arnis is fought by dual-wielding knives or swords, and it's meant to be quick and efficient in defending, attacking, disarming, and killing. Phili's fictional ornately designed knife is inspired by this very real ornately designed knife. The detail of the eight-rayed sun is a reference to the eight-rayed sun in the Philippine flag.

Lastly (phew!), some Tagalog to English translations!

Hijo, padaan naman po - Young boy, kindly let me pass Pasensya na po, lolo! Hindi kasi taga-rito - Sorry, grandfather*! He's not from around here. Lolo literally means grandfather but is a general way to refer to any elderly man regardless of any actual blood relation. Amang bayan - Fatherland

#hws #hws america #hws philippines #usph #amephil #hetalia philippines #hetalia america #aph philippines #aph america #historical hetalia #mine

[bl00dgutsgl0ry]

Unhealthy Obsession

Pairing - Childe/Tartaglia/Ajax x Reader

Warnings - Violence, yandere undertones, stalking, gore (this seems to be a running theme in my works huh). The reader is scawwy ><

Other Comments - I’ve seen so many of these types of fic but it was always Childe being yandere, so why not yandere reader??? I put this in a time line slightly more recently so there is actual like technology like phones and stuff in this. Oh and the reader had a bow for a weapon in this hehe.

      Childe was infamous for his charm, having the ability to have the entirety of Liyue under his thumb if he so pleased. Of course, he was able to use this to his advantage when collecting debts and manipulating the people he needed to. Childe’s newest person of interest was the daughter of a shop owner who was indebted to the Fatui. 

      You had also found yourself enthralled by Childe’s charm, but unlike the many others he used it on he had actually considered you a genuine friend. One close enough to him for him to reveal his hidden agendas and dirty work plans. Now of course you unfortunately found yourself with the semblance of a crush on the copper haired man; which at first wasn’t the worst until you began witnessing the actions of the girl.

      Much to Childe’s ignorance, you had been watching his movements for a while now, which also means watching the touchy feely actions of the girl. She loved to give him hugs was they took their separate ways, or would lean on him any chance she got really. It was starting to piss you off but you also found it quite humorous. This girl was so stupid, thinking Childe was actually interested in her; of course you couldn’t really blame her since Childe was so good at his job.

      Things were beginning to get out of hand though, as now not only did you feel the need to keep some tabs on Childe’s antics; you know had to keep track of the girls actions. And tonight was an eventful one to say the least. After quietly watching Childe from the shadows for quite some time, you could say you were quite skilled in stealth so it was incredibly easy to follow around the girl without looking suspicious, as you watched her walking along the shops of Liyue Harbor.

      Tonight you could see her heading towards the Scent of Spring perfume shop, so you decided to follow a little ways behind and then find yourself a good spot within earshot. You decided to lean against a wall and look to be occupying yourself on your phone so as to not look odd.

       “Well hello, you're looking rather fetching today. Care to take a look inside Scent of Spring? I'm sure you'll find something unforgettable~!” Ying’er was a lovely woman, as well as being incredibly skilled in the art of creating perfumes.

      “Ah hello! Uh I was looking for something that could get a guy to fall for me?” The girl spoke hurriedly, almost as if she was embarrassed for making such a request. You grit your teeth, silently groaning, as Ying’er giggled before responding.

      “Oh young love, how cute! Of course you look to be the lady who would enjoy Valley Weaver? Or maybe Golden House Maiden if you’re looking for something a bit sweeter and more candy like? Would you care for a sampling?” The girl nodded enthusiastically and Ying’er brought out the two previously mentioned scents, handing both over to the girl.

      “They both smell so amazing! But I think Valley Weaver is a little bit more endearing.” Ying’er hummed in response as she stored away the other perfume. While she was doing this the young girl brought out a small bag of mora. You rolled your eyes shaking your head. Your phone quickly took you out of the interaction as it buzzed in your hand. Your mood immediately brightened as you saw you had received a text from the one and only Childe.

      “Hey babe! Where are you? I let myself into your apartment, hope you don’t mind too much :)” You giggled to yourself before rolling your eyes and shooting back a text.

      “Of course you did. Well I just went on a little walk around Liyue, I’m heading back now; of course make yourself at home but I’m sure you already have.” You shook your head, still smiling to yourself. You had to say, this was great timing as it gave you an excuse to leave. Leaving the same time as the girl would’ve been far too suspicious so this was convenient.

      You made sure to take all of the shortcuts to your apartment and tried your best to walk as briskly as possible. You didn’t want to keep the man you were doing all of this for in the first place waiting after all.You didn’t even have to announce your arrival since the loud squeak of your door did it for you, allowing Childe’s familiar cologne to fill your nose.

       “Hey babe! How was your walk? It’s awfully late for a walk isn’t it?” You smiled, as Childe’s comforting voice filled the room, the only other noise being the muddled voices leaving your old tv in the living room.

      “Well it was a nice night out tonight, plus I enjoy looking at the shops; they always have such nice stuff.” You quickly took your place next to Childe on the couch, not too close to consider it borderline cuddling but close enough to feel his warmth. Childe placed his arm behind you, almost allowing it to fall onto your shoulders.

      “That being said, you have yet to reveal to me what the motive is behind gracing me with your presence, unannounced might I add.” You heard Childe chuckle next to you, as you found yourself absentmindedly watching whatever the hell he had playing on the TV.

       “Well, I’ve been pretty busy for the time being, and I guess I found myself missing your company.” You screamed mentally, the butterflies in your stomach dancing around excitedly.

      “You have been quite busy, unfortunately for you though, the same cannot be said.” Childe let out a boisterous laugh, playfully nudging you with his side. You giggled as well, shaking your head before looking up at the taller man. Both of you stared at each other for what felt like ages, before you felt Childe’s arm wrap itself around your side pulling you closer to him. Suddenly your lips were pressed against his, as he pressed you against him. You allowed yourself to tangle your fingers into his copper hair.

      This sparked a make out, bordering on heavy petting as both of you were pressed as close together as humanly possible. Childe’s hands had found themselves comfortably resting against your ass, as he would occasionally squeeze. All too soon though, he pulled away; a shit eating grin plastered onto his face. You blushed bright red before lightly smacking him in the chest with the back of your hand. You watched him snicker before pulling out his phone and looking at the time.

      “Well it’s getting really late, and as much as I would like to stay here and keep you up, I should probably head out.” Childe ended his statement with a wink causing you to become an even more flustered mess. He was the first to get up, help you up as well before pulling you into his chest. Neither of you usually participated in hugging as a farewell, but it’s not as if you were complaining about being pressed against his firm chest.

      With at, Childe was gone; casing your apartment to feel far too empty. Though, this gave you the opportunity to excitedly jump around and quietly scream as you relived the actions that had just transpired between the two of you. He was right though, it was incredibly late and you had just now realized how tired you were. At least this would send you off with some interesting dreams.

      And here you were again, in the familiar situation of carefully watching this annoying girl. You had overheard her on the phone with presumably no one other than Childe. She had asked him to meet her around the pound by the shops in Liyue tonight, which after hanging up she excitedly clapped for; confirming that Childe had said yes. You knew it was going to be too risky to go there in your normal attire, as you couldn’t be recognized by Childe under any circumstance so you decided you would go home and get changed.

      You felt like a genius for changing into black clothes, as you had found yourself a pitch black alleyway to hide in that gave you a clear shot of what was happening. Sure you couldn’t hear what they were saying but that was the least of your worries for the time being. You watched as the girl flaunted herself and flipped her hair around, clearly trying to get her money's worth out of that perfume she had bought the night before. It all made you feel sick. She was nowhere near Childe’s league.

       For the most part, everything was fine; just them having a boring conversation until the girl did something unexpected. She reached for Childe’s arm, and pulled him down into a kiss. You had never been so enraged before, seeing red and acting without thought. Before you could think twice you bow was drawn and pointed directly at her.

      It all happened in a flash, an arrow flying out of nowhere, the puncture into the girls head, her falling back as Childe stumbled back as well, all of the guards rushing towards them. Childe’s eyes were blown out wide looking around wildly for the source of the arrow. Right as you were beginning to turn back your eyes met his. Fuck.

      You began sprinting back to your apartment, hopefully if he came by your apartment you could be changed into something different so you could try and persuade him into thinking he saw someone else. And thank the gods time was on your side; you had managed to finish getting dressed into your sleepwear right as you hear a knock on your door. Your heart was racing but you knew if you took too much time answering the door, it would be even more suspicious so you needed to act as normal as you could manage. You cracked the door open like usual and were greeted by a familiar face.

      “Oh my god (y/n) you will never guess what just happened.” You stepped aside as you opened the door for Childe.

       “What happened?” You tried your best to not sound very interested hoping that would throw him off.

      “So you remember that girl I had been telling you about? The daughter of that one shop owner?” You nodded in confirmation as you headed to your small kitchen to put on some tea for the both of you. Childe stood on the other side of the counter.

      “Well she had called me earlier today and asked if I could meet with her tonight. Of course I accepted and we were in the middle of a conversation when she had pulled me down to kiss her! That's not even the worst part though, she was shot immediately after!” You feigned surprise as you gasped looking up at him.

      “Oh my god what?! That’s awful! I imagine the pond was quite a mess with all the guards?” You hadn’t even realized what came out of your mouth until he began to speak again.

      “Huh… That's strange, I never told you where it happened.” Your eyes widened as you quickly looked back down to the teapot that was now whistling at you.

      “You know what else is strange? I think the arrow looked really familiar; and that’s not even the weirdest part. I could’ve sworn I saw someone who looked identical to you who was in the same place the arrow came from. Your blood ran cold. He knew and there was no way you could persuade him otherwise.

      “You know I don’t like when people lie to me (y/n) so I am only going to ask this once. Were you the one that fired the arrow?” You had just finished pouring the water over the tea leaves when he asked you. Your clenched fists were now resting next to the two cups, as you struggled to hold back the tidal wave of anguish. But in the end you couldn’t.

      “She fucking kissed you! How could I sit there and do nothing about it! I have been putting up with her touchy feely bullshit for weeks now! I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing as she kissed what was supposed to be MINE!!!” You were breathing heavily, your face red and chest tight. Childe was silent and you refused to look up to meet his gaze. After what felt like hours, you heard his heavy footsteps move towards you. You screwed your eyes shut too scared of what his reaction was going to be. Only when he gently put his hand under your chin and tilted your head up did you open your eyes.

       “I am yours (y/n). You didn’t even give me the chance to push her away. You’re a really good shot though.” Your eyes were blown out wide as he smiled down at you.

       “You’re not… Disgusted with me? Or enraged?” Childe chuckled.

      “(Y/n) I’ve done much worse things than this, it would be hypocritical of me to be mad at you. But if that situation ever happens again, at least give me some time to push them away before taking it into your hands alright? I might admit I do find it endearing that you would kill someone for me; but let me be the one to have blood on my hands alright?” You smiled and nodded before he pulled you into a hug.

      “Now, shall we have that tea?”

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact imagine #genshin childe #childe #genshin impact childe #childe imagine #childe x reader #genshin tartaglia #genshin impact tartaglia #tartaglia imagine #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia

[bon-nii]

There's literally no stakes in the anime at all. Its so bland and emotionless. I don't feel anything for these characters. Everything is being handed to them. Give me back my son, Adam. He is far more intelligent than any of these anime characters. They all drank stupid juice.

Yeah, I definitely agree. I'm just watching to see where this ends up at this point (and also to shitpost lmfao)

Every Thursday me and two of my friends (one has read most of the manga, the other is anime-only) watch it on discord, or talk about it on discord and man... my friend who is anime-only is like "yeah, this sucks ass, I need to just read the manga" and is confused with stuff. We just kinda clown on it at this point. It's basically just someone's shitty canon-divergence AU playing out on screen.

Random assortment of thoughts:

I can sympathize with Manga Norman. I can understand WHY he is doing what he is doing and what his motivations are. It is, quite frankly, completely disgusting what he wants to do, but I can get why he wants to do it and I don't hate him. He is a very complex character, trying to make sense/live in a very complex world. Anime Norman on the other hand? I feel nothing for him like, I just Do Not Care. Norman is, imo, the best written out of the three mains and my personal favorite, but they've completely squandered his writing... ugh

I've held strong by this belief: If you are going to adapt TPN, there are 3 major characters who you *cannot afford* to mess up. Isabella, Yuugo, and Norman. (I'd even throw Peter and Leuvis in there as well) Well, Yuugo's gone and if they *do* decide to have him show up his character is completely different (i.e. the out of character note he leaves at the bunker). Norman has next to none of the depth he had in the OG story (I can't remember, but didn't Cislo or Barbara say that he saved the kids at the mass production plants? Uhhh, what?!?!). And Isabella is being built up as the big villain YET AGAIN which does not align with her development at all (though I do think they will still pull a bait-n-switch on us like in the manga) so there goes that.

Peter and Leuvis oh where do I start? Leuvis is my personal favorite villain of the story for multiple reasons (I think I will write an entire post on him sometime) and Peter is the epitome of everything Emma stands against and is essentially the Big Bad. Leuvis is gone, Peter is in the op but has had ZERO screentime thus far, not even any fucking hints to his existence at all. There's 5 eps left so he has to show up at some point, right? He's in the opening soooo... where the hell is he? How are viewers supposed to give a shit about him? He's pretty fucking dangerous and has been influencing the plot since day ONE, but whatever I guess??

Anime Ray is the only one I vibe with rn, and even then he's meh. Anime Emma is on thin fucking ice, and Anime Norman can be fed to the Dropkick Murpheys for all I care.

Infodumps. My god. These bitches be talking like they're reading a wikipedia article.

The literal butchering of Emma's character. Goldy Pond would have been the ep 19 of Demon Slayer of this anime season if they had adapted it, and I stand by that. The amount of HYPE on social media that would have happened after Emma pulls herself from the brink of death to challenge Leuvis would have been insane. There are so few strong, well-written female shonen protagonists... damn shame that the brilliance of Emma is relegated solely to s1 and the pages of the manga, she is a husk of herself in this season.

No character growth. Trio is separate for 90 chapters. That's literally half of the entire manga. There's no feeling of separation, no feeling that they are wildly different people now. These three have spent their entire lives together. Ray and Emma have to struggle without Norman, and Norman has to struggle without Ray and Emma. It's so important. This dynamic *literally* dictates how they grow as characters. When they are finally reunited it is so emotional and amazing, but also a bit unsettling because Norman is *clearly* not the Norman we remember... but in the anime we don't feel any of the impact of those 2 years.

Yuugo and Lucas. Contrasting the love Isabella gave to the kids with the love these two dads give to them. Adds a lot to the story. RIP.

Also RIP Adam and the Gold Pond kids... jeeeeeze there was so much potential.

Anime sacrifices extremely hard-hitting and emotional moments for cheap shock factor (namely, bunker raid and the trio reunion)

Speaking of the trio reunion, why the FUCK does Anime Norman not give a shit about Anime Ray? Hes completely ignored, and it's not like in the manga where he came in later no, like... he's there, seeing Norman at the same time Emma is. There's like, a solid minute and a half of Norman and Emma crying over each other while Ray just stands in the back like 🧍‍♂️and then is added as an afterthought. Emma's like "oh yeah, I brought Ray" GIRL??? And Norman is like "oh hey Ray.." BITCH?!?! YOU KNEW HE WAS GONNA FUCKING KILL HIMSELF AND HAD NO WAY OF KNOWING WHETHER OR NOT EMMA WAS ABLE TO STOP HIS SUICIDE, FOR 2 YEARS??? AND YOU JUST IGNORE HIM?? AND THEN ACKOWLEDGE HIM AS AN AFTERTHOUGHT?? I--okay!

Manga Norman: Emma and Ray are my best friends and I love them more than anything in the world, but Ray understands me in a way that Emma doesn't. They are both important to me.

Anime Norman: who the fuck is ray

Zero suspense. Minimal world building. Very minimal lore building. No mystery.

What the fuck is up with the William Minerva part of the plot like... uh, that's pretty important??? He's been completely dropped and there's zero reason for us to connect him with Norman. Like, he had his phone call in ep 3 and then any mention of him dipped. Disappointing as hell. Don't get to see the parallels drawn between him and Norman. Man...

Yeah idk what else... am I being too critical? Honestly, not sure. I think my criticisms and frustrations are well-founded, but I am definitely basing most of this off of the anime's failure to adapt the manga. Though I suppose, looking from an anime-only standpoint who has no idea just how much of the story has been axed, it might be okay or it might not be? Or it might depend on the person... in any case, I cant fathom how anyone could look at this season and go "Yeah, this feels like the same show as season 1!"

#the promised neverland #tpn #yakusoku no neverland #promised neverland #ynn #tpn s2 #tpn salt #tpn criticism

[whitetrashjj]

most people that don’t like kie don’t like her because she

1. gets mad at JJ when he calls her out for being rich

2. prioritizes john b constantly because whatever feelings she has towards him gave her tunnel vision

3. tried to guilt-trip pope into missing his scholarship interview despite the fact that, like he said, she wasn’t there for any of them when big john went missing

4. talks about the gold, pope’s scholarship, and things that happen to the boys because of them living in the cut as if it’s okay to just toss them aside when it’s only okay to do that for her- seeing as she doesn’t need the money, and she doesn’t need a scholarship. the only thing that makes her a pogue is that she decided to hang out with them, which is fine but she can’t act like she goes through what people on the cut do seeing as she doesn’t actually live there or go to their school. these things are only expendable for her.

5. she tried to fight pope on the boat because he rightfully called her out on her “moral high ground bullshit”

6. she gives off performative activist. she’ll talk about saving the turtles but when jj is clearly hysterical or something with his buying a hot tub using his share, she says he could have “literally given it to any charity” as if he isn’t quite literally the charity… even without seeing the bruises it’s clear that jj is in an unstable environment with someone who doesn’t care about him and can’t support him financially.

7.she doesn’t sympathize with jj until after the jj/pope/kie hot tub group hug when she sees his bruises. she just ignores whatever he says when he mentions her financial privilege and insults him in a non-friendly way. (he insults her too obviously, but since the show never goes in depth to discuss kie’s struggles as a biracial girl or pope’s struggles as a black boy, it’s not something that jj can randomly sympathize with, seeing as it’s never brought to light. if it was brought up and jj were to react like she’s being annoying for pointing it out or pointing it out to spite him, i would have major problems with jj because acknowledging whatever privilege you have is important, especially when you’re with people that don’t have that privilege/when you’re someone whose character is supposed to be the activist type. and i’m not equating racial privilege to financial privilege, i’m just mentioning it because classism is pretty much the basis of the entire show and its plot.)

anyway… this is the reason i’ve seen most jjpopes dislike kie. mentioning the “kiara sucks” anon as if that is a blanket statement of all jjpopes is strange. we aren’t some raging misogynists out to get her, but you saying that pope is a very flawed character with no examples to back it up but also getting irritated when someone says kiara sucks with no examples to back it up is ridiculous. these are examples. since this is in response to your response to that ask, i’ll also add that while your experiences as a queer person are valid, they aren’t universal (“Any queer person knows that you can’t be as forthcoming and open about our affections as straight people are.”)

i get where you’re coming from with saying a regular character might not be outward about his feelings, but jj is not a regular character. jj is a nothing-to-lose kind of character, so your reasoning for why those many displays of affection throughout the show weren’t intended to be romantic just doesn’t really add up? of course he values pope’s friendship and wouldn’t want to risk it, but it’s also evident that he’s a very good liar and could easily say he was joking or wasn’t trying to seem like any of his actions were romantic, something you can also probably understand/have experienced as a queer person. your very statement that jj is someone who flirts with anyone is counterproductive to the statement that that means he doesn’t have feelings for pope. he flirts with every girl, but he can only form a lasting bond while also doing things you’d normally do with a crush, with pope. a lot of jjpopes including myself think he’s gay, and comphet/trying to prove to yourself that you’re straight by engaging in meaningless hookups (like jj) is reason for that headcanon. i get what you’re saying for other characters, but there’s no indication of jj not having that same nothing-to-lose attitude when it comes to people he has romantic feelings for, so there would be no reason for the pull-back or hesitation that you mentioned. and since he knows pope and his connection (whether it be platonic or romantic to both of them) is so strong, he probably assumes nothing could break that bond/dynamic either way.

also no one called you anti-black or implied that you were for saying pope is a flawed character, but it would be surprising to see one that isn’t rooted in that because all of them in the past have been- this fandom is wildly colorist and homophobic (another reason representation like jjpope is so important) and it’s extremely hard to find someone that doesn’t like pope without an explanation for their dislike that isn’t rooted in racism. that’s just common sense, though.

You know, I've been looking at this ask for a long time just wondering if it's worth my time to address all of this - like I didn't realise one could send asks this big. But I'm bored and got a beer in me so fuck it let's go.

So first let's talk about the reasons you hate Kie. I'm gonna admit that I to think she is flawed, like every other obx character, she is also a victim to bad writing and under developed. But also I just do not understand how people can hate her or insists that she is a bad person, don't get me wrong sometimes you just don't vibe with a character and there is nothing wrong with that but hating them and tearing them down is a very different thing.

Now I've said this before but let me reiterate. Not liking a character or ship or preferring one over the other does not automatically make you racist, misogynistic or homophobic. But I do think it is important to take a step back and assess our motivation and perhaps internalised biases. Sometimes you will find that you reasoning is without much substance and realise that you have some things to work on, sometimes even though mentally you don't have the conscious block there is something internalised about that - I know I have been subject to that. This doesn't make you a bad person, and you don't have to force yourself to like it or anything, but just be aware and sometimes it's okay to just remove yourself for the conversation because the people who do like it aren't supporting something that is morally corrupt and it doesn't have to be the subject of discourse. People can like different stuff.

So:

1. Did you mean pulls faces when JJ calls her rich? Cause that's what she does, gets a little annoyed, pulls a face but doesn't say anything because she know he's got a point. I'm very confused about you definition of angry and perhaps be careful about perpetuating the 'angry black woman' stereotype.

Also, I think it's important to note that clearly the kooks vs pogues divide has pretty much abolished the middle class, and you are either lower class or 'rich'. The Carrera's very clearly still struggle with money and are not on the same level of kooks as the Cameron's. So yeah, I think she's justified to roll her eyes at JJ saying she's rich as fuck and doesn't need money.

2. Prioritizes John B because his dad's gone missing, he's been abandoned by his guardian, is being threatened with being taken away from his home and everything he knows and is in general spiralling? Yeah. What a fucking monster. Also, I find it hard to find a justification for Kie having canon romantic feelings from John B that isn't just born from heteronormativity - her caring about him and then getting kissed by him does not equal a love match.

3. It wasn't about missing the interview - which wasn't until the next fucking day - it was about not giving up looking for their friend who was in a really bad way. Like - you cannot say that getting a scholarship when you are 16 is more important that John B's actual life being at stake ?

The fact that she wasn't there when John B went missing wasn't relevant? Like I've talked about why I hate Pope in this scene. But like, Pope is saying 'um you can't call me out on being a bad friend now cause you were a bad friend then'. That's the point, Kie caring so much about John B is rooted in guilt cause she wasn't there, and now she's trying to be there and support him, to prove that she's a better friend now. That's she's different, because she is.

4. I would love some specific examples of her brushing this stuff off like it means nothing. Other than the boat scene which once again, justified. And once again, Kie isn't destitute at all and no she doesn't fully understand the struggles of the boys or the cut but her family is not rolling in it and spending weekends on Yachts. Like this point is such a bloody reach.

5. I don't love that she got physical with him either. But she didn't do that because she got called out. She got upset because Pope was the one person she confided in about that happened during her kook year, about how bad it was, about the fact that she was suicidal and Sarah saved her and that's why she was so drawn to that, not because she wanted to be a kook, and Pope just throws that back in her face because he's jealous that Kie cares more about John B's problems than his.

6. Well this is just a misrepresentation of what happened. She said give it to any charity because in that moment it seemed like without a reason JJ just blew that money on stupid shit. Pope thought the same thing that's why he yells at him for not using it for restitution. In that moment he just seems like he is being drunk and irresponsible, because they didn't think he would go back to Luke, Pope literally says that he wouldn't. And then note how when they see the bruises they know what happened and the tone instantly changes cause they realise what happened. And that he did try to do the right thing and got flogged because of it. And she is right in there to comfort him and reassure him. So like... yeah.

7. Please give me example for this. I don't see Kie insulting him that isn't a justified call out or playful banter that is returned and part of their push and shove dynamic. You know... just being friends.

The only times we see Kie react to JJ's home life she is concerned and sympathetic. She's the only one who's worried about JJ going home when he storms off and is instantly there to comfort him when she knows he's had interaction with Luke. I really don't know where you are getting this from.

I don't use it as a blanket statement, I know not to group shippers in as one, I know there are jiara shippers that I do not see eye to eye with for a second. The reason I bring up the 'kiara sucks' thing is because of the context it was used. We weren't talking about Kie, it wasn't relevant, it had no reason to be there or anything to back it up. It was random bitching and as you say fandom is a very racist place so yeah, it seemed like racism to me. Like you realise you are calling me ridiculous for being annoyed that someone just came to me and said Kie sucks without reason, and then this ask goes onto be annoyed that I have some issues with Pope and that more than likely racist for thinking it because you've elected to ignore my massive post outlining my stance on this.

My experiences as a queer person are not universal, no. But I do know they are very common. I'm so thankful that there are people out there who don't experience this and I hope that in the future it will be the norm. But realistically, with what we know about JJ, I think it is more than likely that would be his experience.

Look if you headcanon him as gay say the things with girls is comphet, then that's your view and I won't fight you on it. But remember that that is a headcanon. And what I have been talking about is were they intentionally setting up jjpope and are those actions indicative of romantic attraction, which if they we're they would have made a point to frame it as comp het, which they didn't, they might in the future but for now - they aren't. In terms of being a good liar, I just- like gay panic is a very strong thing. There young girls who tell everyone they don't like hugs because they actually really liked the hugs and feel like people will know that they are gay if they hug their friend, a hug. I can't see 'I'm a good liar' being enough to overcome those sorts of feelings.

The thing is while JJ has a nothing to lose attitude when it comes to his life and future the same doesn't apply to his relationships, because the Pogues are his thing to lose, his only family, the one good thing. I can't see him just saying fuck it I could risk losing Pope. So I can't agree with you there.

First of all, I was called anti-black for not liking Pope, despite the fact that I don't hate him, and just had valid reasons for thinking he is flawed, not the devil incarnate. Two, I am well aware that this fandom is racist, like all fucking fandoms, and have talked about it. And I think that fact that I don't hate Pope and laid out very clearly the reasons I don't think he's some perfect angel that does no wrong kinda shows that I'm not just random bitching because he's black. Also - I'm a fucking Kie stan. I have to deal with people hating on Kie for the same reasons they love Sarah - it's very obvious to see people motivations there.

And you are right. An interracial mlm ship would be great representation. So would an interracial ship between the hot guy that everyone loves with the black girl - because doesn't he always end up with the white self insert? But reminder that ships don't automatically have superiority because they have 'better' representation and certainly does not represent a shipper 'wokeness'. Personally I think a platonic relationship between two men that are as close and physically affectionate as JJ and Pope - especially when one is so traditionally masculine as JJ, especially if one or both of them could be queer - would be great representation for young boys struggling with toxic masculinity.

So yeah, I think your reasons for hating Kie don't have much basis in canon. I do not give if you like her or not but.. hating her and trying to prove that people shouldn't like her, that she's not good enough for JJ and coming into my ask and putting her down for no reason, still does not sit right with me.

#obx #obx bs #kiara carrera #JJ and pope #lara answers

[animatedminds]

Star Wars: Visions - Episode 7: The Elder

Onward into the last trio of Visions episodes! This has been nothing but enjoyable thus far, and I’ve heard good things about these last three. Episode 7: The Elder Produced By: Trigger Inc. Directed By: Masahiko Otsuka After six episodes, we finally have one that definitively takes place in the Republic era. I’ve been regarding these shorts’ indeterminate time periods as I see them, but with a bit of misfiring: the one I thought worked perfectly in the post-ROTJ era turned out to take place far in the past (and in an alternate take on the series), and the one I thought would have worked well as an Old Republic piece turned out to be intended as a far-flung sequel. But this time, we’ve got a relatively solid timeframe established in the short itself. Some time during the time of the Galactic Republic, two Jedi - a master and his padawan - patrol the Outer Rim when they are suddenly distracted by a sudden flare-up in the Force: a call to something dark and unknown. Arriving on a backwater planet, they track this disturbance to a mysterious old man who traveled into the mountains recently. But something seems wrong, and the more they investigate the more it they find ties from this old man to the thought long-dead Sith, as well as hints that the whole encounter might just be a trap...

This is another “Jedi arrives at a simple village, and is forced into a battle with a darksider“ story - unsurprising, when narratives like that are so popular, and each of the short films were made independently of one another. This time, much more attention is placed on the darksider themselves. The setting of this one illustrates its tension: this is a time period before The Phantom Menace where the Sith were believed extinct, so sudden clues to imply they may still be around are unbelievable and deeply unnerving to the main characters - and this slow unsettled atmosphere composes the center of the short. In the end, the heroes defeat the villain, but obtain no answers - as they must not, for the Sith won’t reveal themselves for some time - and the story ends with them moving on, unsure.

The master and apprentice are fun characters. Not quite as developed as some of the other characters we’ve seen thus far, but they do have a fairly fun banter to them. It’s a trend that masters and apprentices end up countering each other in personality to a degree in Star Wars - wilder masters beget more serious padawans, and vice versa - and it continues here: the master being a dour, cautious and somewhat paranoid sort, whereas the padawan is emotionally expressive, lacking in worry and ever-direct in his words and actions. You can tell that they are wildly unprepared for what they are about to walk into - even the master, who is knowledgeable and powerful enough to face it regardless - and that endears them to the audience as the story goes on.

The antagonist is is the biggest draw, however. A murderous swordsman type: obsessed with nothing but the fight and proving his skills in battle by luring hapless opponents into battles to the death. It’s a character type that’s fairly common in samurai narratives, and thus one which I’ve always been surprised to see so little off in Star Wars media. Eschewing most of the Sith ideology, the Elder only cares about bigger and bigger challenges, deadlier and deadlier stakes. He is introduced having massacred a giant monster, and ends gleefully throwing himself into a fight with someone he knows may be his better, murdering and manipulating all the way to ensure that the fight happens. And the fight itself reminded me somewhat of the fights from the Filoni series, particularly the Obi-Wan and Maul fight in Rebels where the visual direction was all about getting more out of less. The motions are less elaborate, but are instead quick and deadly, which ups the impact. The Sith having a pair of light-shortswords made espeiclaly for an interesting fight - digressing again, but I’ve always felt branching out into different kinds of lightsaber weaponry would allow the series to evolve the swordsmanship aspect of the Jedi and other force users a bit more. The idea of giving Rey a light-pike, for instance, was one that got a lot of traction for a while and one I wish the films had adopted. There’s a degree of baby steps in regards to how versatile the Jedi can be that the main series tends to adhere to whereas these short films in general have not felt constrained by - whereas the light-weedwhacker of The Duel is obviously a bit excessive, the idea of shortswords or longswords for Jedi, or other varieties of bladed weapons, is something imo the series could well look into. If there was one thing that felt off about his one, on the other hand, it was the animation as a whole. It isn’t something I’m unfamiliar with, watching anime as much as I do you’re sure to find a few series that do the same thing, but it may be a bit jarring to go from the previous short films - which were very fluid and expressive in animation - to this one, which is a lot more stiff. Everything is very intricately and elaborately drawn - with deeply etched character designs and vivid backgrounds - but very limited in animation, with less physical emotion and range. A curious choice, given how Trigger’s other film - The Twins - in this set was the complete opposite: extremely animated in all respects. Characters mostly just move their lips and incline their heads, until the fight starts - and the fight itself is, again, an example of getting more out of less. There are thus times in the short where the shot almost appears to be static for long periods of time. This is, once more, a stylistic choice which I am not unfamiliar with, but I’m not as sure that it affords well to the film’s story. But it does have the effect of also drawing attention to the antagonist - The Elder himself is by far the most vividly animated character in the story, and it makes him and his menace fly off the screen in comparison. All in all, a good episode. But that’s not the only thing we’re here to look at. As you’ve probably cottoned onto by now if you’ve been reading all of these, the Visions shorts are all currently non-canon. However, in a franchise like Star Wars it is not uncommon for installments like this to get examined for official continuance if they have a lot of support from us, the fans, and - importantly - if they fit well into the universe. So here, we’re also looking at whether each short fits into the universe, and how well. And what are the chances of this one fitting into the universe? Pretty Good Odds. This short was careful to design itself such that it could easily fit into the time period it takes place in: another backwater planet with a sheltered culture, making it unlikely to contradict anything, two remote Jedi with a far flung assignment also unlikely to contradict anything, and the characteristics of the setting are actually baked into the plot: the Jedi of this time have no idea extant Sith still exist, and thus are left stymied by the mystery this Elder presents. In the end, they obtain no answers, either: only smoke and ambiguity of a lost lead. So I could easily see this being popped right into the continuity with no hassle to anyone. And it would definitely be interesting to see: did the Elder really leave the Sith to pursue his own bloodlust. If so... that was his history? If this short accomplishes one thing, it’s delivering on the mystique surrounding the SIth. Not to mention giving the world a few more nightmare faces to dream about - nobody in the Star Wars universe is scarier than a Sith on the prowl...

#star wars: visions #the elder #star wars #disney+ #trigger inc #studio trigger #masahiko otsuka #dan g'vash #tajin crosser #creepy old sith #noncanon #good episode #pretty good chances #sci fi anime #star wars anime #Animated Minds for Animated Times

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “What You Missed.”

Hope you all are having a good day, and hope you enjoy!

The rumbling continued deep within the planet’s lower crust. Projections on the seismic map estimated the eventual collapse of the bran mining operation on the other side of the planet. Though they didn’t plan to go long enough for the tunnels to completely collapse, they planned to used the abandoned mining ground as the stage for their own setup.

Mining precious metals in the GA territories were highly regulated, and the products made and sold from those precious metals were also highly monitored, however, the GA could hardly monitor what they didn’t know about.

The biotin sniffed at the dusty air hating the way the dirt clung to her skin like a glove of fuzzy filth. The air here tasted sour and fake like most terraformed planets, and all she wanted to do was go back to her home world and relax where it didn’t smell so bad, but she knew she had to get this job done.

She glanced down at the paper she held, and idly walked her way over to where the staging operation had been set up, made out of several interlocking grey tents that were designed to look like the rocky surface of the planet if anyone was looking, as well as bloc their transmission signals so they couldn’t be spotted if anyone where to have an eye keen enough to spot them.

She stopped just inside the Tent to where the…. Human was sitting staring at the screens and tapping his long bony fingers together.

She hated this human, he was annoying and self centered, and likely thought he was enigmatic with the strange clothing he wore, and the mirrored glasses that covered his eyes, but she just found him wildly pretentious.

“How goes it, sir.”

He nodded, “The mining companies have left with the help of the Omen..” he sneered as the word passed through his lips, “The property is benign abandoned, and we should have a couple of months until they send someone to take a look and see what happened, at least until they send a force large enough for us to have to worry.”

She nodded but didn’t bother to agree or contradict him. It wouldn’t matter either way.

Besides, she didn’t care what happened as long as she got what she wanted. 

The GA was too large and too involved in everything in the galaxy, The leaders of her planet were too lax with their tariffs and trade deals, and because of their poor economic management, the Iotin planet had fallen into relative anonymity and been ignored by the rest of the galaxy. She believed they could be doing so much more, but it's not like they could really compete with humans and Tesraki. 

She was sick and tired of the GA thinking they could control everything.

And so was this human.

As much as she despised humans on principle, at least this human and her had similar goals. 

She could work with the enemy for a little while longer while they hashed out a true plan.

The human turned to look at her through his mirrored shades. The man was an older human who she was sure dyed his hair to cover the grey, and she did her best to conceal her disgust as she moved forward and handed him the drawn schematic.

He glanced down at it.

“Where is the rest?”

“He said he would deliver the rest upon payment. This was just a show of good will.”

“A show of goodwill.” he snarled, but then slowly sat back in his seat, “Can he guarantee that it works.” 

She bristled at his tone, but didn’t rise to challenge him, “He assures me it has already been tested on a human and achieved the desirable results.

“That's hardly comforting if I haven’t seen it.”

“Then take it up with him yourself. You should have worried about all this BEFORE agreeing to hijack an entire mining operation to build the damn things!”

He bristled right back at her but she didn’t care. She was coming to learn that not all humans were so like the ones the GA had met first hand. IN fact most humans weren’t loyal and honorable. Most of them were greedy, cowardly predators, who wanted nothing more than to push for their own personal gain while leaving others to rot in the dust.

This human was no different.

But soon it would all be over.

Very very soon.

She glanced down at the half schematic and the Kree seal stamped on the back.

***

“The seismic activity has escalated since evacuation. So far my scientists have been unable to pinpoint the source, as far as we knew, the planet wasn’t supposed to have plates, but something seems to be disturbing its stability. We were wondering if perhaps the extensive cave systems could do it, but, as far as we could tell the systems weren’t nearly large enough to disturb the lower crust of the planet.”

“And the evacuation?”

“The larger mining companies shipped off most of their employees on their waiting station ships, and I took some of what remained. We will be bringing most of them back to the Bran homeworld for recovery.”

“And you admiral, how do your people fare?”

“The rescue teams managed to make it out alive. I was almost crushed, but some quick thinking by Lord Celex’s son saved my life, but other than that no one was injured too badly, but I would take some scientists to keep an eye on the strange underground activity. We have never seen anything like it, and are worried that the planet might be destabilizing. It isn’t o dire considering that the planet was originally uninhabited, but I am told this mining station carries the highest percentage of  Terbium to minerals in the galaxy, so it would be a loss.”

A few feet away, Ket lay curled on a ball on  a pillow with a warm  up of glowmoss in one hand. A few other miners sat around the room idly listening to the Admiral who was talking over communication to the GA council, a council that had grown a lot bigger since Ket had known of it five years ago.

In fact a lot of things had changed since the humans had arrived, and not for the worse as he had once suspected.

He munched on some of the moss and turned to watch the human as he paced across the floor. How strange it was to see the creature from his nightmares in such a…. non -nightmarish circumstance. He could still remember the chase all those years ago and felt the horror and concern that had almost driven him to madness down in the mining tunnels, but, there the human was talking like a civilised creature, apparently head of the GA’s coalition fleet, and some sort of bigshot ambassador.

Not to mention all the strange alien creatures that he had come across since stepping on the towering four-armed warriors and the fuzzy fluff balls of anger. The one that had come to rescue him was still sitting on the human’s shoulder, interjecting the occasional point to the council when the human missed something.

It was all so surreal.

For years he had been hiding in that tunnel, what he originally only saw as maybe half a year turned out to be around five years, and the galaxy had grown in scope and involvement. What had once been a coalition of uneasy allies held together by economics, the GA was now a thriving galactic metropolis based on mutual backing and delicate diplomatic involvement.

Or at least that’s what he had seen so far.

“Thank you.” The human said before shutting off the hologram and walking back across the room full of evacuees 

His single green eye fell on Ket skin still dusted with the grime of rocks and dirt, and stepped over to kneel next to him and where he sat on his cushion. It had been a very long time since he had been aboard a spaceship and even longer since he had talked to anyone. He was still getting used to that.

And the human still managed to unnerve him.

“How are you feeling.” “Overwhelmed.”

The human’s rubbery, mobile face deformed a bit so one corner of its mouth stretched upwards for a moment, “I can hardly blame you for that. You’ve been away a long time.” The human paused, and Ket watched him curiously as he reached up to rub the back of his head, “Look I, know i've already apologized for what happened five years ago, but it was sort of a half assed apology considering that we were being crushed at the time.” He shifted his weight so he was now resting on his other knee, “I want to explain myself. Before I saw you, my entire planet thought that we were the only living things in the galaxy. No one believes in extraterrestrial life, and upon seeing you, I was just excited, and wanted to make sure it was all real.”

Ket waited.

“I know that doesn’t excuse years of psychological trauma, but I promise, when I was…. Chasing you, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was excited, and I should have been more diplomatic about it. I can see that now, but back then we didn’t really know anything about politicking with aliens. I am not trying to excuse my behavior, but I just want you to understand that I made a mistake and I am willing to apologize for it.”

It seemed so strange, and unusual coming from the mouth of a predator, but he found that he…. Believed it?

How odd.

“I understand…… I admit I am a bit surprised as to how things turned out.”

The human showed its teeth, which he was coming to realize was supposed to be a good thing, “Yes, a lot of things have changed in the last five years, come and I'll show you.” ket let the empty cup of moss fall to the side by his cushion and stood to walk at the feet of the human who was at least four feet taller than him since ket stood on six legs and the human stood on two, they might have been around the same height if the human had decided to walk on al fours, but at this point ket had to crane his neck up to look at the human.

“We began peace talks with the GA shortly after you were relocated to your new post. We signed the treaty in a little over a year and I offered to help in the Drev war, which I believe you might have heard of since it started before we showed up.”

Ket nodded his head.

“We won the Drev war for the GA and the Drev began peace talks after the war ended.  I Was promoted to captain shortly after and given command of the ship under loan from the UNSC to the GA in order to support diplomatic relationships between our people. Since then the Gnarlak nation has fallen, and those remaining have been confined to a plot of land on their planet where they can no longer hurt the FInnari, a subjugated species which was farmed by the Gnarlak. Other notable discovered species have been the Tvek, Lumin, Mikes, Iotins, Celzex, dort of, Starborn Tricar, and hopefully I am not forgetting anyone. We have fought in two burg wars and won them both releasing the burg population from total supremacy under an unfeeling tyrant. Interspecies relationships are legal now, though the discrimination they face is still something we are working on. Planetary GDP has risen for petty much everyone and our job market is only getting better. The tourist industry is becoming a gib thing. My Tesraki market analysts say that humans, the Tesraki and and Rundi are currently galactic superpowers in regards to power and economic influence, but as far as we can tell this hasn’t caused to man problems between the other less influential groups. The Bran for instance.” he glanced down at ket, “are selling precious metals used in electronics at ten thousand percent higher output rate than you were a few years ago and selling at a fifty percent markup. As far as I know, no one is hurting.”

He tapped his fingers against his arm, “I think that is most everything important you need to know, oh I forgot the Kree war and discovering that, somewhere out in the universe, there is another sentient, and likely multi species galactic coalition, though we haven't had the pleasure of meeting or interacting with them just yet.” he frowned, “Well, I have, but I hardly consider it interacting because they kept me in a cage most of the time.”

Ket stared at the human, and the human shrugged, “that should catch you up to speed.”

It most certainly did not, but he supposed it was as good of an opening as he was going to get.

Honestly he had no idea what he was supposed to do or think. It was all so new to him, and all so strange. How was he going to actually catch up?

How was he going to integrate back into society after all this?

After months of being nearly incoherent?

He could still feel that part of him lurking somewhere in the background and knew that it was not gone.

He was going to have to figure out something eventually….

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Concept: RED Spy is down, his watch damaged and the knife blasted from his hand by a clever strike from a BLU. His ribs ache from the force of being hurled bodily into the unforgiving soil of Teufort’s rocky ground, and he grits his teeth into a snarl. 

He can fight without his knife, he lived this long as a Spy prior to this whole mess of a contract... but it would not be easy. His ankle feels damaged, twisting as he rolled and Spy curses at the misfortune; still, his arms were hale enough to enact a chokehold when the opportunity arose. 

The sun disappears as looming shadows block the light, and hearty chuckles linger in the air, the malice behind the sound sending a shudder through the espionage agent. He understood, this was... well, it was personal to a degree, if he had a downed BLU then of course he would think nothing of enacting some quick revenge for a past death/insult.

But it was also their job. He hoped to take at least one down with him, if possible... but it would not be the end of the world to die here and now, later he could hunt them down and delight in the gurgled screams as his butterfly knife pierced their spinal columns. 

Blood dribbled slowly from the shallow indentations in his bottom lip wheren a few teeth had pierced accidentally during the heavy impact. Spy’s tongue darted out automatically to catch it, equally thrilled and revolted by the taste of the coppery substance... 

He grunts as a heavy Texan boot digs into his side, and two voices laugh uproariously as if the world’s wittiest joke had just been exchanged. They would pay for tha-...

His vision flashes sharply a second later, pain radiating through his face like an explosion as a steel-capped boot makes contact; without even consciously registering it, Spy knows his nose is broken. That was a sensation he had become all too familiar with in the past. 

He cries out as something heavy crunches down on his legs, efectively trapping him. 

“Aw, don’t be such a wuss Spah, I manage to carry that around when it’s full all’a the time!” the BLU engineer coos, his expression worryingly unhinged, though not unfamiliar... the RED Engineer had made the same face a truly disconcerting number of times in the past. 

Indeed, the toolbox weighed more than one would suspect, and if his ankle had not been shattered before, it certainly was now. There was only one solution, if he could but find it... where was his-...? 

“Oh laddie, don’t go looking for your pretty little pistol... our spook went and knicked that when ye blacked out for a second, like the delicate little crossaint ye are.” BLU Demo taunted, crouching down over the RED. 

Spy did not recall blacking out, but that’s not generally a good sign...

“You are, as ever, outclassed here, mon frier.” came a smug voice so like his own that it irritated to no end, as the BLU Spy faded into visibility.

If this had been the first death of the day, or even the twelfth, then perhaps he would not have stopped trying to find a solution. Beady blue eyes darting subtly around until some ingenious escape plan came to light and he could be freed from this mess...

But it wasn’t, and he was so, so very tired. Between the Pyro, Sniper and a number of rather lucky swipes from the BLU Medic, Spy had been dying all day long. He would love for this to end quickly... but given the location, and the unlikelihood of help arriving in time to curb the enthusiasm of the currently losing team surrounding him... Spy felt that things were not in his favour this day.

Hovering gently across the room, the intel gleamed innocuously, cruelly. A beacon that lured them all to their deaths day in, day out on these damn capture the flag campaigns; a beloved sight for both the teams’ benefactors. 

And so they died, day after day, for nothing more than a glowing briefcase with an ever-changing array of useless paper inside. Why, last week there had been a recipe for some fried chicken with eleven herbs and spices... useless, though Engineer had been eager to try it, as had another fried chicken afficiando on the team. 

The week before? A number of magazines, a short story about some science fiction show he was certain may have been written by one of the Pyros, and a crudely drawn map to different households that Spy could not make heads or tails of...

A slap snapped him back to reality, sending fresh waves of sizzling pain through his face as the damage to his nose once again took his full focus. 

“Looks as if he’s back with us again.” BLU Spy said, radiating smugness from every pore as he flicked out his knife with unnecessary flourishes. “Good evening Monsieur, seeing as you will be staying with us for some time, I would hope you will be an obbliging guest... and not miss out on the festivities. Such as,” he said, pointing the blade directly at a blue pupil, “when I remove your eye from its socket, hmmm?”

“Hey, I called dibs on ‘im first boyo.” BLU Demo exclaims, swatting at the blade-wielding hand, and trying not to look too pleased as it scored a deep groove across Spy’s face. Spy hisses at him through clenched teeth, loathing the man. “He needs those eyes to see what ol’ eyelander and I are gonna do tae him, aye?” 

“Just don’t go hogging him, I’ve had to rebuild a dozen sentries today because of him. Not to mention my back’s achin’ somethin’ fierce from all the damn backstabbing the little red weasel’s gotten away with.” BLU Engie interjected, groaning as he stretched, fingers and spine making awful audible pops. The man flexed his gloved hand and the mechanical whirring sent chill straight down the Spy’s spine. “Now see, I’m thinkin’ that fair’s fair only if’n I get to pull yours right on out of that body of yours. Whatcha think about that, you filthy RED?”

It would technically fall under ‘fair’, but not anything Spy particularly wanted to experience. Before he could open his mouth in his own defence, with a smooth ‘Gentlemen, please...’ the mechanical fist slammed in from the side. Bile rose automatically in his throat at the sensation of a tooth dislodging and blood filling his mouth. The BLUs seemed wildly unhinged today, beyond their normal bloodlust... but they had lost all week long, so they may be getting sanctions and penalties from the Administrator.

His head whirled. When was the last time he’d had more than a few hours sleep this week? The last time he drank some actual water or ate something substantial? Maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess if he’d not insisted on skipping the team lunch during ceasefire, in order to do some covert surveillance in the enemy intel. 

Consciousness flickered. 

There were delighted but angry voices jabbering back and forth about ‘waiting their turn’, and ‘going a little easy to start because the french fry had to last’...

And then, there was screaming.

It was almost like a bad horror movie, with the sounds of screaming, crunching and swearing flickering in and out. Little snippets of a full scene that he could not comprehend as his battered head swam...

In the sudden silence, loud and grotesque for the heaviness of it, all that could be heard was a sharp, angry series of breaths.

Spy blinked frantically, trying to ascertain what had happened, trying to cling to the here and now when all his body & mind wished for was to give in to the swirling darkness. 

A figure coalesced before him, eyes seeming to glow with a feral light, body and bat completely splattered with blood and gore, expression half in shadow. 

“S-Sco-...?” Spy tried to get the word out around damaged molars and a outhful of blood. Everything throbbed, but the silence was a symphony of hope to his ears.

“Don’t worry, they won’t fuckin’ touch you again, Spy. I got ‘em.” growled an unusually serious Scout, his fist shaking around the bat’s handle. He seemed frozen, a figure in a portrait surrounded by the broken corpses of the BLUs, uncertain what to do next.

A wheezey exhalation from Spy seemed to snap the runner out of it, and he knelt to shove against the toolbox pinioning the espionage agent to the ground. It clunked to the ground with a heavy metallic finality, and Spy sighed at the sudden freedom. 

“Ya look like shit, Spook, so we gotta get ya out of here before those guys fall outta respawn lookin’ for revenge.”Scout says, mouth running while his eyes dart over the mess that the normally immaculate espionage agent made. He slips an arm under Spy and they slowly work the man into a sititng position.

Ankle’s definitely shattered, Spy notes with a true lack of enthusiasm.

“Scout... just prop me against the wall there and take the intel. Once it is secured, they cannot touch me anyway, as the humiliation round will keep me safe.” 

“And just who the fuck do you think you are ordering me about like that?” Scout objects, eyes never once leaving Spy’s face. 

“Someone who wants to win as much as I do?” Spy hazards.

Scout leans back on his haunces, crouched by Spy. He tilts his head, “Ya a real bastard, ya know that? I don’t care about the intel, we gotta get you outta here. But if it means that much to ya...”

In a frankly ridiculously fluid movement, Scout is up, across the room and back again before Spy could blink. The intel snapped to his back like a magnet.

Spy is hauled to his feet with minimal protestations, an arm over Scout’s shoulders and the runner’s other one about his waist. The majority of his bodyweight was resting on the runner, and Spy felt rather despondent about their chances of surviving like this.

He said so.

“The others are coming, don’t worry about it.” Scout grinned. 

Heavy machinegun fire could be heard above near the BLU spawn, along with delighted maniacal laughter. The REDs were here, and judging by the beeping of a sentry, they were spawncamping like no tomorrow.

“See? We got this. So don’t worry about it.” Scout shrugs as they begin the slow ascent up the corridor and hiopefully towards a dispenser. Spy lurching along and trying to think of other things as each jostling movement created little discomforts. 

In a momentary pause, he looks to the runner. “Merci, mon... fils.” 

The words felt too big for such a narrow corridor to hold all at once.

Scout laughed, half in delight and half from awkward nervousness. “Yeah, yeah, you better thank me. I saved ya butt in there!”

They continued hobbling towards the rest of RED for a long moment, before Scout said, looking anywhere but at Spy. “Don’t worry about it... Dad... I got ya.”

Spy could not help but smile through a mouth of bloody, broken teeth. Suddenly, the world felt a little brighter... 

The End

#tf2 #scout #spy #dadspy #fic list #random idea i had just now

[possiblyimbiassed]

John’s “therapeutic” blog

I’ve been fascinated by the wealth of content in John Watson’s blog since I first noticed it; I think it was some time after S2. For being a complementary work to a TV show, it’s surprisingly well crafted and packed with information. Joe Lidster, who has written the fictional blogs and websites of John, Sherlock, Molly and Connie Prince, is a screenwriter who has been working also with Doctor Who and its spinoff Torchwood.

Unlike the rest of the content within the BBC Sherlock franchise, for example the online game ”Sherlock the Network”, the escape room “The Game is Now” or the book “Sherlock Chronicles”, John’s blog is fully available online for free, you don’t even have to register anywhere. And unlike the other blogs of the franchise (Molly’s and Connie Prince’s blogs and Sherlock’s website), John’s blog is lengthy and has a lot of posts in it. It gives us background and explanations of cases that aren’t mentioned in the show, or only referred to, and I also think it provides a “second opinion” of what we see in the show. It’s a bit like what John says in TLD:

It certainly seems like this blog has been created as a special little treat for the fans, since most of the casual viewers of the show probably don’t even know it exists ‘IRL’. But I think the blog is much more than that; partly because it’s so heavily referenced in the show – with frequent, accurate and exact pictures of it (at least until S4) – and partly because it tells us so much about John’s character. I think John’s blog is significant and important in trying to analyse BBC Sherlock. And maybe the version of John we see in the show will actually get more nuances to it if we look at the blog, which is expressly written by John himself?

More under the cut.

As some of you might know, I’ve written a meta series (X) where I try to explore the idea (originally from @raggedyblue​) that the blog describes the ‘real’ events in John’s and Sherlock’s life more accurately than the show, and that what we see in the show up until HLV is Sherlock reminiscing their life together while reading up on the blog. In my view, the show might be Sherlock’s embellished and dramatized version of the events - ironically a bit similar to what Sherlock usually accuses John of doing in both Doyle’s canon and on the blog. But I find the blog’s writing style far more prosaic than the show, and also more prosaic than Watson’s stories in ACD canon; in BBC Sherlock the roles might have been inverted compared to canon. 

An example of this would be the scene in TEH (which I talked about in this meta over a year ago) where Mary is (supposedly) reading the following un-published post directly from John’s blog editor:

“His movements were so silent. So furtive, he reminded me of a trained bloodhound picking out a scent. I couldn’t help thinking what an amazing criminal he’d make if he turned his talents against the law.”

Something doesn’t seem quite right here, though. While the rest of the post is text from another, already published, post (The Speckled Blond), this first part is taken almost verbatim from ACD’s story The Sign of Four (SIGN). It describes a crime scene where Holmes has just “whipped out his lens and a tape measure and hurried about the room on his knees, measuring, comparing, examining, with his long thin nose only a few inches from the planks and his beady eyes gleaming and deep-set like those of a bird”. I see a big style difference between this and the rest of John’s blog. Since the quote above never appears on the ‘IRL’ blog, I’d rather believe that in BBC Sherlock this is merely wishful thinking from Sherlock that happens inside his Drama Queen Mind Palace. This impressive description is, I think, what he would truly wish that John had written. ;)

I also suspect that the continuing references to different blog posts in S4 are all made up in Sherlock’s mind, since John’s blog ‘IRL’ stopped updating after TSoT, when Sherlock hacked it and took over the storytelling.

Be that as it may, this meta is a reflection upon what John Watson’s famous blog actually might stand for, and what I believe it tells us about his character. In these months of quarantine, I’ve been passing the time by reading through the whole online version of the blog and taking notes of it.

Therapeutic origin

It seems like the initiative for John to start a blog came from Ella Thompson, his therapist. I believe Ella’s initial idea was therapeutic; if it was almost impossible for John to talk to her about his feelings and inner problems in their sessions, she might have found it difficult to help him. Therefore she suggested that he write it all down on his own instead. And if Ella could persuade him to talk about his life on an online blog, she would also be able to read it.

Of course this wouldn’t be the same as if John told her about his inner reflections in confidence, in a real therapy session, but maybe the blog would give him an incentive to talk about his life at all. And you have to start somewhere.

At the end of TST we see Sherlock visit Ella, but when she asks him to “open up completely” he refuses. 

If S4 is happening inside Sherlock’s head (as I believe it is), this might have been Sherlock’s way of trying to psychoanalyse John, to ‘solve John’s case’, by envisioning the therapy situation in his mind palace. A well-known method of Sherlock Holmes is that he tries to put himself in the other person’s place and think about what his own response would have been to the situation. In ACD’s  story The Musgrave Ritual (MUSG), Holmes says: “You know my methods in such cases, Watson. I put myself in the man’s place, and, having first gauged his intelligence, I try to imagine how I should myself have proceeded under the same circumstances.”

Which is also evidence that the character of Sherlock Holmes does indeed not lack empathetic capacity. Also in the show, John’s assertion that Sherlock “doesn’t feel things that way” etc. is basically BS in my opinion. The problem is that John refuses to see this.

John’s state of mind before Sherlock

John’s first three blog posts (in the middle of December - January) seem to completely lack motivation.

And this is maybe what one could expect from the deeply depressed John (as he appears in the beginning of the show), isn’t it? No surprises there.

Everything seems meaningless, and John only makes two attempts at blog posts to comply with Ella’s recommendations, but he doesn’t actually write anything in them. After the second attempt his old army friend Bill Murray tries to contact him, but John seems to have cut off his ties with the rest of the world; he doesn’t answer the comment.

At the third attempt over a month later, John seems to want to delete the blog he has started, but lacks the technical knowledge to do so. The fourth attempt is just a snide comment to Ella:

She doesn’t respond, however (not very surprisingly perhaps). Instead, John’s sister Harry discovers the blog and tries out this means of communicating with him. But John ignores her.

But at the fifth attempt at least John has gone out with some friends and describes it – almost bitterly. Sadly, it also seems like John met up with them mainly to avoid his therapy session with Ella.

So, the problem is that whatever Ella may have thought that the blog would mean for John’s healing, I think she aimed well but unfortunately missed the target. John Watson does not ‘open up’ himself on the blog. When he finally starts to really write - after he met Sherlock - it’s not actually about him (supposedly); it’s all about Sherlock. Basically, John goes directly from ‘Nothing happens to me‘ to ‘Sherlock happens to me‘.

What the blog tells us about John ‘after Sherlock’

John’s blog may be all about Sherlock, but there isn’t actually that much praise for Sherlock in the blog posts as one might think. My impression is that John applies his (perhaps somewhat overestimated) writing skills to project his own failures and self-loathing on his closest friend. More than anything else, I think the blog is John’s emotional outlet for his frustration over his unsatisfactory relationship with Sherlock and his own inability to improve it. Instead of trying to actually talk to Sherlock, he uses the blog to vent his frustrations over Sherlock, speculating wildly about what he believes Sherlock is thinking and feeling.

The stories and adventures are thrilling and entertaining, yes. But his assessments of Sherlock’s character are really not very uplifting. John doesn’t strike me as an ‘analytic’ person, which in this case means that John’s theories about Sherlock are rather based on his personal emotions than logical conclusions. It’s sometimes even a bit difficult to follow the chain of events in John’s posts, because it’s usually so intertwined with his gossipy and out-of-context comments about Sherlock’s personality.

Unfortunately, Sherlock doesn’t seem to realise this projection, and neither do we see him address the issue of John’s misconceptions about him. I believe Sherlock takes many of John’s jibes and insults at him at face value, which – sadly - only adds on to his own self-loathing. I also think that Sherlock trying to draw conclusions about his mysterious friend through the written blog might be a mistake; it may eventually tell him a lot about John’s problems, but to see these he needs to look behind all the cover-up of blatant criticism of him, Sherlock. Maybe that’s what Sherlock’s trying to do in S4, by setting up scenarios in his mind palace?

Judging by how John comes across on the blog – and in the show – I think Sherlock’s claim “You’re abnormally drawn to dangerous people and places” in HLV is a perfectly sound analysis - on the surface. However, I think one must read between the blog lines in order to see other possible motives for John wanting to hang out with Sherlock. Reading John’s posts textually, he gives a strong impression that he’s there for the adventures; when there is danger in the air, John’s never bored.

In the comment section Sherlock never mentions John’s evaluation of his character. Instead he repeatedly criticises John’s writing style. I get the impression that this is Sherlock’s subtle way of getting back at John without having to directly address John’s misconceptions about him. As I said above, I think John’s writing style is very different from Watson’s style in canon; far less respect for Sherlock and a far more prosaic and simple language. Canons Watson seems careful not to speculate much, while John does this all the time.

Examples that form a pattern

There’s a good deal of praise of Sherlock in John’s posts, but it has almost exclusively to do with his admiration for Sherlock’s intellectual capacity; he’s repeatedly described as ‘clever’ and after the Fall, John claims that “nobody ever really outwitted Sherlock”. But in fact, I’ve found very few blog posts where John doesn’t also criticise or complain about Sherlock in some way or another. And there are only two posts (out of a total of 45) where John says something positive about Sherlock’s character:

1. After their first meeting he calls Sherlock “strangely likeable” and “charming”.

2. In what John meant to be his last post ever (he believed Sherlock was dead), he calls Sherlock “funny”, “charming” and “everything a good person should be”.

On the other hand, there seems to be nothing in John’s own (supposed) opinions about Sherlock that he regards as too negative or inappropriate to publish online. I very much think this is about self-loathing; he projects his own shortcomings on his “psychopath” friend and flatmate. Like it’s always a relief to have a scapegoat. An additional explanation might be that if John is closeted and in public denial about any romantic feelings for Sherlock, this makes him not want to appear too ‘besotted’ on the blog. ;) Thus, he might believe he needs to compensate the praise with criticism. Problem is, with this contradictory approach the readers might ask: What is John’s actual relationship to Sherlock? Handler? Hostage? Lover? Concerned citizen? It’s hard to claim he’s a ‘real’, professional colleague, since John’s actual profession is a medical doctor. But why would John be friends with a psychopath? 

To seriously claim that his best friend is a psychopath seems perfectly OK to John, though – he does it repeatedly, and quotes Donovan’s claim that Sherlock “gets off on it”. At the end of A Study in Pink, John talks about Sherlock and the serial killer as if they were both psychopaths, one undistinguishable from the other:

“The taxi driver drove him to a college of further education so they could both educate each other on - well, on how their minds worked, I guess. It's not something I'll ever really understand and, to be honest, I'm not sure I ever want to understand it. To be that much of a psychopath. To be that above the rest of us.”

John even seems to pretend to prefer ignorance to understanding, only to find one more opportunity to blame Sherlock. Here are some examples of other things John calls Sherlock publicly on the Internet:

Arrogant 

Rude

Imperious

Pompous

Madman

Freak

Childish and

Not safe. 

He also says on the blog that Sherlock is spectacularly ignorant about some things, like the solar system. 

Little Freudian slips

In the post titled The Speckled Blonde 

(which is basically a re-count of canon’s The Speckled Band - SPEC) John’s closet angst reaches new heights:

Apparently John finds it important to preventively point out to his readers that he was not sharing a bed with Sherlock. Or, actually, that he even preferred sleeping on the floor before sharing a bed with his flatmate. The thing is, however, that the information that they spent the night in Julias bedroom isn’t at all necessary for the story, since - unlike in ACD Canon - nothing of importance apparently happened during that night. John actually tells us nothing about the night as such. The only ‘feature of interest’ is that Sherlock found a suspect bottle of bubble bath on the victim’s night table, which he took to Barts for analysis (and he was right - the bath had killed Julia by poisoning). Obviously, John could have described this crime scene investigation entirely without mentioning that they had spent the night there. So, if this little morsel of information was so embarrassing for him, why did he even include it? Hmm... 

In my biased mind, I can only think of two alternative explanations (not mutually exclusive, though): 1. John had spent so much fantasies and subconscious energy on reliving this night that he just couldn’t keep this info entirely to himself (Freudian slip), or 2. Something actually happened that night - something that had no bearing on the case. After all, John never says that he slept on the floor, only that he was going to sleep on it. ;) 

Speaking of bubble bath, I find the fact that Julia died from it slightly suggestive, and even metaphorical, as such. Because there’s also another case on John’s blog describing someone dying in a bath: The Deadly Tealights. The victim suffocated in a bathroom where the candles consumed all the oxygen. John has included this little comment:

Why does John bring up the idea that a person taking a bath with candles would potentially be judged? What has his own bath routines to do with the crime case? Does the victim really need John to find excuses for his private life? Methinks this rather might be John’s closet angst speaking again. Someone has tried to belittle John for liking baths, and apparently John seizes the opportunity to vent about it on the blog. Metaphorically, this tells me that the closet is suffocating for John, and that the ‘chemistry of love’ is involved.  

John - The Moral Compass

John is often referred to as the part of the duo who a) is more sociable and b) works like a sort of moral guide to Sherlock. The detective, on the other hand, is shown as a “sociopath” who supposedly doesn’t understand this kind of things. And – to be honest – Sherlock doesn’t actively say much to contradict this perception; sometimes he even appears to agree with it.

(I think his actions should be a clue to the contrary, though).

According to the blog, John seems to believe he himself is the adult one in this acquaintance, the one who does understand the rules of society. He repeatedly calls Sherlock “childish”. Judging by John’s descriptions in the blog, one might almost think that John had been forced to hang out with Sherlock, trying to do the best of it. But seeing as it’s entirely voluntarily it’s a bit hard to understand, for example, how John can blame Sherlock for “leaving me and Sarah to be kidnapped” in The Blind Banker:

John makes is sound like Sherlock left them to the enemy deliberately, knowing that someone would come after them. But weren’t they at home, supposedly on a date? If John didn’t like it, couldn’t he have left any moment and gone out to continue the date he was supposed to? But no; John counts himself among the innocent persons whom Sherlock “involves in his adventures”:

After reading the whole of John’s blog, all I can say is that this guy is a living, breathing contradiction. How can he be Sherlock’s moral compass if his needle is spinning all the time? :))

In The Great Game John describes himself as just a “pawn” in Sherlock’s and the killer’s great game, equalling himself with the other victims. With his insinuations, he indirectly blames Sherlock for the death of 12 people and goes back to Sally Donovan’s “freak” accusations:

Another interesting bit is this, describing Sherlock’s reaction at the pool, when John for a moment appeared to be behind everything: “I should have been horrified that he'd even doubt me for a second…” Wait – what!? John is capable of telling the whole world the most damning rubbish about his friend, but if Sherlock for any second doubted John, he’d be horrified? This part is also of interest: “But the laser sight simply moved to Sherlock's head and I was forced to let go. For a second, I wondered if Sherlock would have done the same for me but then all I knew for certain was, at that moment, I knew I was going to die.”

Before that, John had just described what could easily be interpreted as Sherlock calmly trying to talk Moriarty out of having John killed, but to John this was just “The two men talked, both clearly pleased to…”.  In John’s view, he was the only one who was forced to let go of the killer because of the threat to Sherlock. Honestly, who is it, between the two of them, that most appears to lack empathetic capacity?

Creds and Competence

John appears to be a rather honest, humble and straightforward in the show, quite competent in his medical profession, and in TSoT he is highly praised by Sherlock:

But on the blog John is more ambiguous, and he isn’t always modest. Sometimes he appears to enhance his own role in the crime solving and take credit also for things that are clearly Sherlock’s doing. For example, in The Great Game there’s this: 

“Between us, we worked out that while Connie's death had been made to look like the result of a tetanus infection, it had actually been caused by poison - their houseboy, â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“, had overdosed her on Botox!”

But if we’re supposed to believe the show, John actually believed it was a tetanus infection, while Sherlock deduced and later demonstrated poison:

John also expresses a slightly childish vindictiveness in making a lot of fuss about Sherlock’s failures; every single time Sherlock can’t solve a case, John points it out on the blog with glee. It almost gives me the impression that the doctor is suffering from inferiority complex. He even uses  “Sherlock Holmes Baffled“ as a title for one of their cases.

This seems to be written in jest, since Sherlock frequently is rude about other people’s lower intellectual capacity, but actually hates ‘not knowing’. 

I admit that this may be funny to joke about once, but it gets a little tiresome that John has to point it out every time. Why does John even do this, even as Sherlock has explicitly asked him to not publish the unsolved cases? Which I assume would not be good for their business? 

If John truly is Sherlock’s colleague, wouldn’t he also be more interested in helping to solve the cases, rather than talk about the failures? It seems to me that John is struggling so hard against his own feelings for Sherlock that he feels the need to provoke rather than help him.

The Most Inhuman Human

Sherlock’s supposed lack of humanity is a recurring theme for John; he claims that “people” want to know that Sherlock is human, as if anyone - on the blog or in the show - except John had ever questioned this. 

I can’t remember anyone on the blog except John showing an interest in this issue, though. In the post Many Happy Returns he writes this (my bolding): 

“Yet the video... it showed the other side to him. He was rude, yeah. Arrogant. Apparently lacking in anything resembling empathy. But I'd forgotten just how funny he could be. He was so charming. So... human. It's bizarre because most people would say he was the most inhuman person they'd ever met. But he wasn't.”

He wasn’t? Wow - great revelation, John! [sarcasm :)]. But who said that, actually? Not even the haters and trolls on John’s blog ever claimed Sherlock was inhuman. It’s one thing that Donovan and Anderson called him a freak and a psychopath, but John is the only character I can think of who has ever implied that Sherlock would not be a human being. Only John calls him a ‘machine’. Which is a load of BS of course; John really doesn’t strike me as a professional doctor when he says this, even less as a friend - always trying to mark the distance.

So what’s Sherlock’s ‘complete lack of empathy’ in that video actually about (mini-episode here)? Was it because he didn’t want to go to a birthday dinner with people? Hardly - John seems to understand this about Sherlock. Or was it maybe because of his comment: “How can John be having a birthday dinner? All his friends hate him!” Well, this probably hurt a bit (even if I rather think he sounds bitter and jealous - he wants John for himself ;) ). On the other hand, Sherlock then backtracks and seems to regret his little outburst:

Mary’s role in John’s life

The blog is where Mary Morstan appears to be introduced to John; on John’s first blog post about at least a year after Sherlock’s ‘death’, she suddenly just shows up in the comment section, sending him kisses and inviting him out:

John ignores her, though, and when his sister asks him who Mary is, he doesn’t answer. Mary seems to hang in there, however, and the next time she appears is on the Deadly Tealights post (the one with the dead flatmate in the suffocating closet bathroom). And now she’s called Mary Morstan. Next time is The Inexplicable Matchbox. Both times her only comment is ‘ignore the trolls’. John rather seems to ignore her, though. Finally, he finishes his Many Happy Returns post (which was supposed to be his last) with saying that he has now “found someone” (without naming them) and should concentrate on that. 

All this is a little bit weird, though, considering Mary’s comment in TEH, when she is logged in and reading aloud from the editor of John’s blog: “The famous blog, finally!” As if she hadn’t already read all his posts and tried to interact with him on the blog? Hmm. 

In the show Mary just seems to come from out of nowhere, suddenly showing up in the graveyard holding hands with John. 

Her anonymity reminds me of Doyle’s treatment of Mary in canon, where she’s only mentioned by name when she’s still a client, before she marries Watson.

On the blog Mary is not mentioned by name until over a year after John met her, in spite of her presence in the comment section long before that. And it’s not until John’s first post after Sherlock’s return - The Empty Hearse - that John says something appreciative of her. Suddenly she is (still without name) "...the best thing that's ever happened to me. Sorry, Sherlock :)”. For the rest of the blog posts, John’s (very scarce) answers to Mary’s comments are never flirty or appreciative in the least. Mary’s own last comment, on the very last post - this time written by Sherlock who hacked the blog after John’s and Mary’s wedding - is this: “SHERLOCK! SHUT UP NOW!”

None of this gives me the impression that John has fallen in love with Mary. The silence with which he treats Mary on the blog rather makes me think of her as someone basically not very important; a sort of substitute in a desperate attempt to fill an emptiness in his life. And I think it might be significant that as soon as John recognises the existence of Mary in his life, he seems to use her as a sort of buffer towards Sherlock. A façade. First it’s the gleeful “Sorry Sherlock :)” comment above. Vindictive, it appears. And then, in the post Happily Ever After, John insists that his and Mary’s impending (heterosexual) marriage must clearly be the reason why Sherlock chose to help a gay couple getting together, one of them leaving an abusive marriage which was basically a façade. This whole ‘conclusion’ is so stupid that I’m rendered speechless.

Summary

To summarise - for those of you with enough patience to have followed all my ramblings in this marathon meta - I think the picture of John’s character that we can discern from reading up on the whole of his blog possibly tells us even more about him than the show. If the show reflects Sherlock’s mind, albeit almost entirely focused on his own perception of John Watson, this blog might actually give more insight into how John’s own mind works. I think it shows us someone who is struggling desperately with his own feelings. Someone who is trying to mark a distance that he believes is healthy for him, but that he actually doesn’t want, towards the object of his affection, by criticising them. The full-fledged, living, breathing contradiction that is John Watson comes to its full right by the blog. We could almost say he’s ‘human’ :). Kudos to Joe Lidster and the other showmakers for providing us with this gem.

Tagging some people who might be interested: @raggedyblue​ @ebaeschnbliah​ @gosherlocked​ @sagestreet​ @sarahthecoat​  @tjlcisthenewsexy​​  @elldotsee​​ @88thparallel​​  @sherlock-overflow-error​​  @yeah-oh-shit​

#John's blog is important #John's blogging is his therapy

[thetomorrowshow]

Slower Than Words Ch. 21

First  -  Previous  -  Next

I know I keep saying this, but unless my life suddenly slows down soon, updates will be slowed. This one was so close to being late. I have a layout for the story, I just don’t have the spare time to write. I am about to lose a commitment, though, so maybe things will work out!

cw: arguing, panic attack, angst

~

“You don't need a job.”

“Yes I do! I can't just let you and Remus support me, I'm an adult!”

“You're still recovering. You don't even know what a job would be like in this world.”

“Then let me find out!”

“Patton, no. This is not up for debate any longer.”

Patton stood up suddenly, shoving his chair back with a loud screeeech. For a moment, his anger boiled, so near to the surface, as he contemplated walking out of the apartment and getting himself a job.

Instead, he shoved the feelings down and stormed into his room, slamming the door shut. How could Father be so—so—!

All he wanted was to feel like he was actually contributing something. Sure, he was still in three kinds of therapy, but Father couldn't pay for that all himself, even with his two jobs. He couldn’t expect Remus to help, either—Remus was his own person with his own ambitions.

Patton picked up his pillow, only to throw it as hard as he could at the bed. He took a couple of deep breaths, then did it again. He was an adult, he could do anything Father or Remus could do, and he wanted to help! He wanted to see the Outside, interact with people from Out, learn what life was like here. He hadn't gone anywhere yet except his therapy appointments, which were all in the same cluster of buildings, so it wasn't like he was being exposed to a wide variety of stimuli.

Something was off, but Patton shook the feeling away. He was too mad to try and figure it out. Father didn't have much money at all, they were skating by on very little and Patton could help with that! He could help his family stay safe and alive, and here, with him.

Patton had felt helpless his whole life. There was always something, someone, to be afraid of. There was always something, someone, to hold him in place. He was always trapped. He'd thought, for months, that getting out would mean a sunny life full of smiles, a life with love and happiness.

This wasn't happiness. This wasn't sunshine, and certainly not smiles. This was being locked away, only leaving to see doctors who tried to 'fix' him, only to—

Patton fell to his knees, clutching his head as he tried to shut the memories out. There was panic rising in his chest, dousing the anger like cold water with fire, and he didn't know why. Where was Virgil, why wasn't he here? Where was his jacket—there, on the desk. So where was Virgil? Why wasn't he here, where was Father, please, not again, please—

The door.

The door was closed, and Patton hadn't closed it, had he? Someone shut him in. Someone had shut him in, and they weren't going to let him out. No, not okay, not at all okay. There was no way for him to tell someone to let him out, he couldn't ask for help!

Why wouldn't Father let him learn to talk?

Patton crawled over to the door, shaking fearfully as he reached up for the doorknob. Part of him was holding him back, insisting that if he didn't know that the door was locked then it couldn't be locked. Instead of giving in to that, he turned the handle, and—

It opened, with just a little bit of resistance of dragging along the carpet, and Patton fell over in relief. He was safe, he was at home with Father, he wasn't confined to a room. He noticed that his face was hot, and reached up to find tears.

Patton felt a little embarrassed, now that he realized that nothing had been wrong. He'd just been freaking out over nothing. Probably something he'd have to talk about with one of his therapists.

He got to his feet, his legs shaking a bit, which reminded him suddenly of Virgil. Patton felt a pang as he thought of his lost love. Remus had said that Virgil had gotten out for certain, but he didn't know anything else. He couldn't believe it—they both finally got freedom, escaped to the same place, yet their paths hadn't crossed. They'd been separated, before they even got to see each other.

The house vibrated, and Patton peered out his door to see Remus kicking his shoes off in front of the front door. He was saying something to Father, his mouth moving at lightning speed.

Patton withdrew into his room, taking a moment to pull on Virgil's jacket before falling back onto his bed. His heart was still thumping wildly, adrenaline surging through him. Everything was fine, though. Not good, necessarily. But fine.

-

Remus flopped onto the couch beside Logan, letting a drawn-out sigh hiss out of him. Logan watched him impassively, though there was a crease between his brows, and he didn't look all that present.

“You good, Lolo?” Remus asked. He scratched his mustache absently, not at all missing Logan's quick glance to Patton's room.

The kid was cool, if a bit jumpy. He and Logan had been butting heads a bit lately, and today must have been the day of another angry hands match. Remus wasn't really able to keep up, but Logan had filled him in—Patton wanted a job, and to learn how to read lips and talk. Like that one lady, but without the blind part or whatever.

Remus was on Patton's side, sort of—the kid needed out, and that was fair. He'd needed out to, which was why he got a job at the gas station thirty minutes out. Gave him time to drive, think. Laugh at the music on the radio. Pretend he was collecting a string of coins on the road. Fun stuff, free stuff. Pat pretty clearly needed some of that, and Logan was definitely motherhenning.

On the other hand, though, the three were barely keeping afloat. After payments for Patton's therapy (which they had financial aid for, too), there was only just enough to cover bills and food and whatall. They hadn't even been able to buy Pat more clothes, he was just re-wearing the same two or three outfits over and over. Which played into why he wanted a job—another person with a job meant more money, but even that wouldn't be enough money to cover lipreading lessons, let alone speaking lessons.

Who would hire a deaf kid, anyway?

Deaf young adult, Remus reminded himself. Patton was only a handful of years younger than him. He wasn't a kid, and he probably didn't want to be called a kid.

Suddenly, Remus realized that Logan was talking. He really needed to stop getting lost in thought.

“I can't let that happen,” Logan was saying. “Not again.”

Ah, they'd reached the part of the day where Logan talked about how guilty he felt. Lovely to tune in to!

“Lo, I get it. You've given me this spiel like eight million times already,” Remus said. “You love Patty, blah blah your fault, blah blah blah kidnapping, not safe blah blah. Come up with new material.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but he seemed to have broken out of his self-deprecating cycle, so Remus had succeeded.

“Why don't we talk to the school district?” Remus continued. “They've gotta have some deaf kids, and Pat could be a translator or something, I don't know.” He'd been thinking about it for a few days now. If there was anyone who needed a translator full-time, it was a school. He'd thought about other places—a church (nope bad memories probably), the post office (too many people), a motel (too shifty). Not to mention, all the places wouldn't need him regularly. The school seemed like the best bet. Logan, however, shook his head without even considering it.

“No, he doesn't know the first thing about a school.” Remus snapped his fingers. “Perfect place to learn! Good thinking!”

“That is not what I mean. I don't feel comfortable putting him in a situation where he would have to regularly deal with normal people.” Logan adjusted his glasses, his hand running up from there to trail through his hair. “He's not ready. It isn't safe for him until we can adjust his therapy schedule to include sensitivity training. It will take him years to be able to get a job, according to the timeline I've drawn up. Not to mention, in order to get a decent, respectable job, he must undertake a college education at a reputable university.”

That was completely wrong, and ruled out trade schools and apprenticeships. It also stung, pretty badly. Logan knew full well that Remus hadn't been to college. Remus tried to not let the hurt show on his face as he stopped listening to Logan's tirade.

He was wrong. Little Patty-Cake could totally survive in the real world. But how to prove it to him?

-

Patton was reading, sprawled out on his bed, several days after the fight when he saw his door move slightly out of the corner of his eye. He sat up to see Remus waving at him. He sent a casual wave back, before returning to his book. He was learning a lot—the book's main characters all worshiped differently. He hadn't even known that there was more than one religion.

His bed dipped, which meant that Remus had come in and sat on his bed. Patton took his time finishing his page. Eventually, Remus waved in his face.

“That's rude, you know,” Patton signed, finally placing a bookmark in the book and closing it. “What do you need?”

Remus took a moment, repeating Patton's sentences in miniature as he worked his way through it. Then he bounced a little bit, smiled, and pulled something out of the tote bag on his shoulder that Patton hadn't noticed until now.

A book.

Another one?

Patton didn't want to complain, but he had so many books already. Father was always going to the library in between shifts, bringing a new thing to read. He had six or seven to catch up on still, he didn't need another. And he was getting a little bored of reading.

Remus raised his eyebrows expectantly, holding it out, gesturing for Patton to take it. He did, watching Remus's excited eyes for a moment before turning his attention to the title.

Lip-Reading Principles And Practice: A Hand-book for Teacher and for Self-Instruction.

No.

Really?

Patton smiled, huge, hope building in his chest. Remus grinned toothily, and rereading the title was all it took for Patton to be launching into Remus's chest with a hug.

He was really going to learn! He could really do this! He released the laughing Remus to run his hands across the lightly damaged cover reverently, then hugged Remus again.

He couldn't wait to get started.

~

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222 @basiic-emo @patt0n-sanders @rosiepupper @fangirlgeekandfreak @dn-fan21 @that2000skid @remy-the-lemon-berry @itsadastraperaspera @xionbean @sanderssides-angst @hell-yea-we-gay-tonight @maybedefinitely404 @broken-pencils @thewhimsicallibrarytech @doomllily @hereissananxiousmess @judyismydog  @arodynamic-enby @at-that-one-nerd @therapysides @awkwardandanxiousfander @thekitchenpan @im-an-anxious-wreck

#slower than words #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #thomas sanders #ts #ts sides #fanfic #sanders sides fanfic #angst #sanders sides angst #patton sanders #ts patton #logan sanders #ts logan #remus sanders #ts remus #virgil sanders #ts virgil #moxiety #yo tumblr why did you forget all my tags #very rude #so how do you all feel about logan? #i want to clarify that he is not unsymp #logan is just struggling #he isn't sure what to do #so he's making stuff up #and he has unaddressed trauma #and preconceived notions #he's very protective #why am i trying to justify him lol

[kumoriyami-xiuzhen]

Hakuoki Shinkai: Ginsei no Shou - Saito Hajime Chapter #7 English Translation

My translation of the 7th Ginsei no Shou chapter for Saito... It’s probably because that this is my favourite chapter from the game and one that I found especially enjoyable to read (and had more of an understanding of it before getting translations for this lol) that I somehow translated this in record time when compared to all the other things I’ve worked on.... 

Unlike Kazama’s final Tsukikage chapter, the dialogue for this wasn’t all separated line by line in the CN TLs I found for the Saito chapters [NAMELY BECAUSE I WROTE EACH DAMN FUCKING WORD OUT FOR THAT CHAPTER], so some of the text in this remains lumped together. Also, huzzah for google translate providing the translations of place names since I wouldn’t have been able to translate the Japanese words that had been left in the original tl for this otherwise. I don’t usually make adjustments based on the original JP text until I start editing for the video... which will be done later.

All images used in this post were screencaps of game footage I recorded through vlc... also is it just me who feels that my English comes across as a lot more archaic when I stick to the original tl sentence structure...? lol. Anyway, as always, my translation may not be 100% accurate since I do not translate from Japanese.

PLEASE BE ADVISED THAT THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR ANOTHER GINSEI NO SHOU SAITO CHAPTER... one that I do not intend to translate right away... well I also include it in a note about what chapter it refers too. lol. it’s right below the cut.

Enjoy~! OR ELSE! MWHAHAHA!!

(jk, lol. plus, i’m too lazy to think of anything. oh and im currently working on the subtitle positioning for this now as the file got transferred recently since i finished the first round of timing [i need to do this multiple times to get the fade in/out of my subtitles to match the timing of game text’s fade/in... or to at least have them as close as possible] before having all of these tech problems.)

--------------------

Forward Notes

Based on what I remember from tokio-fujita’s notes (sorry but I didn’t check since im kinda busy rn, and the internet on my laptop is kinda unstable as I’m still transferring files... 17.3 gb remains from the dramas transfer) on Saito’s position in the Shinsengumi after leading them to Aizu, I’ve left his position as taichou in this translation due to how the only English translation for that is ‘captain’ which doesn’t show a difference in roles from when he was the Third Division captain ‘kaichou/kumicho’ [note to self: include this along with the link to the page in the post description later. also i will probably just change this to ‘captain’ anyway when i do my subtitle video].

Chapter 6 and 7 occur in Aizu

Hakuoki Shinkai: Ginsei no Shou - Saito Hajime Chapter #7

Translation by KumoriYami

7th month, 4th year of Keiou, after the Shinsengumi left for Sendai——

The Aizu, who had offended the Satcho were engulfed in the bitter flames of war.

When Shirakawa Castle was attacked, it would be a lie to say that I wasn't worried then.

Hijikata-san, Heisuke-kun, Shimada-san, and Souma-kun.

It was no longer possible to fight alongside the people who we deeply trusted since the beginning.

However……

I still have Saito-san.

Saito-san also me, although/even if/despite how I can't fight alongside him.

We relied upon one another, setting out for Shirakawa——

Shirakawa Castle, which had become the headquarters for my father's rasetsu—— we confronted him and Kazama Chikage there.

As Kazama-san had the overwhelming strength of an oni, if the fight was drawn out, Saito-san would have no chance of winning.

But, we still had....

Comrades we could rely on.

Even if [they] leave. Even if [they/they've] choose/chosen different paths.

As long as they maintained/followed their own bushido, everyone was still heading in the same direction.

I believe that as long as we moved forward, one day, our paths will surely cross again, and we will fight to the very end.

If only/I wish that everyone could see each other one more time, I could only pray that everyone would be safe……

Saito-san once again returned to the battlefield.

4th year of Keiou, 8th month

The Aizu Shinsengumi under the command of the Aizu, fought at the Bonari Pass——

After that, they fought bravely to stop the New Government army from entering Aizu Castle.

By the ninth month however, there were not many members left of the Aizu Shinsengumi, yet they still set out to defend/protect Nyoraido [refers to chapter 6] .

This is the story of what happened while I was waiting for Saito-san after he left. 

Fourth year of Keiou, Ninth month

Fourth year of Keiou, Ninth month

Saito-san and the other members of the troop left camp to protect Nyoraido.

Following his instructions/In accordance with his wishes, I accompanied the men who were seriously injured in battle to the rear of the formation.

Yukimura: Please wait a bit longer, I will treat you immediately.

Soldier:……At the most crucial moment, to be unable to help Saito-taichou, I'm terribly sorry.

Yukimura: ……There was no way you could, you are wounded after all.

Soldier: The taicho, is he really okay?

Perhaps it was because his wounds were too painful, that the soldier continued to weakly repeat himself.

Yukimura: Saito-san will be fine. He will surely come back alive.

In order to reassure the soldier, I spoke decisively/resolutely.

Yukimura: That's why, you need to focus on recovering right now.

Soldier:......Okay, I will.

Three days later.

The soldiers who had stayed in Nyoraido, none of them had come back yet.

The news from the front lines had also been cut off.

All that we knew was was the hopeless information brought back by the wounded.

There weren't enough bandages and medicines, and the wounded kept pouring in.

The soldier's and my worries became more intense.

It was at this time——

Aizu soldier: This is terrible/Bad news! Apparently Nyoraido has been completely surrounded by the enemy! The Shinsengumi in Nyoraido might have completely wiped out.

Yukimura:……!

The moment I heard such a dreadful announcement/news, it felt like the blood had been drained from my entire body. [news/information might be changed for ^^^ sentences. might use intelligence, communication]

A commotion spread throughout the entire formation [camp sounds more appropriate].

Soldier: Yukimura-san……

The wounded soldier looked at me with an anxious expression.

Previously, the instant I heard such news, I probably would have broken down into tears.

But, now——

Yukimura:……When such fierce fighting is going on, all sorts of rumours will be flying around we can't assume that everything is accurate before receiving an official confirmation.

Hearing what I said, the soldier seemed to calm down.

Soldier:……That's right. Before figuring things out, we'll still believe in/continue to trust the Taichou, and wait until he returns.

Even if Nyoraido has been surrounded by the enemy, the Shinsengumi may not necessarily be completely wiped out.

Shinsengumi——they, along with Saito-san, I don't know how many times they had escaped from death.

More importantly, Saito-san cannot die yet.

——flashback——

Saito: Yukimura, I wish to make you a promise.

Yukimura: A promise for me......? What is it?" Saito: No matter what happens in the future....... I will protect you with my life. This decision is not because of the Shinsengumi, Hijikata-san, or an order from the Aizu....... but of my own volition.

——end flashback——

At the time, he promised……

Even now, I can still clearly remember how we kissed after.

Saito-san, he made a promise to me.

He will come back to me.

I repeated those words in my heart over and over again, as if to convince myself......

But my heart was beating wildly, and cold sweat dripped from my forehead.

This wasn't able to eliminate my sense of unease.

Yukimura: …………

I truly wanted to rush over to Nyoraido, to immediately go to his side.

But, my duty right now, is to treat the wounded here.

So…… I could only trust/believe in him, and wait here.

After, I continued to focus on treating the wounded while waiting for Saito-san to return.

But, reports on the situation in Nyoraido, they never came again,

The sense of [them being] defeat[ed] became more intense, and the dreary mood gradually enveloped the entire formation [will probably use "camp"]. [The feeling that they had been defeated became more intense, and...]

Soldier 2: Yukimura-san, isn't it time for you to rest? You look very pale.

Yukimura: No, it isn't time to rest yet/it's not the time to rest.

Soldier 2:……Under these circumstances, if you collapse, once something happens, there won't be anyone to depend/rely on [for what you do]. Even if it's just a short nap…… please, for everyone's sake.

When faced with such a strong request, I couldn't refuse.

Yukimura: Okay. Then I'll go and nap/sleep for a bit.

I decided to go find a corner to go nap in .

Perhaps it was because I was so tired, but once I closed my eyes, I immediately fell asleep.

As I slept, I had a dream.

Yukimura Nn, nn......

I didn't know where I was in this dream, the surroundings were hazy as I looked around.

Where……is this?

Yukimura: Is this the Aizu's…… camp……?

……Right.

I was waiting for Saito-san to come back…… then……

My head felt numb and heavy as I looked around again……

Saito:……Yukimura.

Yukimura: Saito-san……!

The person I wanted to see suddenly appeared before me/Now that the one I wanted to see  suddenly appeared, I immediately got up.

Yukimura: You're back from fighting at Nyoraido! Where are the rest of the soldiers……

Saito:……In regards to this, I have something that I must tell you.

Yukimura: Eh……?

Hearing him say such ominous remarks, I couldn't help but feel confused.

Saito: Even now, you have always been at my side…… My gratitude towards you goes beyond words. If I didn't have you, I wouldn't have been able to continue fighting until now.

Yukimura: Thanks for what [reword later]……

Why was he suddenly saying such a thing?

Yukimura:……To speak of thanks, it's too much, I don't need it [It's too much for you to speak of thanking me/it's unnecessary for you to thank me]. Because, you and I……

We are no longer outsiders [/We can no longer be considered as outsiders/strangers...not sure what i’ll go with here] ——I just wanted to say that.

I don't know why, but I couldn't say anything.

The Saito-san before my eyes/right now, there was a subtle sadness to his expression, as if he was extremely sorry.

He…… wasn't like the one [man] I knew at all.

In this unnatural atmosphere, he spoke solemnly.

Saito: I……there is something I must tell you…… No matter what happens, no matter what you experience/encounter/face…… but now I [reword later]……

Yukimura:……!?

I was too late to ask him——

Saito-san's figure was already starting to fade away, then completely disappeared into the darkness of night.

Yukimura: Saito-san, don't go! What are saying to me——

I shouted out then/and lost consciousness.

When I opened my eyes again, my entire body was drenched in sweat.

Yukimura: Just now, that was a dream……

The foreboding feeling/premonition made my heart beat wildly.

Why was it at this time, that I dreamed of Saito-san?

Furthermore, in my dream, it seemed like he had something to tell me.

I had a bad hunch/felt a sense of foreboding, but there was nothing I could do.

Looking around everywhere, Saito-san and the others still hadn't come back.

Although/Even if I dreaded to think so……

Just now, it was just a bad dream, it shouldn't be a sign that something bad would happen.

Saito-san and the other soldiers, what happened to them?

……No, it couldn't be.

He promised me, he would surely come back.

But, if that wasn't the case?

……If I continued to wait here, would he really come back?

I……

Choices 

【Search for him】 【Believe in him and wait】 <-

Although I wanted to immediately rush to Saito-san's side……

I still remembered what he said before.

——flashback——

Saito:......As time passes, things change. The world, ideals, and even the Shinsengumi. Even so, that does not mean that everything must change. As things change with time, so too will there be things that do not change. And I...... I believe in the things that do not change.

——end flashback——

……Saito-san had never gone against the promise he made me/never broke the promise he made me.

Regardless if it was when he left the Shinsengumi to join the Guardians of the Imperial Tomb, or when he was defeated at/during the Battle of Toba-Fushimi.

Also, there was when he ended up fighting Kazama-san.

In the end, he always came back to my side [me].

So, as he promised, he will certainly come back to me.

So, I too——

Yukimura:…………

An incredible feeling swelled in my chest.

It wasn't because of panic, rather it felt like the stars were whispering to me……

This feeling pushed me out of camp.

Outside of camp was a forest that always looked the same at night [reword later].

Although I didn't know if any of the soldiers would return, I thought……

I felt somewhat dejected, and couldn't help but look up towards the night sky.

It was full of stars, quietly twinkling.

Long before I was born, these stars, they must have been watching the world in silence/been silently watching the world.

No matter how many years passed, these silver stars would always shine in the night sky.

Yukimura: Me too……

Under the allure of the dim starlight, I couldn't help but say this/I was unable to restrain my emotions.

Yukimura: I also…… believe in the things that do not change.

Even if the path forward was covered in darkness, the light that pointed towards the future still shined.

Yukimura: I believe——no matter what happens in the future, you will not change.

Just as I muttered this to myself.

There was the sound of movement through foliage.

I froze, staring attentively in the direction of the sound.

After/Then……

???: Is.…… someone there?

The moment I heard that voice, I burst into tears [or: almost burst into tears]. 

Shortly after, a single silhouette flashed in the woods, and its figure gradually became clearer.

Saito: Chizuru…… is that you?

My beloved/The man/The one I loved was calling my name, I could no longer/was no longer able to control myself.

Yukimura: Saito-san…… Hajime-san!

I shouted his name, throwing myself at him.

Yukimura: You came back……! Hajime-san……!

I wanted to welcome him back with a smile.

I didn't want to be crying when we were reunited.

If I cried, that would make it harder to see Hajime-san’s face……

All sorts of thoughts that I had been repressing came bursting out of my heart.

Saito: Ah…… I'm back, Chizuru. Didn't I promise you that I would return? Why are you crying? Could it be, that you didn't believe me?

Hearing Hajime-san's question, I shook my head.

Yukimura: How could I not trust you. However, I was always worried…… [and] when I heard the bad rumours at camp, my heart felt like it was going to crack/split open. Also…… I had a dream, a dream where you went far, far away……

Saito:……I see.

As I cried, Hajime-san awkwardly embraced me.

His uniform, it was completely dirty……

Although his uniform was black, a single glance showed that there were bloodstains and bullet holes everywhere.

Just from seeing him like this, I could tell he had seen a fierce battle. [ or "it was as if I could see a fierce battle." check jp mtl]

A moment later, Hajime-san showed a bitter expression.

Saito: When [we were] surrounded by the New Government Army, I was prepared to be completely wiped out/defeated…… At this time, one of the seriously injured/wounded soldiers told me: we've all been injured [been completely beaten... or some other word that i think of later that implies helplessness] and can no longer be of use to fight. Leave us behind and get out of here with the rest of the troop members——

Yukimura:……!

The decision that had been before Hajime-san, the weight of it left me speechless.

Saito: The me from before, perhaps I would have accepted this proposal. But…… the me now, it was impossible [reword later]. Hijikata-san entrusted me with the leadership of the Shinsengumi. Additionally, I could not leave those who trusted me and stayed/chose to fight together with me when the Aizu were abandoned.

Yukimura:……Nn.

I looked straight into Hajime-san's eyes, and nodded approvingly/nodded in agreement.

Hearing about the changes in Hajime-san's heart, I felt delighted/happy, as if it was my own affair.

Saito: If I had accepted that soldier's proposal, I likely would have returned sooner…… Carefully leading the troops back, it took longer than I thought…… I'm sorry for making you worry about me.

After listening to Hajime-san's words, I shook my head.

Yukimura: I……that's not important/it doesn't matter.  As long as are you are like this, and as long as you come back to me…… that's enough.

Saito:…………Yes [alt I see/is that so. check audio].

Yukimura: What happened to the other troop members/soldiers?

Saito: Because they're moving while carrying the wounded, I think that it will probably be a while longer before they catch up. But they will certainly catch up.

Yukimura: So it's like that, that's good……

Just by/from feeling Hajime-san's temperature [warmth] and his breathing, I was already very happy.

As long as he was like this now, and alive [As long as he lived like this now]…… being at my side, it was enough.

From the way he was looking at me, I could clearly feel that he felt the same way I did.

Saito:……Even for myself, I find it/feel that it's incredible/unimaginable.

Yukimura:……?

I tilted my head, not understanding what he meant.

Saito: Previously, I thought, the ideal wish of a warrior/samurai [check audio] would be to die in battle. However, I now fight for the sake of my comrades, so as to survive [so that we survive/live. chck jp mtl].

Indeed, if it was the past Hajime-san, when faced between choosing life and death, he likely wouldn’t have hesitated.

But......

Yukimura: I.......love the you now....... and I love the you back then. No....... no matter however you are, I will always accept you.

Hajime-san's eyes narrowed in satisfaction.

Saito:……You once told me before. The answer, the one I painfully struggled to find, whatever it was, you would accept it.

Yukimura:……Nn.

Saito: The one who changed me, it was probably you, Chizuru.

Yukimura: Eh......?

Saito: At the most dire point/height of the fighting, I thought of your face…… and my determination to not die grew stronger. Furthermore, every time I thought of how you were doing everything to help the wounded at camp, I kept thinking that these soldiers must not die here.

Yukimura:…………

Carefully listening to my lover's voice, his words, made me feel infinitely happy. [Listening to my lover's voice, his words made me feel extremely happy.]

When Hajime-san was desperately fighting at Nyoraido, if I was able to provide him some courage……

Nothing could make me happier. 

After a short while, Hajime-san slightly tilted his head, almost as if he was urging something.

There was no need to ask what would happen next.

I closed my eyes, quietly responding to him.

After a pleasant wait, our lips were pressed together.

This kiss, it was very restrained, just like how he was.

My heart was beating loudly.

These thoughts became increasingly stronger in my heart, how I wish the two of us could stay in this forest at night forever. [check jp mtl. i’m probably going to go with something to the effect of: How I wish we could just stay forever in this moment, alone and encompassed by this forest at night.*this sentence is pissing me off lol.]

No matter what happens, I will never leave him again.

Saito:……From now on, I will never let you be this sad again. So, let me see you smile/your smile. In order to see your smile, no matter what happens, I will always return to you. [check jp mtl]

Before, I once asked him what he would do one day if he had to drink the Ochimizu for the Shinsengumi……

The answer that came from his lips without any hesitation, was to 【drink it】.

Yukimura:…………Nn. Hajime-san…… Hajime-san, as long as you stay by my side, I will always be happy.

He had asked me to smile, but i couldn't help but to continue crying...

As a result, I was smiling and crying in front of the person that i loved.

About half a month later, the 22nd of the 9th month——

The Aizu-han, which had been firmly resisting the New Government army, surrendered.

——End——

--------------

well, I probably could have made it easier for myself if I just copied the flashback text from SK/KW/EB... but I just couldn’t bring myself to look up the games to copy said text (had to uninstall them from my old pc for space to take stuff off my passport) since it’d really bother me knowing if I copied something than said it was my translation... which is why i didn’t. ah well. as a translator, the idea of taking credit on something that i didn’t translate really doesn’t sit well with me... but I still think that what I did for those parts came close to what I remember from the games...   

gotta say though: I really dislike the word 「隊士」. In both Chinese and Japanese... and that, as a translator,  i really don’t like how the Gregorian calendar names the months lol. it’s just so much easier to just leave the date as what it says based on the old Japanese calendar... with the era name and month number. let’s me not worry about doing research to ensure the accuracy of things (i require that all of my videos be precise when it comes to dates)... 

also, i wish it’d snow everyday for a week. id get motivated enough to finish a chapter with that.... tho it’d need to be a heavy snowfall so it’s very visible. lol. maintaining my motivation on one thing for a long period of time just doesn't come easy to me... especially when it’s something that has +4000 words in it.

#Hakuoki #Hakuouki #Saito Hajime #Hakuoki Ginsei no Shou Translation #Hakuoki Game Translation #Yukimura Chizuru #hakuoki shinkai

[superman86to99]

Superman #84 (December 1993)

Superman takes a short Paris vacation! Like, one day short. What's the worst that could happen?

Oh, man.

So, for the past few issues, we've been hearing about children being abducted in Metropolis. Now we see that they're being kept inside a giant toy house by some creepy bald man in Quasimodo clothes who seems to be obsessed with toys -- a "Man of Toys," if you will. Side note: no wonder the children haven't been found... all the articles about them are just gibberish! (See clip below.)

The kidnapper thinks that these kids' parents don't deserve them, and that they're much better off here, in an underground hideout with a man who threatens to starve them if they don't play with him. (And I do mean literally play, with action figures and stuff.) Meanwhile, as these children cry for help, Superman is having the time of his life. While helping move a stranded ship with some huge-ass chains, Superman spots a sunken galleon with a treasure chest inside and fantasizes about keeping the booty...

...before turning it over to the authorities anyway, the big boy scout. Then, he wakes up Lois at 6 AM and tells her they should go to Paris right now, which usually means your significant other is having a mental breakdown, but in this case they can actually do it. And so, after deciding that he deserves to use his powers for fun every once in a while, Superman and Lois drop everything and fly to France with super-speed for the rest of the day/issue.

Anyway: back to the child abduction! Cat Grant and her son Adam attend a Halloween party at Adam's school, but there's a disturbed weirdo in a hideous costume lurking among the crowd. Yes, I'm talking about Jimmy Olsen in his Turtle Boy suit.

Shortly after that, a guy in a dinosaur costume (see, all the creeps are dressed as reptiles) lures Adam out of the party with the promise of "superb video games." What child could resist that? Of course, that turns out to be the kidnapper and Adam ends up in his hideout along with the rest of the missing children and, worst of all, not a single "Lextendo" console.

The kidnapper gets angry at Adam when he refers to the toys at the hideout as "old-fashioned junk" (he was REALLY looking forward to those video games), and even angrier when Adam tries to free the other kids. Adam is brave and puts up a good fight, but...

And those were Adam Morgan's final words. "Uh-oh."

Next, we have a pretty harrowing scene of Detective Turpin letting Cat know Adam’s body was found, and Jimmy and Perry White taking her to the morgue to identify the body (most people probably wouldn't bring their former boss to something like that, but Perry sadly knows more than most about losing a kid). As for Lois and Clark, they were gone so long that the Daily Planet had time to print a headline about the murders. The issue ends when the lovebirds walk into the office smiling like two people who just spent the night fooling around in Paris... only to feel like jackasses when they find out what happened.

To be continued!

Character-Watch:

And that's it for little Adam Morgan who, unlike the also tragically diseased Jerry White, didn't even get any post-death appearances. Adam went from a little kid scared of Superman, to a huge brat, to a character who was approaching likeability as of last week. That's why I hate it when DC kills off young characters like Adam or Liam Harper: in long-form storytelling, children represent potential. Look at how much Wally West or Dick Grayson evolved over the years compared to their mentors! Sure, there's a huge probability that Adam would have ended up disappearing from comics for 25 years anyway, but who knows, maybe we'd now know him as Teen Gangbuster or something. GangbusTEEN.

This issue also represents a turning point for the kidnapper, who is never named or seen clearly in the story itself but I don't think I'm shocking anyone by spoiling the fact that he's Toyman (it's in the cover, for one thing). In his last two appearances before this storyline, Toyman helped Superman save some kids from Sleez and looked genuinely sad to learn about Superman's death, so this is a pretty dramatic change for the character. We'll find out why he went from big softy to child killer in Superman #85 (but don't get your hopes up).

Plotline-Watch:

The most disturbing part of the issue, all things considered, is still the part where Toyman climbs into a giant crib and hugs a huge stuffed bunny. Look at serial killer Tommy Pickles here:

Don Sparrow says:  “Even with the upgrade, Toyman is still just a man in a suit, a common complaint about Superman’s rogues gallery.” Funny you should say that, because I JUST shared an old Wizard interview in our Twitter in which Dan Jurgens talks about how Doomsday came out of his frustration with the fact that most Superman villains are dudes in suits (plus other interesting tidbits from the era, like how it was actually Roger Stern’s idea to bring back Hank Henshaw, so check out that link!).

Don again: “The entire Superman storyline of this issue feels like filler. Diving for buried treasure and soaring off to Paris -- it all feels like wasted time next to the Adam storyline.” I have a theory that the entire ship sequence is there as an excuse to put Superman in those big chains and make that Spawn joke (which I didn’t get until now, since I’ve always read this issue in Spanish).

Superman says that pulling that big ship was "a little easier than expected" -- that's either another hint that there's something going on with Superman's powers since he came back, or a subtle dig at the state of American ship manufacturing.

Another adorable "window tap" scene for the books, and this is the sexiest one so far. Is it me or has Jurgens started copying more than just Teri Hatcher's hairdo from Lois & Clark? (For anyone who thinks Lois has gotten implants, I refer you to this clip.)

While in Paris, Lois asks Clark if he's ever wondered what would happen if his rocket had landed in other countries. Don: “Clark’s conversation with Lois sounds like a bunch of concepts for Elseworlds stories. We eventually would see a Russian Superman, and a British Superman, but not yet the French Superman. (Hire us, DC!)” Yep, got my French Superman pitch ready, Jim Lee. Or just let us do Russian Superman again, since Red Son wasn’t even the first time you published that idea.

Don once more: “Another thing that makes no sense about the ‘new’ Toyman is his resentment of technological toys—when in previous appearances he himself had deadly high-tech toys to vex Superman over the years.” I especially resent his hatred of video game consoles. Incidentally, I wonder what types of games are available for Adam’s beloved Lextendo. Star Lex 64? Mega Man Lex? Sonic the Hedgehog 3 & Knuckles & Lex?

No one is more upset at Lois and Clark for going AWOL than Whit. NO ONE. He's so furious that his usually grey mustache turned black.

Patreon-Watch:

As always, shout out to our patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Samuel Doran, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush and Raphael Fischer! Last month’s exclusive Patreon article was about the recently unearthed sequel to Superman 64 for the PlayStation, featuring Metallo, Parasite, and Lois looking even hotter than in this issue:

Hot damn. Find out more at https://www.patreon.com/superman86to99!

And believe it or not, Don Sparrow has even more to say about this issue. Read his section after the jump:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

I should start off my section with a big caveat:  I flat out hate this issue. There were several weird decisions made in the post-Death-and-Return era (most of them along the same lines of making the Superman titles more grim-and-gritty), and this story was one of the worst of them.  My theory is that, despite the praise and record-breaking sales of the Death and Return storyline, the Superman creative team felt pressure to have more extreme storylines, perhaps in response to the wildly successful Image books coming out at the time.  Between this story, and the upcoming “Spilled Blood” storyline, the Super books take a hard—but temporary--turn into more violent and upsetting storytelling—even though these stories are by the same writers as the previous few years. While death has always been a part of comics, and Superman comics was no exception, there is a jarring glibness and unfeeling toward the way violence is handled in these pages that is quite different from the stories that preceded it.  It’s made all the more jarring by the fact that well-established personalities suddenly veer wildly out of character, Toyman chief among them.  

We start with the cover, and while it is technically well-drawn (by the familiar team of Jurgens and Breeding) it’s also a very upsetting visual.  I think they should have gone with the pieta type pose with Adam and Superman, OR the scary badass bowie-knife Toyman (who apparently has a Cheshire cat smile now) but not both.  But the cover is a good hint at the tonal dissonance of the comic within.

We open with a splash of the now-extreme 90s looking Toyman, with his serial killer shaved head and spooky cloak, ignoring the pleas of hungry kids he has locked up in a tiny jail cell for days at a time (if that sentence doesn’t ring alarm bells for how wrong this is for a Superman story, I don’t know what will). For much of the issue Toyman’s eyes are obscured by glare on his lenses, further de-humanizing a character who was once one of Superman’s more empathetic bad guys.

We cut to Superman tugboating a huge tanker with giant chains and it’s a cool visual (one repeated in the Batman V Superman film).  It feels especially out of place to focus on, given how upsetting this issue is otherwise, but throughout the whole comic, Lois is drawn smoking hot, especially on the two page spread on pages 9-10.

The scenes depicting the actual murder, while still wildly out of place in a Superman comic, are well done, and give a real sense of darkness and menace, which I suppose is the intent.  Perhaps my least favourite visual is the Big Bird stuffie, silently bearing witness to what’s about to occur.

The edges of the panels on get more slashy and off-kilter (to me, looking very much like the layouts more typically seen in Image comics of the day) and I suppose I appreciate the restraint of how little Dan Jurgens shows of the death of a child, showing only a bloody slash on a black background.  This is still a pretty baroque image for a Superman comic, but certainly less violent than it could be, given what is happening.

Cat Grant’s silent horror is well staged, and powerful in its way.   Lastly, Clark Kent bending in sorrow and regret is a powerful image.

While this issue is handled marginally better, and more maturely than other comics on the shelf at this time, I still believe it is one of the biggest mistakes of the era.  Giving a long-established character an unceremonious death for shock value is gross on its own, but making it a child definitely crosses a line for me.  Making it worse is that, while the Toyman is a criminal and a killer, he has shown in past issues (a similar kidnapping storyline involving Sleez) that he genuinely cares for the well-being of children.  So for a long-time reader, this also felt like a betrayal of a long-established, fully developed character.   Adding to the ugliness of this is that Adam dies heroically, trying to free the children who have been caged, unfed, for days, but even in that regard, he fails.  The headline at the end of the issue confirms all the children are dead.  Adam’s death did not buy the other kids enough time to get away. It was all for nothing. Had Adam died, but the other children lived, maybe this issue wouldn’t leave quite as bad a taste. [Max: It’s weird because it’s all told in a way where it’s told in a way where it would make sense, narratively and within the story universe, that the other kids survived, but then it’s almost casually revealed that nope, they died too. A scene of one of the kids relaying Adam’s heroism to Cat in a future issue would have gone a long way.]

Superman doesn’t come off well in these pages, either.  It’s honestly the type of story they should just stay away from, because the more you think about all the calamity that is going on around the clock, the less defensible the whole Clark Kent persona becomes. Superman carving out time to romance his fiancée directly led to the preventable deaths of innocent children—how do you come back from that?

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I’m always looking for hints that perhaps Jimmy or Perry know Superman’s secret identity deep down, and Jimmy’s anger at Lois and Clark on their return to the Daily Planet offices would seem to give that theory some credence, as he’s as angry at them as if he knew Clark really were Superman.  Either that, or he’s ticked that it fell to him, and none of them to escort Cat into the morgue. [Max: Has this issue finally converted you to the “Jimmy is terrible” side now, Don?]

I don’t think I’m the only one who disliked the new Toyman—SPOILERS BE HERE: years later, in Action Comics #865, Geoff Johns retconned this whole story, reverting Schott into the criminal who over-relates to kids, rather than the child-killer of this story.  Apparently the infantile Schott, who speaks to “Mother” a la Norman Bates, is a robot so lifelike it fools even Superman, and the “Mother” he’s constantly replying to was the real Winslow Schott trying to recall the malfunctioning robot. [Max: That’s one Geoff Johns retcon I really didn’t mind, even if it felt kind of derivative of his similar “all the Brainiacs are robots made by the real Brainiac” reveal.]

#superman #dan jurgens #josef rubinstein #toyman #cat grant #adam morgan #dan turpin #whit #gangbusteen #super luthor fighter ii turbo championship edition

[soursitrus]

Thighs

18+, NSFW content

Pairing: Hitoshi Shinsou x reader

Description: Hitoshi helps get your mind off an insecurity (NSFW, smut, comfort)

Words: 3K+

Character is aged up.

This is wildly self-indulgent. Hope you like. - Cassidy

The mirror was probably your least favorite possession. Not from lack of use – you’d spent a lot of time in front of it. No, it was from association. You associated the mirror with what you saw in it, and that was almost always bad.

Sometimes you’d fixate on your face, the pimples there upsetting you. Other times you’d focus on your stomach or legs, hating every fat cell, blemish, and hair individually. In the mirror, you saw someone who couldn’t conform to societal beauty standards – and, therefore, wasn’t good enough. Whether or not you were conventionally attractive or not didn’t matter – you saw someone ugly and fat. And that meant you weren’t good enough.

You tried to avoid the mirror, but it’s hard to avoid something in your bedroom. It was after work one day when you stepped out of the shower and caught a glimpse of yourself. Like anything bad for you, you couldn’t resist – you had to look, even though you knew it would upset you. So you dried off and stepped into the mirror, immediately being bathed in self-hatred. 

It was all wrong. Your face was blotchy. Your stomach wasn’t flat enough. Your arms were flabby. Everything about you was wrong. But your focus was drawn mostly to your thighs, the fat on them screaming at you. They were too big, you looked awful. How could anyone ever love someone with those thighs?

You pulled yourself away from the mirror before you started crying, knowing that you needed to get ready and cook before your boyfriend came home for dinner. Pulling yourself away didn’t make the thoughts stop, though.

Your self-hatred permeated your mind as you dressed and made dinner, each new thought somehow returning to your thighs and how wrong they were. You fought it, hard, but it was exhausting. There’s only so many ways to distract yourself, only so many times you can tell that voice, “No,” before it consumes you. It had been a long time since the voice consumed you, but it was a bad day. You hoped you would be able to eat a quick dinner and then sleep it off.

Your boyfriend got home just as you finished cooking.

“Hey, babe,” he said, taking off his coat.

You smiled. “Hi, honey. Food’s ready.”

It was his turn to grin. “You’re the best,” he praised. ‘Except for your thighs,’ you thought.

Your smile faltered as you turned to serve the food, and your boyfriend, Hitoshi, noticed, but let it be. It was after an almost silent dinner – one in which you barely ate anything – that he finally asked what was wrong.

You didn’t know how to explain years of self-hatred in a simple sentence, so you said, “Nothing.”

The man raised his purple eyebrows.

“You’ve barely spoken since I’ve been home, and you seem pretty sad. We both know I could make you tell me if I wanted to. I will if I have to, but I would rather you just tell me,” he said, waving his fork around.

How do you explain it to him – a god among men?You knew Hitoshi struggled with self-hatred, too, but in a different way. His wasn’t related to his looks. He looked amazing, really, and he knew it. How would he react to you talking about your body? What if he thought the same things – that you were fat and ugly?

You knew you were digging yourself into a hole, but you couldn’t stop. You had started breathing heavily and were about to cry when you felt a warm hand against your back. Hitoshi was next to you, rubbing small circles in your skin.

“Calm down,” he said, indigo eyes trained on you. You let out your breath and focused on his touch, your heart rate beginning to slow. Hitoshi kept rubbing your back patiently.

“I won’t force you to tell me what’s wrong. But, please, if I can help, let me,” he said.

You took a deep breath, urging your voice to be steady. “Okay,” you said. “I don’t know where to start.”

Instead of responding, he gave you time to gather your thoughts. After what was probably an eternity, you began, “I am having a bad self-image day. I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw, and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You stared at the table as you spoke, preferring it to your boyfriend’s piercing gaze. But as seconds turned into minutes and he didn’t respond, you had to look up. What you saw was a very confused Hitoshi, mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find words.

“I – I can’t imagine that,” he finally stammered. “You, looking in the mirror, and, and hating it? H-How?”

You were offended. Just because he didn’t experience the same issues didn’t make yours less valid. “Look, Hitoshi, just because you don’t do–”

“No, you’re misunderstanding me,” he interrupted. “I love you, everything about you. You’re so beautiful to me, so perfect. I can’t imagine looking at you any differently.”

His words brought you to tears, not only because they were so loving, but because you hated bothering him with your stupid self-image problems.

In an instant, his arms were around you.

“Why are you crying, babe?” he whispered.

“I just – I can’t – I’m bothering you! And there’s no way I – no way I’ll see myself that way so I don’t know why I’m making you help me!” you cried.

“Babe, you’re not bothering me – I love you – I –” he tried, but you kept crying.

“Y/N, please, calm down. Breathe. Please,” he tried again. You were trying to calm down, but the thoughts wouldn’t stop and you couldn’t fight them. You were just so angry at yourself, for so many reasons, for how fat your thighs were, for how you were bothering the person you loved most.

He held you as you cried, whispering softly in your ear. “Breathe,” was all he said, over and over. You struggled for a while, but finally were able to breathe again, focusing on the feeling of Hitoshi’s arms around you and the sound of his voice so close.

Softly, he spoke again.

“I have an idea. It might be a terrible one, you let me know. But if I can’t get you to think of yourself how I do, maybe I can at least show you how beautiful I think you are… What do you think?”

You were confused. What did he mean “show you”?

“Look at me, Y/N,” he said. You obeyed, eyes meeting his loving gaze. “I love you. Let me show you everything I love about you,” he said, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your lips. You understood what he meant then. It was intriguing, but you weren’t so sure. You didn’t feel exactly confident, not enough to be naked. Definitely not enough to be naked in front of someone, either.  

But the alternative was to wallow in self-hatred and struggle to talk about it. Maybe Hitoshi was right and he could show you something. Maybe he wasn’t. Either way, you knew you’d get an orgasm out of it. He was always sure of that, so you agreed. With that Hitoshi swept you up out of your chair and carried you to the bedroom.

Upon reaching the bedroom, Hitoshi carefully set you on the bed, like you would break if he moved too quickly. He was looking at you with immense adoration, but there was a hesitation there, too. He was in charge when it came to your sex life, and always had the confidence for that. He was never hesitant before, but today was different. He was afraid of scaring you, despite all the wild things you had done in the past. Sex with him was nothing new, but with your insecurities bared, how would you react? He needed to be gentle and move slow, he thought, so you would feel what he was trying to make you understand.

So, after setting you on the bed, he simply bent down to kiss your forehead, his hands coming to rest at the sides of your head. His lips lingered for a long time, as if this one kiss was to set the mood for the night. In a way, it did.

As he pulled away, your eyes met, but instead of talking, he just smiled. You understood he wanted to show you the love he felt for you, not necessarily explain it.

Hitoshi wasn’t one to ask politely for things in the bedroom, but that night he got explicit consent for every action he took. After kissing your forehead, he asked if it was okay to remove your shirt and pants. You paused before responding, but forced yourself to let out a meek, “Yes.”

Immediately after your shirt was off, you crossed your arms over your stomach, as if you could block Hitoshi from seeing your figure. Once your pants were off, you were struggling to breathe, staring at your thighs as if you could slim them down with sight. Hitoshi stood before you for a moment, deciding exactly what to do.

He made his choice quickly, climbing behind you on the bed and pulling you to his chest. Slowly, he unwrapped your arms. He interlaced your hands with his own and set them on your thighs. Your ragged breathing was the only sound until he spoke.

“I love you. All of you. You know that, right?” he whispered in your ear.

You nodded on instinct.

“I don’t think you do know, kitten. Despite what you think about yourself, I love every single part of you. Even the parts you hate,” he said.

The pet name – and the kind words – sent shivers down your spine. The longer you sat in his arms, the easier it was becoming to breathe. His voice was also helping. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

He began to kiss and nip at your neck, sending even more shivers down your back. His warm breath and soft lips were calming, his little bites much gentler than ever before. He was treating you the way he wanted you to treat yourself.

Slowly, he detangled his hands from yours, bringing them up to your clothed breasts. He began kneading softly over your bra, his hands that could be so rough instead caressing you lightly.

As he continued feathering your neck in kisses and marks, he whispered, “I love your hair, the way it frames your face.”

Kiss.

“I love your lips, how soft they are.”

Kiss.

Shinsou was not one to be sappy, so his affectionate words were a nice surprise. All that he was doing was affecting you, in more than one way.

“I really, really love your tits,” he finished with a bite. There was the Hitoshi you knew, and you laughed lightly. You could feel him grin against your skin.

“I’m just telling the truth, babe,” he said. “Now, I’ve got an important question. What part of you should I direct the most attention to? In other words, which part of yourself do... well, which part do you hate the most?”

The question must have hurt him to ask, because his voice faltered and got quieter as he spoke.

You sighed. That was easy. “My thighs,” you whispered, ashamed.

“Damn, one of my favorite parts, really? I love all of you, but your thighs,” he said, hands moving back to your legs, “are especially beautiful.”

You opened your mouth to explain what you saw in them, but he hushed you.

“I don’t want you to focus on what you think is bad. Just focus on what I’m doing and telling you, kitten.”

With that, he moved out from behind you, standing next to you.

“Would it make you more comfortable if I were in my underwear, too?” he asked. It was such a sweet consideration, and your heart immediately warmed. It would be nice to not be the only one exposed, so you nodded.

You couldn’t help but admire him as he stripped, his body so lithe. Looking at how toned he was made you think about how much you weren’t, though, and you grew upset again. Shinsou could tell. As soon as he had stripped, he crawled on top of you, trapping you between his arms. He then caught you in a passionate kiss.

You loved having him on top of you. He was like a comfort blanket. The pressure of his body was a calming weight. His kiss, however, was more exciting than calming. He kept his soft approach as his lips met yours, slow and controlled. It was completely unlike how you two normally kissed, but the fire it ignited within you was the same.

His hands cupped your face as he deepened the kiss, running his tongue along your bottom lip for entrance. His hands came to cup your face. The love you felt was immense. The weight of his body, the warmth of his breath, and the touch of his hands were perfect distractions. His plan was working.

After a while, Hitoshi pulled his lips away from yours, turning instead to your neck again. He kissed and nipped at the skin there a bit before continuing to move down to your breasts. Before placing any kisses there, though, he looked up at you.

“Is this okay, kitten?” he whispered.

It was all too easy for you to smile and nod. With that, he knew what he was doing was right.

He placed his lips on your breasts, using his hands to ease them out of your bra. His kisses and bites remained soft. He wasn’t trying to mark you up this time. He wanted to show you how gentle he could be, in the hopes it would help you. So far, it was working.

As he sucked lightly on your nipple, you were gaining confidence. You were relaxing under him. Slowly, you were beginning to forget your worries. He loved you, and he loved how you looked – right? Why else would he be doing what he was doing?

It wasn’t long before Shinsou asked to remove your bra completely, and you obliged, even taking it off yourself. He could see his actions were having their intended effect, so after a little more time kneading your breasts, he moved on. He languidly kissed down your stomach, but you began to squirm in discomfort. He had been building your confidence, yes, but having him touch the parts of you that you were most sensitive about was still difficult. You began to grow worried as he approached your thighs. Your heart rate and breathing quickened, so he pulled back.

“Are you okay?” he asked, eyes wide with concern.

Despite yourself, you nodded. You needed this, no matter how anxious it made you. You explained this to him.

“Please, continue. I-I may get self-conscious, but so far, it’s working. T-Thank you,” you whispered. You were unable to meet his gaze.

He reached out a hand to your chin to bring your eyes level with his. He smiled, a small but sweet grin that set butterflies aflutter in your stomach.

“There’s no need to thank me, baby. But are you sure this is okay?” he brought his other hand to your thigh to indicate where he was headed next.

Sheepish, you just nodded, crossing your arms in front of you to try and cover up.

He let you stay as you were, comfortable, and returned to his trail of kisses. He passed your navel and a small sigh escaped you. Your insecurities were absolutely screaming inside of you, but his soft lips were calming. His hands had found your hips and were rubbing small circles there. You tried to steady your breathing, and by the time his mouth reached your panty line, you were able to unwrap your arms.

His lips ghosted over your panties, and the butterflies found their way back to your stomach. He moved his mouth over to your thigh, sucking lightly on the supple skin there. One of his hands reached your other thigh, which he began to massage.

“How could anyone love someone with those thighs?” Your thoughts echoed in your mind. As he continued to kiss and touch them, though, you were able to fortify your mind. “This is how,” you thought. You weren’t quite able to call your thighs beautiful, and you weren’t able to stop the thoughts completely, but you were making progress.

As you were making that progress, he was making a mess of your thighs. He was being as soft as he could, but his bites had started to leave marks. Not that you minded. He was making you feel amazing. There was a heat slowly building in your core, and you couldn’t wait to see what he’d do next.

It was then that Hitoshi’s fingers found the hem of your panties.

“Do you mind if I take these off?” he breathed.

“Please do,” you answered, ready for his mouth to be on you.

He chuckled, and the vibration tickled your leg. It sent a shiver through you, and it made even more of your wetness pool in your panties. He’d been between your thighs countless times, but never had you been so ready for him. You couldn’t focus on anything but how much you wanted him.

He could tell his plan was working, and he was successfully distracting you from your insecurities. That wasn’t his only goal, however. He wanted to make you feel beautiful, if, somehow, he could. As he pulled your panties off, he planned to do just that.

With your panties off, he licked a long stripe between your folds, making you shudder. His hands came to your thighs, gently pushing them further apart. He repeated his tongue’s motion a few more times before his lips found your clit. As he sucked, he slowly inserted a finger into your dripping pussy. The sensation sent you reeling.

His finger pumped in and out of you slowly while his mouth encircled your sensitive bud. His other hand gripped your thigh, making you whimper softly. He ate you out like a starved man, all softness forgotten. Your hands found his hair as you searched for an anchor in the sea of pleasure. The sounds of his lips on you combined with your moans to fill the room with sound.

He increased his pace and added another finger, nearly sending you over the edge. It wasn’t long before he had you gasping his name and clenching around his fingers. Your orgasm had you seeing stars, but not only that, it had you feeling amazing. It was even more than just that, though. It had you feeling beautiful.

Shinsou had accomplished his goal. He hadn’t cured you of your insecurities by any means, no, but he had got you out of your mind enough to feel beautiful, at least for a second, and he would do it again, whenever you needed.  

#mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bnha hitoshi #hitoshi shinso x reader #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou smut

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

I Taste Honey but I Haven’t Seen the Hive - Chapter Six

Ao3,   Masterpost,   C.1   C.2   C.3   C.4   C.5

Relationships: eventual queer-platonic intruality. platonic dukeceit, creativitwins, and dlampr.

Yet again there are no italics. its new years eve sue me. oh also happy 2021 nobody question my priorities thanks <3

Warnings: so much softness, implications of self-isolation, swearing, Lots of Feelings, sympathetic everybody, descriptions of the sides having non-human features.

Word Count: 3,962

Something Remus came to realize was that he, a bit paradoxically, was not used to people being in his space.

It was weird. Not weird in the way that people usually felt when he was the one interrupting- he wasn’t scared by it, or disgusted, or even really annoyed. It was just… surprising, to have somebody else hanging around him, unprompted by anything. 

Remus wasn’t known for having boundaries- or respecting them, for that matter- but he’d at least been attempting to restrain himself just a bit after being accepted by the others. Out of courtesy, if nothing else. 

And apparently he didn’t need to. Not after what happened with Patton, anyway. Now that Patton had deemed the two of them ‘close’- something he was absolutely happy to agree with, for the record- Remus’ world had flipped sort of around. Back to no boundaries, only he wasn’t the one crossing those lines, and nobody was running screaming. Least of all Patton!

Remus ran the thoughts over in his head, feeling like that day was shaping up to be a great example of the change:

He and Patton were sitting side-by-side in the living room, content, with the rest of the sides spread around in different seats and configurations just the same. The unlikely pair were at the fringe of the circle, close enough to be part of things but far enough to zone in and out at will (as both were prone to do). It was nice, amiable.

 But minutes before- forty of them at most- Remus had been up in his own room, happily dissecting some gooish creations and only vaguely aware that there was a meeting that day. His attendance to group meetings varied from week to week- sometimes he was bored and could use an argument, and other times he was having fun on his own and knew that it wouldn’t be all that important if he ditched. He joined more often than he used to, sometimes he was even asked for, but he was optional still. A favored option, suggestions taken now, sure- but still not mandatory. 

He was going to stay upstairs for that one, but Patton had come to get him. Had dragged him down in that sweet, puppy-dog way of convincing that worked so well and, knowing him, was totally unintentional. And even if Remus didn’t care about arguing his way through content production right then, Patton had promised that it was important for him to be there.

That was the word he’d used for Remus. Important.

How the hell could Remus say no to that?

At least the meeting was going by without a hitch, for once. He assumed it was- Remus was honestly paying very little attention- but the lack of anger or tension was practically palpable. These things were usually so spiteful that even Remus, renowned lover of chaos, could almost taste his headache when everybody started shouting and hissing and fighting. It just got sad.

But not that time, apparently.

As Logan went on his third ramble of the evening, smiling widely at a surprising lack of interruption, Remus turned to Patton. He whispered:

“Okay, when are they gonna snap? Did they all finally get lobotomized?”

Patton frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean where’s all the screaming and crying? Specs and Prince Priss haven’t had a single one of their horny yelling matches, what gives?”

Patton smiled in a way that said he was trying very hard not to laugh, rolling his eyes.

  “These meetings have calmed down a bit, I guess,” he shrugged.

Remus glanced around the room with narrowed eyes. While that certainly seemed like the truth, he couldn’t buy it. 

“Yeah, I give it until one of them vaguely insults the others,  and then everybody’s gonna shut down for the next week. That kinda tension doesn’t just go.”

Patton didn’t say anything. Half-gazing at the carpet, he didn’t look like he’d even heard. He was smiling, but it was one of those jumbled up expressions, the type that tried to span a hundred different feelings. He had so many expressions like that, that seemed bottomless and swirling and so intricate on a humanoid face that, in reality, wasn’t built to display something like that. It was uncanny- not like an eerie doll, but like something with unearthly beauty. This face, though, had tones of upset.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been around everybody,” Patton said.

It wasn’t a question and it didn’t need to be. While Remus wasn’t exactly known for keeping to himself, he couldn't be called sociable either. He dropped in to say something, usually random, and then he was gone as soon as he’d visited. Even before the first Patton incident, fuck, it had been weeks since he’d actually stuck around through something.

Since The Acceptance, now that Remus thought of it, he’d been spending more time alone than ever. Not all of  his time- he remembered being surprised at Logan talking to him, willingly, like friends, and after that had even come Virgil and Roman. He saw people, talked to them, yeah. The time spent was friendlier, more welcoming, but it was so much less. 

Well, it was obvious why: they visited him, but- like he’d mentioned, he’d been trying to give them some space.

“Sure, it's been awhile,” Remus admitted, “But I never expected shit to change so much around here, still.”

The haze on Patton’s face thickened like fog on the moors, a soft and sympathetic mist over his eyes that Remus knew was aimed at him (even if it was pointed more to a sort of middle distance). 

“I don’t think I did, either,” Patton’s mouth barely moved, his voice less of a whisper and moreso a fragile breath. “I was hoping for it, but… I’m still trying to get used to stuff being allowed to change, you know?” He picked at a loose thread along the seam of the couch. “I haven’t done this stuff in a while, either.” 

Remus’ head shot up, and he almost forgot that they weren’t the only two in the room. Somehow, he stopped himself from shouting:

“You- it has?”

A tiny smile. Something built up behind Patton’s eyes; a wave, dark and lonely and filling his bright blues with cloudy gray. “I just needed some alone time, after everything changed so much so fast. I still feel, I dunno, weird. I don’t know what’s wrong with me- but…” he swallowed, his head lifting. “I’m really happy for them,” he was staring- so very loving- first at Logan, then Roman, then Virgil and Janus. It was a wonder none of them felt his gaze on them, Remus thought, because he was sure if anyone looked at him that way, he’d burn up like a fae upon iron. “They deserve it so much. I know that not everything is perfect still, but, I’m just so proud of us anyways. I- I think maybe-”

He cut himself off, blinking rapidly. Remus gave the room a quick once over to make sure nobody was looking their way- and nobody was: Virgil was very resolutely trying to get everyone to stay on topic despite Janus and Logan’s continued tangenting, and Roman was scribing furiously on several different pieces of paper- before he inched close enough to curve his arm around Patton. Touching like that had steadily become familiar to both of them, and it didn’t take long for Patton to fall untense against his side. He leaned into him, muttering: “I mean, they’re all doing a lot better than me, that’s for sure. I- I don’t even know what I’m for anymore. Maybe that’s why I’ve been… ditching, really.”

Remus squeezed his shoulder. There were so many things he could’ve said and done, but all of them loud and fervent and definitely not subtle enough to go unnoticed by everyone. So, for the sake of Patton’s privacy, he settled on this:

“That makes two of us, Morey.”

 The meeting that was planned to take two or three hours took the entire day, just as always. Hours and hours were spent in a room filled with excited conversation, of which the subject oscillated wildly between relevant topics and complete nonsense- which Remus and Patton did, eventually, tune back into (and contribute to as well, mainly in the nonsense department). Eventually, even Virgil gave up on trying to keep anything in order. 

But the meeting ended on a good note anyway. Lots of good notes, actually, if the stacks upon stacks of paper they’d scribbled up were any indication. Mess, the sides had come to believe, was usually a measure of their productivity: if crumpled pages were strayed across the room, if forgotten pens and pencils balanced on every surface from coffee table to TV stand, and if- in the process of snacking- they’d accumulated enough dishes to fill the sink for days on end? Shit. Got. Done.

Remus stared over the chaos with unfocused eyes. He felt distantly proud of the stormish state the living room was in. Draped over the back of the sectional, he gnawed idly on a wood pencil, stripping its yellow into beige. The paint fell off in bitter chunks, and the taste made him think of grabbing some non-acrylic dinner before closing the night off. Maybe he’d steal some of whatever saccharine sweet Patton usually made in the late evenings, and then spend the rest of the night with him, anyway. Remus debated what would be the most fun (or if he was tired enough to sleep yet), partially aware as he did so that he’d chewed and swallowed the metal-eraser end of his pencil.

“Ugh,” a drawn out groan broke his thoughts, petulant and whiny. “Do you have any intention of helping us clean up this, the common area?” 

Roman was kneeling beside Janus on the carpet, the pair surrounded by papers and binders and trashbags, the former of which they were sorting into either of the latter two, depending on how useful each page was. Roman had stopped working, however, to stare up at Remus indignantly. Remus glared right back.

“I’ve never had an intention in my life,” he answered.

Janus shrugged, smiling in that I-told-you-so way at Roman. But Roman, ever the nuisance, wasn’t letting it go. 

“Come on! It’s not like you’re even doing anything!”

“I’m doing something,” Remus’ words were wide and wobbly as he stripped another line of paint off the pencil, breaking some splinters off into his teeth.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes,” another chunk of wood, down the hatch. “I’m flaying all these leftover pencils until they’re lead-sticks.”

Roman hopped up from the floor and dropped himself onto the couch, shoving himself into the way so jarringly that it reminded Remus of himself. 

“Well, now you’re going to help us clean.” 

Janus rolled his eyes, not even glancing up. “Roman, just leave it alone, we-”

“We are all parts of this whole now, including him! Remus-” Roman rounded on him again, “If you’re going to come down here and help us make all this mess, with all of your numerous contributions that we have to write down, you’ll help clean it like anybody else. Do you think that I like any of- of-” he gestured, flamboyantly, at the room, “This? Ugh, please, I’m a prince! But, fair is fair, and fair means everybody.” 

And that was the point of the conversation in which Remus would cackle, push Roman backwards off the couch, and proclaim how much it’d go against his very being to clean a mess instead of cause it. He’d tell Roman how funny it was that he thought he could boss him around, because it always had been- that full-of-it Older Brother kind of attitude that had never worked. The Prince had never once managed to get him to do anything, and each attempt only got funnier than the last. 

He didn’t say any of that, though. 

Roman was bitching at him, not to go away this time, but to stay. Stay and help the group, because he was a part of said group. So he was asked to help them, the group that he was a part of, because he was part of it. That group. 

“Okay,” he blurted, “Okay, I’ll- alright.”

Roman blinked at him, a look of disbelief spreading across his face. “You- oh!” he smiled, utterly baffled. “That was- very easy?”

Janus, too, was looking up at Remus with bewilderment, his task of paper-sorting all but forgotten. Remus couldn’t blame either of them, but he still huffed, trying very hard not to be embarrassed by that whole… moment.

He shook it off, rolling off the couch and standing up, jittery. 

“Whatever, just- tell me what to pick up, okay?” 

They seemed not to hear him, the gawking continuing on until he started working unprompted, and longer than that still. Each time he (begrudgingly) shoved something into a trashbag, it earned him another Exchange of Glances from the pair. 

They got over it eventually, though, because there was a fuck-load more to clean than there was room to stare. So they cleaned.

Remus thought it would get old after a minute, and he’d finally gather up the guts to bail on them, but it just… never happened. It felt unnatural to be getting rid of a mess- like an animal having its fur brushed the wrong way, continuously- but by some point the sensation was distant. The rest of him was still busy processing, experiencing, maybe possibly overthinking this kind of recognition he’d never gotten before. It was handed to him now like it was something normal. The three of them worked together, and it was normal. 

Acceptance, as it turned out, wasn’t synonymous with ‘soulless assimilation’. In fact, it was pretty fucking great, getting to watch his brother and best friend find documents from the floor with his ideas on them, then tucking them into a binder marked important, instead of a trashcan marked to burn. It was… surreal. 

But the tidying was over in just an hour and a half- oh wow, never in a million years would Remus have thought an hour and a half of cleaning would be too little for him. He made a note to absolutely destroy something big and important later, to balance the universe out again. 

Roman sank through the floor as soon as they were done, complaining loudly about how very exhausted he was. Remus teased him on his way out, but it was just for the habit- he was way too mushy to think of anything properly mean at the moment. 

Janus watched him go, silent. He sat beside Remus on the couch, and despite his obvious tiredness, he waited a good few minutes before saying anything. 

“Thank you,” he murmured. 

Remus shivered. Janus pulled him up into a hug (one that maybe dragged on for a little too long, but who was counting?), and it spelled out all the pride and care that he’d never been good at verbalizing. With that, he gave Remus a short nod, and then was gone as well. 

Which made everyone else upstairs, probably in their rooms and halfway asleep. Then there was Remus, antsy in the living room, itchy with feelings. 

Everyone but Patton, of course, who could still be heard humming in the kitchen; who never went up until he knew everyone else was in their rooms, true to the protective parent persona. Remus suddenly didn’t think he wanted anything else but to see Patton after what had happened, to talk to him, to… 

He walked to the kitchen.

“Pat.”

Patton looked over his shoulder at Remus, up to his elbow in sudsy sink water. A smile fell naturally across his face.

“Hi,” his voice was low, delicate. “You about to head up?”

Remus watched his friend work, trailing into the room slowly.  He grinned, “Are you kidding? I could stay up all night, if I wanted.”

“Do you want to?” Patton asked him.

Remus thought on it for a moment. He shrugged, iunno, leaned against the counter by the sink. Patton turned away again.

It was so quiet. No wind. No footsteps. Not a muffled voice upstairs, even- just the sound of water and ceramic hitting ceramic. Everything was still.

Remus hated it. Silence was fragile, and he crawled with the need to break it. He felt it get tense as it stretched out, and he just wanted to tear the air apart with sound. It felt like nothing mattered anymore, when peace was so easily able to drown it all out. Cold and alone. He hated it.

Sometimes, Remus imagined that if the silence went too long, he’d never be able to make a noise again. There were few things that made him so unhappy, but the quiet… 

“What’s on your mind?” Patton asked.

Remus jolted. Patton was staring, concern gathering in his eyes the longer he did. Remus took a deep breath- he remembered something, something small and unimportant that Janus had told him once. 

When one is so intensely happy, they can fall to agonizing upset even quicker than if they’d been mildly perturbed in the first place, because of the ferocity of the feelings. Something like that. 

“A lot more than I’m willing to throw on your shoulders, Pops.”

Patton pouted. Actually. Fucken. Pouted. The worst part was, his puppy-face was actually working.

“Ugh,” Remus rolled his eyes, “Just- could I- I dunno, have a hug, or some shit?”

If Patton was surprised, he hid it well. God knew, that wasn’t exactly the kind of thing Remus would ask for. He almost never asked to get attention- taking it was much easier, and much more entertaining. Besides, if he’d ever asked before that point… well, he already knew what answer he would’ve gotten. 

Patton’s smile only widened, until it was positively melting. “Of course you can,” he shut the sink off. “Of course.”

He reached haphazardly for a hand towel, to dry his arms. Remus, riding the high of that enthusiastic permission, absolutely could not wait that long. He latched his arms around Patton’s middle before the side had even finished talking, burying his face between his shoulder blades and hugging tight. 

Patton went still, like he didn’t know what to do. After it became clear that Remus had no intention to move, Patton laughed, dreamy and soft, and shook his hands as dry as he could. He patted Remus’ forearm; bead-bracelets clattered under the Duke’s sleeves. 

“Hey,” Patton said.

“Mmh?”

“Not that this isn’t lovely,” he laced his fingers with Remus’, squeezed them, “But I’d like it better if I could hug you back, ya know?”

Remus let go, reluctantly. In the true fashion of intrusive thoughts, there was a second he was so convinced Patton would run, now that he was freed. Make an escape from him, an escape from his claws.

He didn’t. He spun right around and pulled Remus against his chest- one arm linked around his torso, the other winding into his tangled hair. Anyone, at a glance, could see that Patton was huge- but up close the difference was dizzying: his wide chest, encircling arms that seemed to be made of nothing but muscle and padding, and that height, all made him so… comforting. Big and strong, a body that disguised power in soft edges and fat. If he squeezed just a little too tight, in fact, Remus wouldn’t be surprised if Patton could make splinters out of his bones. Which Remus definitely, definitely wouldn’t mind, but the knowledge that Patton not only could do that but also wouldn’t ever do that- that was what really did him in. 

And he’d hugged Patton before- months ago, and somehow Patton had seemed so small then, when everything had started- but being hugged? Properly, too, not underwater while one of them was drowning- it was a world of difference. No panic, no breakdowns, just a real, solid hug.

He could just ask for this and then have it. He could smell sugar cookies and candle wax, and feel somebody- a willing body- pressing in. It was weird. He thought that someday, he might get used to it. He wanted a chance to get used to it. 

“Do you wanna talk now?” Patton prompted, forcibly reminding Remus that he had a bloodhound’s nose for emotional distress. 

“I don’t know.”

Patton hummed, his fingers scratching through Remus’ hair. “Today went better than I thought it would.”

“You didn’t have to bring me, if you thought it was gonna be bad.”

“I wasn’t worried because of you! I was worried because of me. Things have been… a lot for me, lately.”

“Oh,” Remus angled his head to the side, looking up at him. “Yeah. I feel ya.”

“But they were all so much more patient, weren’t they,” Patton’s eyes went a little misty, the way they always did when he talked about his family. “Everything’s different now, and I guess that scared me, but I think that now… it’s a good different, you know?” 

“Like us, right?” Remus laughed, “This is the craziest difference, if ya think about it.”

Patton chuckled, the sound reverberating in his chest so that Remus felt it more than heard it. 

“I don’t think I would’ve gotten through with today without you, you know that?” 

It was deeply honest. There was a beat. 

“I-” Oh fuck, Remus was choked up, when did that happen? “I wouldn’t have even had a day like today, without you, so. Do with that what you want.” 

Remus buried his face in Patton’s sternum, just to avoid the sad understanding in his eyes. 

He- he wasn’t exactly made for the care he was getting, not the kind of softness in that face. Not when Patton was still patiently untangling his matt of hair while they hovered in the stillness of the dark, empty kitchen, and Remus desperately didn’t want to cry. 

Patton gave him a minute to breathe, at the very least, before:

“They like you, though. Janus loves you.”

“Yeah, okay, but it’s not-”

“I know how you feel,” said Patton, and did. “Like they couldn’t actually care about us, even though it doesn’t make sense for them not to. It’s one of those things that’s easy to forget,” Remus could hear the smile in his voice. “So it’s good we have each other, when we need to get out of our own heads. At least, it’s like that for me, I don’t know if you even-”

“No,” Remus curled his claws in the back of Patton’s shirt, something dark and emotional flooding like tar through his chest. “Nah, you’re right, Morey. This is good for us.” 

Remus shook his head at nothing in particular. He forced his hands unballed, pulled back, and wormed his way out of Patton’s hug after way too long. 

His skin felt like paper from the affection, like he’d been electrocuted, and while that was fun- was amazing- for a while, he didn’t think he could handle much more in one sitting. 

Patton let him go, smiling warmly, leaning back against the counter. His eyes were shiny and wet, but he was content. 

“Thanks,” Remus said.

“What for? The hug?”

“No- I mean, that too, but I was saying ‘thanks, for caring’. For giving enough of a shit about me to try and help.”

Patton smiled, solemnly.

“I told you so,” he breathed, “I promised I would like you when I got to know you, and then I did. I do!” 

Remus felt a grin returning to his face, sliding across his lips more naturally than anything else he’d had to deal with that night.

“Yeah. You aren’t too bad yourself, Pat.”

Chapter Seven

Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls  @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob 

#sanders sides #ts #fanfiction #fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #intruality #qpr intruality #platonic intruality #remus #patton