#(within the bounds of his character and country of origin of course)

[mini-uzzy]

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[alovelywaytospendanevening]

It​ is not a coincidence that in the last two decades of the 19th century, as the invert case study put gay lives into print for the first time, we begin to see the first novels that, rather than including gay characters within Zola-style social narratives, are instead about homosexuality, or, more accurately, about the condition of being a homosexual. There weren’t very many of these books, and most are long forgotten. But already, as Graham Robb observed in Strangers, his study of homosexuality in the 19th century, the trope of the ‘gay tragic ending’ was in evidence: ‘In twelve European and American novels (1875-1901) in which the main character is depicted, often sympathetically, as an adult homosexual man, six die (disease, unrequited love and three suicides), two are murdered, one goes mad, one is cured by marriage and two end happily (one after six months in prison and emigration to the US).’ As Robb says, it cannot only be that authors felt they had to inflict punishment on their characters, as a way of redeeming their text in the eyes of the censor. The tragic death was a strategy: by showing a doom to which gay men were fated, they were arguing against the society that made it inevitable. The case study underlies the major tradition of gay writing that developed after 1945 and that persists to the present day, the often melancholic or tragic novels of individual struggle, of childhood and adolescent experience, of attempted repression, of searching, of sexual experiment and release: from Gore Vidal’s The City and the Pillar to James Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room, to Edmund White’s A Boy’s Own Story to Annie Proulx’s ‘Brokeback Mountain’ to Garth Greenwell’s What Belongs to You to Édouard Louis’s The End of Eddy to Alice Oseman’s Heartstopper. Those novels that largely or entirely concern themselves with gay male characters – such as Alan Hollinghurst’s The Swimming-Pool Library, which has no women in it – also have a relationship to the case study, which, especially once it concerns the subject’s adulthood, essentially limits itself to describing his interactions with men of his own kind. The requirement to lift our sights – to see gay lives as they interact with, to use Zola’s words, family, nation, humanity – is especially pressing if we are dealing with the past, when society was culturally and legally premised on heterosexuality to an extent no longer possible here (though still the case in many non-Western countries). To write about gay men in Britain in the 19th century, for example, should be to write about them as sons, brothers, friends, lovers, husbands, fathers, grandparents, members of a social class, employees, employers, thinkers, readers, politicians, imperialists and so on; as part of the world, not as apart from it. To return to Forster’s definitions, this would be to take gay men out of story and put them into plot; to turn them from ‘flat’ characters, with one dominating trait, into ‘round’ ones. This does not mean that we should minimise sexuality – rather, we would see its significance more clearly, as it disrupts, or perhaps doesn’t, in all areas of life; in so doing, we would see the society more clearly also. The same can be done in novels about the present: to live up to the full ambition of the idea of ‘queering’ – as disruption – we need to see a queer individual in the full spectrum of their relationships with people, places, institutions. To keep our exploration within the bounds of identity is to conspire in our own limitation. Full article: "Balzac didn't dare: Tom Crewe on the origins of the gay novel" [London Review of Books]

A rather thought-provoking article! The assertion about contemporary gay literature (the whole gay-related media, actually) still being centered on homosexuality itself is very true, and it's something I consider a crucial matter. And, of course, this also makes you raise questions over isolationist movements inside the LGBT+ community.

[leebrontide]

Secondhand Origin Stories, Chapter 2

Here is this week's FREE chapter of Secondhand Origin Stories! This post is scheduled to go up on my birthday! Reblogs count as birthday presents!

For those of you just joining us, I'm posting a chapter a week of my free near future scifi/low neon cyberpunk YA/NA novel, which has been described as

"-a character driven, compelling story full of family, queerness, corruption, brain altering nanites, secretly teen parenting AIs, and taking aspects of the superhero genre to their very human and rarely-explored natural conclusions."

For content warnings and more, check here:

You can follow along by following #SHOSweekly

Chapter 2

Issac recognized Solomon’s brother instantly. He wasn’t on news streams often, but he was vaguely connected to the family, so Issac had gone out of his way to know what he looked like. He surfaced now and then to address some altered-related event that had people’s undies in a bunch. He was age-stable, like Solomon and Dad, but managed to radiate a certain old-man paternalism despite his unfortunate baby-face. Issac was surprised to see that the guy was barely over two meters-- Solomon and Yael both dwarfed him.

Everybody cut off their ranting mid-sentence, conspicuously silent in front of the interloper. Bridgewater tilted his eyebrows just the tiniest bit to let them know he’d noticed it.

Secretary Nodiah Bridgewater was as physically powerful as anyone in this building, but he was dressed to show off his power in Mom’s world-- the world of money, investments, and political capital. He wore an old-fashioned blue three-piece linen suit, and shoes as high quality as any Issac's dad owned. They clicked deliberately as he stepped off the elevator. 

The semi-familiar stranger had chestnut brown hair and reddish brown eyes. It was as if the cultist wackos that had originally assembled the genes for the seven “Holy Kings” of the Heavenly Rule line had specifically not wanted any of them to look too matchy-matchy, and made them look as different as a bunch of burly over-two-meters-tall white people could look within the bounds of conventional aesthetics. 

Bridgewater made up for his youthful features with an army-straight back and a dour expression that suggested Issac's whole family were the damn kids that wouldn’t get off his lawn. The jackass was only 36, same as Solomon. 

He surveyed the room quickly, the way Issac had learned to expect from superheroes, sweeping through to identify relevant details. The hairs on the back of Issac's neck stood on end as Bridgewater's gaze lingered on him. 

Crap. 

Martin was never going to let him hear the end of this.

Mom sliced through the dense silence with clipped words. “Secretary Bridgewater. Pleased as ever to see you. May I ask why you felt it was appropriate to show up at our home with fifteen minutes’ warning on a Tuesday morning? I'm fairly sure you know I have a career outside financing the team."

Dad crossed his arms over his chest and loomed politely. Solomon didn’t move a hair, frozen, staring solemnly at Bridgewater. Behind them, Drew halfheartedly suppressed a cringe, but backed Dad up anyway.

Nodiah’s voice was a smooth baritone, with the casual sureness of somebody who’d gotten used to expecting obedience. "Well, then it's lucky I wasn't coming to discuss the team. I assumed that when the subject was your son, you would find the time." 

Fuck.

Dad cut in with his LodeStar: Leader of the Sentinels voice, “Is there a threat?" Oh, this was going to go badly. Issac felt his hands start to sweat and his face go red.

Nodiah seemed just as happy to focus on Dad. Which let Issac breathe a little. "Yes. A dire one. I've been getting reports all morning, from universities all over the country, regarding the development of nanotechnology that has the power to alter and reprogram human brain tissue in living subjects. Which, of course, would be considered altering technology. Being developed on US soil, without an ethics committee or bureau’s oversight.” 

Oh, what a load of barely accurate crap!

Drew stepped forward. “Issac’s a target?”

Nodiah's tone didn’t falter. “He’s the developer.”

All eyes were immediately glued to Issac, of course. Yael winced and bit xyr lip. Jamie flinched, but looked mostly exasperated. They both knew a little bit about his secret pet project. 

He braced for yelling. For reprimands. He readied his counter-arguments-- he had loads. He believed in what he was building. He wouldn’t have sent it out into the world, even partially completed, if he didn’t. And it’s not as if he was publishing blueprints!

All the arguments he might have given died in his throat as he actually registered the expressions on the adults around him. Nodiah was impassive, but he was the only one. 

The rest all held varying levels of sharp concern, and under that-- fear. Dad in particular had gone bone-white. Issac had maybe three other memories of him looking like that, and they all involved gunfire.

Drew looked like he was pretending not to be bothered by a punch in the gut. Mom had turned utterly unreadable, the way she did when she’d rather be caught hiding something than let out whatever was going on internally. Solomon, though, had one hand tight around Yael’s arm, and looked like he was preparing to take his brother down right here in their courtyard. 

Ice cold anxiety peaked in an instant, then plunged away, leaving him irate. Words were the only defense he personally had at his command. 

He opened his mouth, but Dad cut him off. “Look, Bridgewater. This is... it's not like he's been using human testing. Whatever he’s been designing, he’s just a kid.” He sounded…humble. Issac couldn’t remember ever hearing a tone like that before from his dad. Nobody had ever humbled LodeStar. 

"He's of the age of majority in eighteen days, according to my records.” Bridgewater looked at Issac again, and Issac had to forcefully remind himself that Nodiah was here as a government official. He wasn’t going to attack Issac.

He raised his chin and looked Nodiah Bridgewater right in those calculating eyes. “It’s a medical treatment I’ve been working on.” He sounded defensive, but he didn’t care. He forced himself to recalibrate, trying to borrow a little of the charm his parents had lost track of this morning. “They’re just prototypes--”

Drew raised his voice enough to talk over Issac. “Look, do you want to talk or do you want to stand in the courtyard?”

Issac turned to glare at Drew. Mom caught his eyes with hers, and shook her head, silently forbidding him from responding. Issac looked back at her questioningly, missing the chance to try and find some kind of expression on Bridgewater as he answered, “I think that would be for the best.”

Issac barely suppressed a frustrated growl, and ran his fingers through his still soggy hair, but he headed towards his front door. Dad’s hand landed on the center of his chest. “Not you. We’ll call for you if anyone wants to talk to you.”

Issac's reply burst out louder than he meant, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “What?!” 

Mom backed him up immediately. “You heard him.”

Issac boiled over. “Oh come on! You are all completely over-reacting! This is progress.”

Mom’s jaw set in at an unforgiving angle. “Issac Tillman-Voss. Do not test me on this. You will stay out of sight unless you are called.”

Issac gestured at Bridgewater without looking at him. “I don’t see why some government blowhard should get in the way of--”

“Issac,”  Jamie hissed so quietly he almost missed it. He bit the inside of his cheek and tried to be content with glaring as hard as he could at his parents. He couldn’t quite work up the nerve to glare at Bridgewater.

Mom’s voice smoothed out considerably, but was starched stiff with formality. “Right this way, Secretary.”

The rest followed. Drew passed him with a quick, commiserating little squeeze to Issac's arm. Yael made a step towards Bridgewater, but Solomon jerked xyr arm back. Xe stopped, looking hurt and confused. He gave xyr a warning look, then let xyr arm go and joined the others. Jamie watched them go with her shoulders curled inward and her arms wrapped tight around her midsection. Issac really hoped she wasn’t going to puke. That was all he needed to deal with today. Plus, if she did, he was pretty sure his stomach would follow suit.

The front door of his own home closed with a quiet but pointed click. Issac and Yael stared at it. Jamie sighed, and looked at Issac with a resigned sort of disappointment.  He grimaced at her, and turned on his heel, heading to Jenna’s supposedly empty apartment. 

Jamie hissed at him again. “Issac. Issac, you know that’s locked. It’s always--”

Martin let him in without a word.

* * *

Jamie slammed the door, letting it make the bang their parents were expecting, hoping nobody noticed it was coming from the wrong doorway. She turned to stare at her brother. She kept her voice low, even though Jenna’s apartment itself was a dead zone for the internal security systems. “You hacked the tower security? When?”

This would be a devastatingly bad piece of information for Yale’s uncle to find out. Jenna built the MARTIN system. It was supposed to be the best.

Issac glanced back at her, barely more than a rough shape against the windows of the east-facing apartment. “Don’t freak out.”

Jamie found a light switch, which she hadn’t had to do in years, and flicked it on. 

Jenna’s living room was frozen in time-- as if a museum was doing a retrospective piece on the private lives of the Sentinels, and doing an eerily good job. The air filtration systems took care of the dust, and everything was exactly where it’d been left-- down to the dishes sitting in the drying rack and the magazines shoved under the navy blue corduroy couch, pages peeking out at the edges. The coffee table was still broken in half, and half the tiles in the kitchen had been pried up off the floor and stacked in a neat pile. Just like the last time she’d seen this room, nearly three years ago. A shiver went up her spine. She’d given up on thinking about this apartment, and about Jenna being gone. It was over. There was nothing she or anyone could do. And it hurt.

There was one change-- a brand new micro-fabrication unit sitting on the dining table, along with old-fashioned paper schematics and a stack of petri dishes. It had scratched Jenna’s table.

“Don’t freak out,” she repeated dully. “You just admitted to building prototype altering technology, in secret, and then started talking like a cartoon mad scientist in front of the head of the Altered Persons Bureau, whose Chicago office we live on top of. And when he comes in here to collect your stuff, he might find out that you’ve hacked one of the world’s top security systems to have a secret lab inside one of the most protected buildings in the US. And you have prototypes? Since when?”

Yael flopped down on the couch, and Jamie squashed down the urge to shout at xyr not to. You weren’t supposed to sit on a museum display.  Yael was looking around the room with  uncertainty, not looking at either of them as xe spoke. “Seriously, Issac. You, of all people.”

Issac threw them both a quick sneer to signal incoming sarcasm. “Oh yeah. Supervillainy. That’s exactly like medical technology I built to help people recover from, oh, say, brain injuries or nerve damage. I’m so evil.”

Yael frowned at him. “Don’t be glib. Did you two see Papa’s reaction? Wanting to hide Issac I get. He was the one violating international laws, and he’s only got one shoe on. But why would Papa hide me from my own uncle?”

Issac sat abruptly at the dining table. “Right? I’m not the one being weird. They’re the ones being weird.”

Jamie stayed standing, uncomfortable to be walking through a 3-D memory the way her siblings were. “I wish I knew what they were saying.” She glared at the carpet. “They’re talking about us! We have actual confirmation of that. We should get to know what they’re saying.”

Issac flicked a balled-up scrap of paper at her, missing completely. “They’re talking about me and maybe Yael. Not you, pipsqueak.”

She huffed. “Well, it’s still got to do with me!” Didn’t solidarity mean anything to them? Stupid useless older siblings.

Issac made a vague, unconvinced sort of sound, looking at his tech. Not actually rounding it up or anything, just sulking at it. Jamie looked at Yael, who was looking at the opposite wall, engrossed in xyr own little world. 

Issac could build brain-altering nanites and could hack the MARTIN system. Yael was only a few months away from being a Sentinel. And their parents didn’t think they could sit in on a conversation. OK, yes, Issac had been making a mess of it, but maybe if they were actually allowed to speak for themselves sometimes--

Her reasoning caught up with her internal ranting. Issac could hack MARTIN. Jenna had destroyed all of the MARTIN scanners in her own apartment, but Jamie’s home was littered with them. She kept her voice low so the sensors in the hallway wouldn’t overhear her. “Just get us the feed on your phone! Then we’ll know what they’re saying! You can do that, right?”

Yael sat bolt upright. “Can you?”

He blinked vacantly at them, the way he did when he was caught completely off-guard by a question and had to reboot. “…No.” Jamie drooped in disappointment. “Not unless you have a sensor completely unconnected to MARTIN stashed in the living room.”

Jamie perked up again. “I left my guitar in the living room. It still has the recorder you made me in it. Would that work?” He’d made it for her himself, for her birthday two years ago, so she could record her practices to replay later and work on her picking.

“That old Z-wave thing? You still have that thing?” he asked condescendingly. She’d been caught with something obsolete. Their family wasn’t big on keeping things once they were obsolete. 

Yael’s condescension was even more overt. “You know damn well she does.” Xe stood, joining them. “And I know you already have a feed from it going into your account. Good thinking, Jamie.”

Jamie’s head snapped up at Issac. “You have a feed from my guitar to your account? You-- you bugged my room?” Why? Why would anyone bother? Jamie was so boring-- but she felt her face flush anyways.

Her mouth hung open in shock as he made a distracted noise of agreement, then frowned at his phone as he tapped away at it. “But MARTIN is jamming the damn feed. Tch. Typical. Always sides with them at the worst possible--”

“Issac!” She tried to get his attention, but he stayed oblivious. Did she have any allies at all?

He looked right over her head at Yael. “Bet I can get around it.”

Yael nodded. “Well, hurry up if you’re going to do it. God knows what we’re missing.”

“Yael!” Jamie tried, almost wincing at the high and dangerously close to whining note in her voice. Ugh, she hated her high-pitched voice. “You knew!”

Yael at least had the good grace to give a genuine apologetic smile. “I told him he should tell you! But it really does only send the music to his account. I made him show me, I promise. No voices or anything.” It might have been flattering if he’d actually asked her. 

“Ha!” Issac punched the air. “Sucks to be you, MARTIN! That’ll teach you to keep me in the dark.” He grinned triumphantly at them, as if he hadn't just admitted his third or fourth act of treason today. One of them against Jamie specifically. “I got the sensors off. We could walk up and sit right outside the door if we wanted.”

Yael raised an eyebrow. “Almost all of them would hear that.” Xe paused, then startled. “Wait-- you turned off all the sensors? On the whole building?”

There was Issac’s vacant look again. “…Yes.” 

OK, maybe she could understand them not wanting Issac to speak for himself, a little bit. “Well, we’re all grounded for the next decade.”

Yael put a massive hand on her shoulder. “Not you. You didn’t do anything. Issac is the one dumb enough to do something like this with my uncle here. And I’m the one who probably should have stopped him.”

Jamie brushed the hand off. “It was my idea. Issac can’t plan his way out of a paper bag.” She straightened up. “And I’ll tell them so. I mean, I’ll tell them it was my idea.” She’d tried to take a stand earlier and been ignored. Maybe this would get her point across.

Issac shrugged easily. “Like Bridgewater said, I’m eighteen in eighteen days. After that, they can’t legally hold me against my will. No more being grounded.”

Jamie looked at him dubiously. “You completely missed his point.”

“I did not. Look, he’s not going to arrest me. This is Nobel prize stuff, here!” 

Jamie rolled her eyes. 

“It is! This will revolutionize neurology, endocrinology--”

“I know, I know. And I get why you’re making it.” Especially in this eerie diorama of a reminder. How could he stand to work in here? “But it’s still kinda creepy for someone who doesn’t know you. Especially since, apparently, you have actual prototypes now.”

“We could invite Nodiah to stay for dinner, get to know him,” Yael suggested dryly. Then, a little more warmly. “A little family re--” Xe cut off, squinting out the window. “What’s that?”

Jamie turned, and squinted in the same direction, but didn’t see anything but a particular swath of skyline she hadn’t seen in years. Jenna had been the one with the clearest view of Lake Michigan.

Issac followed suit. “Huh?” He leaned, then walked over towards the window. 

Now Jamie saw it-- a black smudge, moving right at their height. Too low to be a commercial plane, too high to be much of anything else. Yael moved one arm in front of Jamie to block her from following Issac's example. “I think it’s unmarked.” 

The smudge was growing. Yael sounded nervous. “Issac, come back over there.”

He took a step back from the window, tension starting to build in his shoulders. “I’ll just…turn the sensors back on quick.”

“Now, please,” Jamie agreed.

But Issac pulled his phone out of his pocket right where he was standing, and started dinking around on it. The smudge was a lot closer now. Yael took another step away from the window, pushing Jamie further back.  Even she could see now that it was a jet-- something old she didn’t recognize. Her voice was a little unsteady. “Hey. Issac. Come on.”

He registered her tone of voice and looked up at her.

The jet was close enough now to see the shape of a pilot through the glass. She wanted to run, get away, but Issac still wasn’t moving. 

Jamie ducked under Yael's arm, started to rush towards Issac-- wanting to pull him back. She didn’t even make it two steps before the image in the glass blurred suddenly, and the entire bank of windows shattered inward.

* * *

Opal heard the crying before she made it up the front steps of the house. She bolted the last few steps, letting the door slam against its hinges and almost running Shani over.

Her little sister froze up at the sudden rush, staring at Opal with huge frightened eyes and a wash of muted lavender light flickering from her hairline down, brighter than Opal’s because of her lighter skin. The fear only lasted a split second before recognition hit. Her shoulders slumped in relief. “Opi!” She put pudgy little hands on Opal’s ribs, steering her towards the stairs. “Fix it!”

Opal stopped, turning back so Shani could read her lips. “What happened?”

Opal had grown up with ASL as much as English. Her own hearing was annoyingly sharp, but Daddy’s implant had never been that good, and Mom had learned it as a kid for Auntie. But even though Opal was fluent, she couldn’t follow the furious, emphatic flurry of motions Shani ran through. Shani had no super-strength, but she was far faster than most people, and whatever had happened upset her enough to make her forget to sign slowly enough to be understood. 

Opal motioned her to slow down, but then Shani just stopped, chest heaving. She treated Opal to a slightly tearful glare, and pointed sharply up the stairs, where Opal could still hear the uneven, hitched breathing of either Mom or Aunt Tess. 

She nodded her agreement, and Shani nodded back, relieved again, before turning to trot out the door and down the front steps. Opal paused long enough to see Shani sit down on the broken concrete steps; away from whatever was happening, but easy to find if anyone needed to.

Opal made her way up the rest of the stairs. Nobody would be bleeding, anyway. Not if that was Shani’s reaction. 

Mom was sitting on their couch, still in her scrubs, her eyes reddened by more than the exhaustion of the shift she’d just be coming off from. Mom didn’t have superpowers, and where Opal was “built like a brick shit-house,” as Grandpa used to say, Mom was all soft curves. She had skin the color of a found penny, just light enough to be a little blotchy from crying. 

She was leaning against Aunt Tessa, whose eyes were a little pinked but whose even lighter complexion wasn’t puffed from any crying. She was frowning furiously, the hand not holding onto Mom’s hand in a tight fist on her thigh. They were both facing the TV, the sound off and closed captioning on.

On the screen were two serious-faced newscasters in front of an image of a jet hovering far too close to an exploding skyscraper. She could just make out the stationary caption behind the closed captioning. It read “Mystery Jet Attacks Sentinel Plaza: Chicago”. The closed captioning was flashing by-- rife with homonym errors from the cheap voice recognition software they used-- saying something about a mysterious “sonic weapon.” 

Opal crossed to the room in a daze and sat down on the couch. Mom put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close, and Opal went, resting her head on Mom’s shoulder. 

They watched silently for a few minutes. Opal was sure her mom was thinking about what would have happened if Opal had left a week ago, when school let out.  She squeezed Opal tight when the news anchor said that LodeStar’s son had been in the explosion. The camera zoomed in on a small figure falling out of the shower of broken glass and debris.

Mom stood suddenly. “Mm-mm. Nope. That’s enough for me. That is enough of airplanes and skyscrapers.” She shook her head, looking away from the TV. “Opal, come help me with the dishes.”

Opal leaned to the side, looking around her mom. “It says LodeStar caught him. He’s in the hospital, but--“

“Opal,” Mom interrupted.

Opal didn’t sigh out loud. She just stood up. Aunt Tessa leaned the other way. “Well at least get out of the way so I can see, Emmy. Your butt’s blocking the captioning.”

Mom glared at Aunt Tessa, but took a step to the side. Aunt Tessa glanced at her. “You oughtta let her stay in here. This is superhero stuff.”

“She knows what she’s getting into,” Mom snapped in answer. “That doesn’t mean I need to look at it.”

Auntie sighed, settling back. “You better not tell her she can’t go.”

“Shut up, Tess,” Mom sniped before storming off to the kitchen. Opal followed, only letting herself drag her feet a little as Mom attacked the dishes. She wedged herself in by the sink before mom handed off the first pan to dry.

She let a few dishes pass in silence, thinking. Sentinel Plaza, attacked. 

She’d planned to buy Greyhound tickets to Chicago tonight.

She glanced out of the corner of her eye at Mom. Mom sniffled, glaring down at some ground beef sticking to the plate. “Mom--”

“How’s your daddy?”

“He’s fine.”

“He’ll be less fine once he hears about this.”

Opal hadn’t even been thinking about that. She chewed her lip a second, then put another plate away. “I feel bad for them. With LodeStar's kid being hurt.”

Mom shivered a little. “I can’t remember his name, but he’d be about your same age, I remember that. Just a little bit younger than you.”

Was he that old? The dot had seemed so small. Opal nodded. “And they only lost Bion, like, three years ago. And all those newscasters that’ve been saying Capricorn should retire.” The Sentinels weren’t on TV as much as a lot of the other teams. Maybe they just didn’t need to be. They were too well-respected and too reliable to need to suck up to the press. Plus, she always got the impression they didn’t like it. LodeStar and Capricorn had been on TV just last week, and she remembered thinking that as easily as LodeStar conversed, as enviably comfortable as he was with microphones in his face, there was something tight about his smile, something distant about his eyes. Still, he was funny and charming, and never got riled up, no matter how obnoxious people were to him. He’d been reporting about yet another victory for the Sentinels. 

Capricorn was usually with LodeStar in press meetings, but he didn’t tend to say much. Rumors suggested he had a crush on LodeStar or something. Not that Opal listened to rumors. But he did spend half of every interview watching his teammate. And since Helix was notoriously private, that meant LodeStar was the clear frontman of the team.

Was he going to have to do an interview about his son falling off a building?

Mom shook her head resolutely. “Do you have a point? Other than making me think about how underequipped they are, and how dangerous that is?”

“C’mon, Mom. You love the Sentinels. They’re your favorite. And I bet they really need some extra help about now, with LodeStar’s kid being hurt. Like how Auntie moved in when Shani got sick. Maybe they need me.”

Mom put a hand over her face, and was silent for a second. “You’re as crazy as your daddy.”

“No, he thinks I’m crazy, too.”

“He wants you to get better than what he did.”

“I know. I’m trying to.”

“I wish I could go with you.”

“Aunt Tess and Shani would have the house burned down by the time you came back.”

“Excuse me?” Aunt Tess appeared. “Did I just have a malfunction or did I really just hear that? I’m not the one who left the burner on last week, am I.”

Mom put a hand on her hip and glared. “I’d been up for twenty-six hours and still made you all dinner.”

Opal offered a peacekeeping smile. “Sorry, Auntie. I just mean you and Shani would have a lot of parties in here if mom wasn’t telling you no.”

Mom turned off the water, then tossed the soggy dish towel at Opal’s head. She caught it as Mom spoke. “Stop making me sound like such a wet blanket.” Mom looked at her sister. “She wants to go save the Sentinels.”

Auntie rested her elbows on the table and her head on her hands. “Of course she does. She wants to save everybody. That’s why she’s gonna be a superhero. Besides, she might as well deal with terrorists if she’s going to deal with Chicago cops. At least with the terrorists, she’s allowed to hit them.”

Opal raised an eyebrow. “Auntie.” Besides, not like Chicago cops were probably any worse than Detroit cops. The Detroit cops especially were used to dealing with altereds-- they carried high-voltage tasers that Opal and everybody like her were weak to, and had a ton of military-grade equipment. Opal was sort of hoping that since Chicago had way fewer altereds, the cops might be a little less militarized. After all, they had the Sentinels to deal with altereds, if they needed to.

“I’ll buy you some mace as a going-away present.”

Mom goggled at her. “Did you just tell my baby girl to mace a cop?”

“No I did not just tell our baby girl to mace a cop! But people don’t know her in Chicago like they do here. Some dumbass tries to mug her and she hits him, his whole body’ll just explode. Then what’s she gonna do? The CPD and the APB will have her before she even gets to the Sentinels.”

Opal took Mom’s place at the sink, getting the water back on but looking over her shoulder. “I’m not even gonna be alone. I’ll be with Aldis and his crew. And I think ‘explode’ is a little overboard.”

“How do you know? You never hit anybody.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ve got another present for you, too.”

Mom smiled now, tears in her eyes, just like when Opal smiled for her dad, but genuinely proud all the same. “A-hem.”

“We got another present for you.” Aunt Tessa amended. “Even Shani helped a little. Where is that girl?”

Mom looked at Opal. “Front step?” She nodded. Mom sighed. “I’ll get her.” She wiped her hands on the drying rag and headed back down the stairs. 

Aunt Tess smiled at her. “Well, do you feel ready?”

Opal shook her head, leaning against the sink. “No. But that won’t stop me.”

* * *

Yael could sit still. Xe was capable of sitting still. Even now. No matter how bad xe wanted to get up and pace all over the room. Even if xe wanted to throw all xyr anxiety, guilt and rage at the ridiculous, unfair comforts of the sub-basement panic room and tear everything apart-- xe would sit still. Xe measured xyr breaths and kept xyrself from denting the metal table xe was sitting at.

Jamie sat across from xyr, emergency inhaler on the table. She was breathing again, but shallowly. Her face had switched from the painful, magenta flush of suffocation to the translucent white of exhaustion and strain. Each of her breaths were as carefully measured as Yael's. If she started crying again, it would set off another asthma attack. 

The sub-basement panic room was a mishmash of old furniture-- a dust-scented space that was supposed to be familiar and comforting in times of danger. The only piece of furniture that wasn’t a leftover from a redecoration was the long, metal-topped table xe had never really thought about until xe’d seen it used as an emergency medical table, three years ago. When they’d watched Melissa try to put Jenna back together with blood everywhere and help already evacuated from the building. The room also had an old cabinet full of games and kids’ movies-- distractions, put here for scared kids younger than the ones here now. The stupid chess board on the long metal table gave Yael an anchor to stay by. 

Xe moved xyr rook, pretty much at random. Xe couldn’t focus, but wasn’t willing to give up on the distraction that was keeping xyr sister from breathing right.

Unsurprisingly, it was a bad move. Jamie’s watery pink eyes-- the most vivid color in her face-- slid upwards to look at Yael with a guarded expression. She took the rook with her bishop, positioning it to take Yael's last remaining knight in the process. Yael quashed an irrational urge to be angry at her. How could she focus? How could she keep her mind on chess when their brother might be a wet, shattered mess on the sidewalk three stories up?

Maybe LodeStar had caught him. Yael had to focus on that hope. Even though Neil had told them more than once about how hard it was to catch people without snapping their necks or dislocating their arms. Yael would be ecstatic if Issac walked away with only a dislocated arm or two. Xe glanced at the bank of elevator doors. They’d been down here for over an hour. The jet had to be rubble by now. Their attacker had to be dead. Why’d they been left down here to wait, with no calls or contact? 

Yael only had a hopeless chess game to buffer xyr from the blisteringly vivid memory of Issac’s face the moment he realized he was going to fall. That xe couldn’t get to him. Watching his hand claw at dust. Watching him mourn for a second what Yael might have to mourn forever. He hadn’t even been able to see that Yael had managed to grab Jamie and get both of them to the safety of the emergency elevators. Maybe he’d thought they’d died with him.

Melissa was painfully silent. She sat as still and focused as her daughter, over on the overly plush red couch that used to be Drew’s. Her back was to Yael and Jamie, head bent forward, waiting for a call. She had cleaned her tear-smudged makeup already at the sink, and might even have looked normal, if Yael had been able to make out her face. Yael didn’t understand how they could be so still. 

Nodiah was here, too. Standing far away, with his back to them all, focused on his phone. He’d stayed standing, and had barely said a word the whole hour. He’d kept his his eyes off them, as if their fear and mourning were obscene, and he was uncomfortable around their grief. Even though he was powerful-- so powerful the adults seemed afraid of him-- he’d hidden down here, rather than joining the team above. 

So had Yael.

Jamie's hoarse, breathless voice was almost swallowed up by the long, concrete room. “Yael.” 

Yael turned back to xyr sister, who gestured minutely at the game with a trembling hand. Yael ground xyr teeth and tried to glue xyr attention to xyr sister’s needs. Xe could do this. There was still one thing xe could do. Jamie was close-- close enough Yael could have reached out and grabbed her again if necessary, could hide her fragile body under Yael's bulk. If there was another attack, Yael could protect her.

The hiss of an elevator sent Yael rocketing to xyr feet. The bench xe’d been on crashed to the floor as xe turned to face the doors. Melissa and Jamie followed suit, silently. Nodiah Bridgewater only turned his head. 

The door opened to show an exhausted, dust-covered Capricorn. Not in uniform-- there hadn’t been time-- but still heroic. He was grim, but always was, after a fight. They-- everybody but Nodiah-- raced towards him. He didn’t make them wait. “Neil caught him. He’s at the ER and he’s stable.”

There was a collective exhale. Yael started as Melissa staggered on her tall shoes, and reached both hands to steady her on her feet. Jamie looked for a split second as if she might actually faint, and Yael panicked, trying to figure out how to catch them both at once, but Jamie only sagged, head bent forward and shoulders drooping. Melissa righted herself, touching her fingers gently to Yael's hand as she looked back to Drew. “I need my--”

His voice was gentle. “I’ve got a self-driving cab waiting for you on the east side of the building. I’ll--” he paused briefly, his voice almost catching. “I’ll stay here with the kids.”

She sagged again, lifting her cold hand off Yael and touching Capricorn’s arm instead. “Thank you.”

Jamie cut in, unexpectedly shrill and loud. “What?” She stepped forward. “I want to go to the hospital, too!”

Yael nodded emphatically. “We should be there with him.” Issac was alive. Xe’d failed him, but not fatally. Xe had to get to him.

Melissa shook her head, taking Capricorn’s place in the elevator. “Absolutely not.” She looked up, more sympathetically. “But I will let you know every single development as I hear about it. I promise. I’m not bringing a mob to the ER.”

“But--!” Jamie began, her voice on the verge of cracking. 

Drew reached out to Jamie, looping an arm around her shoulders and stepping in to hold her. “He’s stable. You don’t have to hurry. It’s--”

Jamie shoved off him, propelling herself away, coughing violently. He recoiled, suddenly realizing he was covered in dust and the rubble from Jenna’s home. “Shit, sorry...” 

Jamie waved him off, walking back to the table to sit down beside her inhaler.  She was breathing deeply as she could, so she couldn't talk, but she leveled a glare at the rest of them. Melissa looked from her daughter to Yael, meaningfully. Jamie would stay, and Yael would watch Jamie. 

Xe pressed xyr lips tight together and stayed quiet, miserably accepting the instruction.

The elevator door closed, and she left.

Drew sighed wearily, shoulders sagging. He glanced at Nodiah out of the corner of his eye, and straightened again. "Secretary. It's all clear upstairs."

"You killed him?" Yael prompted.

His eyes flicked to xyr for a second, then away. "We arrested him."

Yael's mouth��dropped open, but Drew overrode xyr. "He surrendered. We don't kill someone who’s surrendered and subdued. You know that." His voice was steady, but he looked uncomfortable about it. He had to feel the same way Yael did. He had to. He loved Issac.

"But he--”

"That's the rules, Yael. You know that." 

Yael’s hands clenched into fists. 

Drew narrowed his eyes at xyr, glancing up and down. His voice was low, not quite a whisper, but this room made everything loud. "And cut that out."

His glance was xyr clue. Xe glanced down. Xyr skin was completely glossed over with a dark silver. Prepared for a fight, for danger. To pummel Issac’s attacker into dust. Way too late to be useful.

Nodiah was watching xyr with sharp, considering eyes. His voice was smooth as the flat of a knife, with just the faintest edge of sarcasm. "Well. Membraned thermal superconductive exoskeletal production. What a surprise." He looked meaningfully at Capricorn. "Aren't you surprised? This wasn't in her medical file, so I'm sure it must be the very first occurrence." He looked back at Yael, who was in no mood. Xe had mostly retracted the shielding when he spoke again, but it rushed back into place. "Wherever could you have inherited that, I wonder." 

Xe wouldn’t be able to make the shielding hide under xyr skin now. How dare he comment on that, after a lifetime of ignoring xyr? He had no right to break that silence in his first words to xyr.

Drew sounded as rock-steady as ever. "The driver will take you wherever you need to go, Secretary Bridgewater."

Yael's uncle gave Drew a cold, irritated look, and stepped towards the elevator. Then he paused, turning back to xyr. He looked a little less distant, a little more frank. "I have always wondered. Did Solomon ever actually confess it to you, or did he leave you to work it out on your own?"

Yael bristled. Xyr voice came out a low growl. "My father has nothing to confess."

These were the words he’d expected. "Well, then I see you've inherited something from him after all. How much simpler for you both." He cocked his head to the side. "But you understand, don't you. When the public sees you, they won’t play along. Anyone who was alive during the South Dakota uprising will recognize you, or at least your abilities. Solomon’s charade will have to end then. You need to prepare yourself."

A lifetime of not talking about it and a morning full of rage and terror left Yael with no ready response. 

He didn’t seem to expect xyr to have one. He looked to Capricorn, professional once again. "I hope you have your best marketing people on this. We can't save her from public opinion, and you know we won't qualify anyone who will make the public feel unsafe."

Drew didn’t speak. He only watched Nodiah with furious, unflinching eyes. Under layers of dust, Yael could see green lights flicker indistinctly. But his lights weren’t taboo like Yael's silver. 

Nodiah rolled his eyes slightly, stepping onto the elevator and holding his hand out to prevent its closing-- he wasn’t used to MARTIN. He started to speak, but Drew's phone rang and he answered it immediately. Nodiah dared to look insulted.

Yael had the same exceptional hearing as most altereds. But Neil’s voice, rough and uneven, wasn’t clearly audible from around Drew's ear. Xe watched for clues-- slight relief, then concern, then muted horror and anxious purple lights leading to creases like cracks around his eyes. Still, his voice was steady. "Melissa’s on her way to you now. She'll be there soon. Do they--” He was silent again. Jamie pushed away from the table, avidly tracking every glimmer of emotion on Drew's face, every flicker in his skin. Yael didn’t think xe had ever seen Drew look so lost before. He turned his face, keeping Jamie from seeing it. "I-- I don't." A pause. "Keep me informed. I'll make sure Solomon and I get you the device. Maybe we can--" He winced, as the voice on the other end grew loud for one explosive moment. His voice was quiet, chastened. "OK. OK. Just keep me in the loop. Do whatever you need to. Bye."

He hung up, and collected himself. "Secretary Bridgewater, please consider this the notice that the Sentinels are in possession of damaging altering technology in connection with this morning’s arrest, and that we and Dr. Tillman will further investigate this device and complete a full-length report."

Any frankness from before evaporated. Nodiah was all business. "Altering?"

"Yes, sir. The device--" He cut off, head tilting back towards Jamie, as if suddenly remembering she was there. "I'll file a full report. Right now, I think I need to talk to the kids."

Nodiah was resolute. “Capricorn, an attempt was very likely made on my life this morning in your home. Do you really expect me to go back out there without knowing what it was they were trying to do to me?"

Jamie’s little voice prompted, "Drew?” 

Drew dropped his eyes, but only for a moment, then he forced them back up to meet Yael’s. “Whatever that weapon was, it had varying types of attacks, for metal, or for stone. One of them seems to have been designed to cause neurological damage. They're doing an MRI3 on him now, but we won't know much more for a while.”

For a moment, everything was utterly silent. Jamie was the first to speak, her voice thin. "Is he going to be like Jenna was?"

Yael's heart shattered. "You can't send him away!"

Drew's voice rose in anger this time. "We didn't send her away." He moderated his tone. "You two know that. She moved out on her own. She made that call. And no, Issac will come home. We just don't know when yet. We'll take care of him." His eye caught Bridgewater, whose expression was unreadable, but held some kind of secret understanding. 

Drew straightened to his full height, leaning almost imperceptibly towards Yael's uncle. His voice was controlled, icy fury. "Do not. Do not say what you're thinking. Not now, and not in front of them. Or to Melissa, or Neil. I swear to God, Bridgewater. If you can't dredge up that much decency now--"

Nodiah returned a small gesture of distant, dignified acquiescence. "I will leave you to your loss. My prayers will be with you."

This mollified Drew some. He still glared at the closed elevator door, even after it was closed. By the time he turned back to them, Jamie was walking away, back towards one of the armchairs beside the couch. She sat down with her back to them, curling her legs up and her arms in, disappearing from view. Only her increasingly uneven breaths gave away her location. 

Drew watched her go, then looked at Yael. "We'll take care of him. Whatever comes up, we'll take care of him."

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

"Tom Riddle effectively destroys the country from the inside out, which I believe was his true goal the entire time" (c) wait a second, so you think that he wasn't going to really take over or anything, just destroy the fuck out of w britain?

I have avoided this ask long enough.

I’ll start by saying that asking me about Tom Riddle is like staring down into a bottomless rabbit hole. We could travel down that path, but it is a dark and perilous journey, and by the end of it I will come out looking like the Mad Hatter.

It also requires a few prerequisites that you’re just going to accept as true (or else got off the crazy train here).

We know very little about Tom Riddle or Voldemort

What we do know of Tom Riddle comes to us from suspect sources

I’m just going to go out there and start with the basis that Tom is not crazy

Elaborating a little on number 1. We never actually see much of Tom Riddle or Voldemort directly. He’s a bit like Thanos in the MCU, or Palpatine in the first two movies of the Original Trilogy, he’s this looming threat that we pass by and glimpse every once in a while but never really get quality time with.

Generally, Voldemort makes an appearance in a moment of crisis.

He and Harry fight over the philosopher’s stone for Tom’s very survival. He and Harry fight over the diary for Tom’s very survival. He resurrects himself with Harry as a witness. We get those very strange dreams from Voldemort’s perspective (half of which we later learn are fabricated).

None of these really lend to our, or Harry’s for that matter, understanding of Tom Riddle. There’s too much going on, it usually happens far too fast, and there’s usually something Tom Riddle desperately wants or needs that eclipses all other concerns or else he has an audience.

This is part of the reason we get those Halfblood Prince pensieve lessons: Harry knows nothing of Tom Riddle and doesn’t understand him at all.

Which leads us, of course, to number 2, most of what we know about Tom Riddle comes from Dumbledore. I’ve talked about this before, so I won’t spend much time on it, but Dumbledore has a very clear agenda in relaying these memories to Harry. Dumbledore already has strong suspicions of what objects are horcruxes and where they’re located, he already has Snape as a very reliable agent to continue work when he’s gone, his job here is to convince Harry there is no path but suicide. And that involves portraying Tom Riddle as the most evil man who ever eviled, was born eviler than the antichrist, and will die eviler than the antichrist. 

Now, does this make Tom necessarily good or bad? No.

However, it does mean when Dumbledore tells us things like, “See, Harry, an impoverished child was upset when I lit all his belongings on fire! What a monster!” (especially given that, in a similar situation, Harry thought it was hilarious when Hagrid gave Dudley a permanent physical deformity and Harry was told he was an angel child) we should take it with a very large grain of salt.

Right, so, with all that backdrop what I’m getting at is that a) we can’t take Dumbledore at his word b) even if we could he could be wrong c) Harry doesn’t have the introspection to be able to figure himself when a or b is happening. I won’t elaborate on this last much, suffice to say that Harry’s world is very black and white, divided into the camps of those who personally like him and those who don’t.

So, why do I think Tom’s goal was not to rule the wizarding world but instead to destroy it?

A few things.

First, there are so many easier ways he could have ended up ruling the wizarding world. More, even when he effectively does rule the wizarding world in book seven, he takes very strange actions so that he’s never directly in power.

Second, I never really bought Tom’s racism. It’s too convenient and too contradictory with his backstory.

The second first, because we’re going out of order today. I’ve gone over this before, but I don’t believe Tom had minions early and I think he was effectively treated as a muggleborn (see here and here) until he took on the Voldemort persona many decades later. I’m hard pressed to believe someone as intelligent, angry, and proud as Tom Riddle would willingly believe and accept he was inferior to the likes of Abraxas Malfoy. More, even if he wished he was a halfblood, I think the evidence of him being muggleborn would be stacked too high against him to deny even to himself (and when he finds out it’s not true, he has maybe a month or so before he realized that he’s the bastard son of a squib). 

And it’s just so convenient. All the people with the power, with the money, who are itching for a cause against a threat that doesn’t really exist believe in blood purity. Ergo, Voldemort shows up suddenly espousing over the top blood purity rhetoric (rhetoric that directly clashes with his “there is only power” philosophy at that). 

In other words, I think Tom Riddle gave himself a line that he knew would get him places very quickly.

And now for the first. For a guy who has had the entire country in the palm of his hands twice, one time taking it over in a bloodless coup, he’s really big on causing collateral damage and really small on actually doing the ruling thing.

The first wizarding war, Tom Riddle as Voldemort has the backing of the heirs of the most prestigious and wealthy noble houses save a select few. These are people with seats in the Wizengamot, which has a frightening control over the government itself (including the minister of magic). I imagine, in 1980 had Tom Riddle wanted to be elected as Minister of Magic, he would have been elected as Minister of Magic. If he wanted a friendly face in office then he probably could have made that happen to.

More than even this though, by this point, Tom had already won. By having control over the majority of the Wizengamot he owns the government. He’s done, it’s over, it’s finished, and many of the characters admit as much which is why Harry Potter was such a miracle. So why all the seemingly random, exceptionally pointless, terrorism? 

One answer is that Voldemort is crazy bananas. And sure, I guess we can go with that, except for someone insane he’s oddly effective and very consistent. 

I believe Tom was systematically destroying the very foundations of the country through its core aristocratic families. Within a few short years Tom decimates the Black family, it goes from having five heirs to none, and while some of this isn’t Tom’s fault he does take care of quite a few of them. He brands Lucius for life, while Lucius rises high in politics he never escapes the stigma of being a known Death Eater and in the end cannot escape the consequences for his actions. The Malfoy family is very nearly destroyed by the end of the series, had Draco died in the Fiendfyre. The LeStrange family, presumably decimated as well.

More, this is mostly me headcanoning, but I imagine Tom fuels an extremism that the Wizarding World had never contemplated. I imagine, previously, anti-muggleborn sentiment was probably fairly rampant among purebloods. Oh, some were very pro-muggleborn I’m sure, but I think most were fairly “eh” on the people and felt they were a drain on society (such as requiring constant funding for the obliviation department).

However, when Diagon Alley starts getting blown up every other week, when muggleborns start being tortured and murdered, when purebloods who aren’t anti-muggleborn enough are being tortured and murdered, this starts wigging people out in a way they’ve never wigged out before.

By the time we get to Harry Potter’s canon, it is now only a minority that are anti-muggleborn, and they’re perceived as raving lunatics. Nobody wants to be grouped with these people. Which, just goes to show, how much Voldemort rattles the wizarding world in a very small amount of time.

Then there’s Deathly Hallows, rather than become minister himself Voldemort installs a puppet minister. He shows no signs of wishing to change this and instead does things like destroy the sorting hat (which again shakes the very foundations of the wizarding world as whta will we do if we don’t know who’s a Gryffindor anymore?!)

So, where is this ramble going?

Given the results we see, that more than any others it seems to be the purebloods and often Tom’s own followers that suffer colossal losses, I think Tom’s actions are, in part, a means of vengeance against the entire damn wizarding world (but especially the purebloods).

He makes fools of these people, brands them as his slaves, and has them participate in the most over the top ridiculous rituals (the cloaks, the masks, the entire theatrics of it feels like Tom got drunk one night and planned this whole thing out). He destroys them entirely, and better, enables them to completely destroy themselves and the country they believe they’re trying to save.

Basically, I think by the time the series begins Tom is fueled by a nihilist rage that knows no bounds. But dammit all, the wizarding world is going to burn.

[dylawa]

So @allmightluver​ made this FANTASTIC analysis into All Might’s character [Here] and how the current Manga arc (chapters ~300-305) really shows how he’s going through it, and, if you have the time to read it, I by all means am begging you to go read and reblog that post instead. But, for my own small-brained sake, I asked for their permission to create an abbreviated version of their post (which is still “long,” but it’s not a whole fanfic’s length long. It’s brilliant as it is! I am just weak).

This literally is just a rephrased edition of a much larger, more in-depth piece; it’s the equivalent of reading a book’s synopsis over the book itself, so GO. READ IT.

But, to those that are still here, this is a Thing about All Might. Again, all of this is just rephrased from @allmightluver​‘s [original post]; I kept most of the original context; maybe I’ll do a follow-up reblog with my own thoughts.

From as early as Toshinori’s childhood, to as late as his young teenage years, literally all he ever wanted was to be a hero people could see and know, “Everything is going to turn out okay, no matter how bad the situation is.” Many other heroes of the time, and even into current day BNHA, generally had other reasons for pursuing the line of work, but not him. There was no yearning for fame, lust for money, or a power trip, or anything like that. The only thing he wanted out of being a hero, was to get people to smile. To feel safe.

It’s not common for a 14 year old to come to this conclusion, so it’s pretty safe to assume Toshinori didn’t have the best childhood, whether that’s in his own personal life, or he really just had no filter between his home life, and the world of heroes and villains. Being Quirkless probably played a huge factor in all of that.

But then, what about Izuku? He was Quirkless, right? Here’s the thing: He had All Might to look up to. Toshinori? Nobody. Yes, Izuku had some of the same roadblocks, but All Might inspired him to keep going. There isn’t much to imply that Toshinori had a similar relationship to Nana when they first crossed paths, and hero culture was less of a fashion show than it is currently.

Nana was only able to mentor Toshinori for a few short years before she was brutally murdered, right in front of him, and after that, all he had was Gran Torino, who wasn’t exactly benevolent teacher material-- vicious enough that, even as an older man, Toshinori had severe reservations about speaking with him again; but back then, he was one of the only people that knew the pain he went through in losing Nana, not to mention knowledge of One for All itself. And even then, Torino instructed him to leave the country, once again leaving Toshinori all alone to figure out things for himself until he could confidently return to Japan.

And when he did come back, he had his work cut out for him; there was a lot of work to be done to get society as “surface-level gleaming” as it was under All Might’s thumb, and we see some of that in Vigilantes; staying up for days on end to save people, stop villains, and repair structural damage. He even falls asleep mid-jump at one point, because that’s all the time for rest he can squeeze in. But, by this point, the power of One For All has lead the public, and even other heroes to believe, that All Might has it under control; he doesn’t need help, or at least, nothing more than what they’re already giving. And sure, Endeavor did his part, but that was for him; he just wanted to surpass All Might, not help him.

Now, after his gruesome injury, Toshinori no longer has that ability to save people like he used to. He spent years doing nothing but serving the world, fighting an unseen force that nearly tore him in half, to the point that that evil force should have died, and, even after all of that, thinking he had won, that it was over, Nighteye still promised his untimely demise, before abandoning him for continuing to push himself as his organs threatened to fall out of his body. But, even if AFO was “gone,” there was still a whole other world of villains to deal with; the worst threat was gone, but that didn’t mean the world was safe.

And the only person who could maintain that peace, was All Might. Now, he was under pressure of a ticking clock. So, he kept going.

Which, of course, turned him into what we saw in the beginning of the manga/anime. He has a whole slew of physical issues that are only exacerbated by his lack of self care in favor of pushing himself as hard as he can to keep up his hero work, and because of that, he’s completely ruined his health outside of the All Might persona. The man is practically rotting from the inside out, and, though at first no one knows it’s All Might, people on the street look at this ghastly figure, and they know it. And he knows they know it. Could you imagine the stress he swallows down, knowing, one day, they will find out the truth?

And, let’s not forget how, once Nighteye left, Toshinori was left alone with his paperwork. Eventually, Tsukauchi took over, but that was only because Toshinori let it slip in a moment of deep stress just who he was. But, in the timespan between, it was all up to Toshinori to handle those things, on top of his hero work, and the bare-minimum of whatever he was doing to keep himself alive.

This part, I’m just quoting from @allmightluver​‘s post verbatim:

“People blame him for not preparing society for his retirement, that he failed in passing on the torch so to speak, but in reality he did everything possible to keep society from falling for 40 years, doing all within his power just to keep things afloat. He is only one person. One human being, he can’t do everything despite trying to. Society failed All Might.”

Some people in fandom say he sucks as a teacher, but first of all, do you remember who he had as a teacher? I’d say he’s leaps and bounds above Torino. Not to mention, he’s never been a teacher before, and he never planned to pass on OFA again. And just because someone’s a bad teacher (which, he could be worse), doesn’t mean they’re not smart: he’s got a 6/6 intelligence score. Which definitely doesn’t help when Izuku does something to hurt himself with his Quirk that he gave to him. He could very well think it’s his own fault.

And we haven’t even touched up on Dave yet! This man literally staged a hostage situation so he could get his hands on banned technology to try to extend All Might’s time, and hurt so many people in the process. There’s another friend gone.

And then, All For One comes back. A man Toshinori swore he killed. And then he has to fight him in front of the world, having his weakness exposed, and then being told this villain is grooming Nana’s grandson-- someone Toshinori failed to save, didn’t even know needed saving, because he didn’t know the kid existed. And he doesn’t get time to process that; he has to pretend he’s fine, even while he’s shown in this failing human form to the world, to stop AFO once more at great personal cost.

And then, OFA leaves him.

And then he has to deal the the ordeal of being human while Bakugo blames himself for it, while Nighteye dies and confesses he’s happy after all these years to see him on his last words, while watching Endeavor struggle with one Nomu on live television, while watching Bakugo almost take over the burden of carrying OFA, and, despite all of these horrible things occurring... he still confesses to his acquaintance, Aizawa, that he’s “decided to live.” Like it’s another burden to take on. How can this man not be horribly suffering deep down inside? We don’t see the extent of it, because he trained for so long to keep it buried deep down, and it’s harder as Toshinori than it was as All Might, but he’s still got severe trauma and chronic physical conditions that will last the rest of his life. And, yes, people made him promise to live, but only he “decided” he would do so.

And then, he does research into the OFA holders, and finds a gruesome secret. He could have sealed Izuku’s fate to an early grave, not just because of the nature of hero work, but because OFA users have what seems to be a natural predisposition to die early (due to those who previously had quirks being given OFA having their lifespan shortened because of it; Toshinori doesn’t know the full truth yet).

And pretty much right after he finds out that information, the world implodes on itself. Villains win a critical fight, and run amok. People are dying. Heroes are quitting. They blame him. The heroes that do remain can barely handle the load. Some even die. AFO escapes prison, Izuku is in critical condition-- everything he worked for for forty years, disintegrates overnight. Everything he did to himself in pursuit of a peaceful society meant nothing. And, he can feel his vestige within One For All, which isn’t a good sign.

Time is running out.

And he may not even die happy.

“People don’t credit All Might enough for everything he’s done. Most don’t realize the sacrifices he’s made. His character is so unbelievably profound and deep, it’s more than just the “I am here!” people focus on. He’s a deeply troubled, layered, complex character. And I can’t find fault within him.”

[aelaer]

Re: Blood in Your Veins

Hey so uh.

As anyone who’s been following me for a while knows, I started the serial “The Blood In Your Veins” about this time last year (it used to be ‘my veins’ but retitled it on its move to AO3 because execution of prompt had changed a bit over writing). It’s a prompt that I couldn’t stop thinking about and just dabbled in slowly to see where it went. Then 2020 fully hit and my writing came to almost a complete stop until about October, which is when I began again on Illuminating the Shadows, which was finished and posted in December.

Anyway, I’ve been poking and prodding fairly continuously at The Blood in Your Veins. The first four parts that I posted originally here on tumblr are now all on AO3, and once part 5′s up I’ll link it here and link everyone who wanted alerts to the updates then so they can see the new part. Then all future parts will be linked here as well.

(Cut because why the *hell* did I write this much about this?)

I’ve been slow in posting because I, against better judgement but why not, decided to post it as a WIP. But that means I keep on making edits to older parts because I think of something new that should be addressed earlier in the story. Like uh, when I was writing part 9, I realized I needed to go back to part 5 and add an addendum. When I was writing part 12, I realized I totally forgot a part that I ended up adding in part 8, because I needed it for a future connection. This happens all the time in my writing and makes posting WIPs almost dangerous because my thinking is rarely linear if the story takes place over a course of more than a couple days. Thus the very slow posting.

So this silly little prompt thing that I was just prodding and poking at to see where it went? The farking doc passed 50k words tonight. Yup.

Granted, like 10k of that is probably outlining, personal notes, and A/Ns filled to the brim with meta, medical science, fake science, and technical/computer engineering because I love talking about it and giving people info to access easily for their own knowledge. I figure I can’t be the only one who finds this stuff super fascinating and fanfic makes it unique in that it’s not a book where the research is irrelevant, you can show off all the interesting stuff right here and talk about it with people! I love that about fanfic, so much. Sometimes the A/Ns are just as interesting as the story in some stories.

So it’s gonna be a bit slow for however long, but I finished 11 parts (with 10 betaed), have the 12th largely written out (though I’m not 100% sure about it yet so I want to poke at it more), and parts uh, 13 to 17ish outlined. But considering I was like “yeah this is 8 parts at most” like, at the beginning of this, that number is bound to change because characters keep saying things and doing things (including the supporting OCs, who are demanding to be fully fleshed out within the bounds of supporting character roles).

And yeah, this is just a ramble of what I’ve been mostly doing as I haven’t been super active on tumblr this month as this has consumed most of my free time. I haven’t read a lot of works either, and once this is completed I hope to remedy that, before I go into my next two big projects (which were meant to be what I was working on *now*, but then this took over and what will you do. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to complete three novel-length fics in the course of the year, but I’ll see what I can do. I really want to tell these stories).

Uh, this was really long. Sorry, I’m super verbose and don’t know how to be like, succinct. My old boss, two bosses ago now, used to quote Twain about brevity being a sign of wit, but if it is, call me 100% unwitty because I like to ramble. And then I always feel a little bit guilty for writing *so much* about my bullshit, so I feel like if you read this far, you 100% deserve to read a preview of an upcoming section. Especially since you pressed the Read More button! So here you go, thanks for reading my rambles. This is a section from the longest part so far, part 8. It’s a long little bit!

---

"How high's the toxicity now?" Tony asked as he stepped off the scale.

"Yesterday's blood sample came back at 0.45 milligrams per kilogram of your weight," Stephen replied. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

Tony offered his arm for the blood draw. "And if 3 milligrams is the magic number for fatality, that'd put my current blood toxicity at 15%."

Stephen inserted the needle at the crook of Tony's elbow and watched the tube fill up. "That's not quite how it works."

"It makes sense to me."

"That's still not how it works." He removed the needle and capped the tube, and as he put everything away, explained, "Saying that your blood toxicity is at 15% implies that you're talking about the whole volume of blood in your body. You're probably at about 5,500 milliliters with your weight, and with the density of blood equaling about 1.06 grams per milliliter, it is like you're saying—"

"That 874.5 grams of my blood is toxic, yeah, yeah, I know," Tony interrupted. By now he was setting up the table for their breakfast.

"I was getting there."

"You were going too slow," he shot back easily. Stephen gave the engineer a look at the comment, but Tony ignored it. "Yeah, I know it's not my whole body's blood volume. Obviously. But putting a percentage on how long until I reach the point that I'm dead makes sense to me. I'm not measuring the whole volume of my blood, I'm measuring how much more can I handle until I'm dead."

Stephen shot him a frown. "It doesn't make sense to call it 'blood toxicity' then."

"Maybe not to you, but it does to me. And I'd design such a measuring tool for me."

The statement caught him off guard. "Design?" He finished packing up the kit and joined Tony at the table.

"Well, if I wasn't stuck in here, I'd design something to automatically read a blood sample, like how glucose meters read blood sugar levels. Wouldn't be hard to engineer something like that. And I'd have it give me the amount of toxicity as a percentage relating to how far along it was until the amount was lethal. Sure, I could memorize the numbers, but the percentage would be more concrete in my head."

Stephen smeared butter over a piece of bread as he listened. He shook his head at the end of Tony's explanation. "Wouldn't work for the consumer market; there's too much room for interpretation as to what the percentage means."

Tony huffed. "Well, like I said, it'd be for me. Not the consumer market."

His brow furrowed. "You're telling me that you can make a blood test as simple as the one used for testing blood sugar levels for something as rare as palladium poisoning?"

He narrowed his eyes. "... yes…"

"You can make it portable like the glucose meters?"

"Yeah, of course."

"And affordable to most hospitals?"

Tony looked up in thought. "I don't usually factor in the costs of materials and manufacturing in personal projects, and others do the number crunching to see if my ideas are viable for production in company projects. If they aren't, but I really want them to be, I'll tinker a bit more, sure."

Stephen couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Do you realize the amount of money you could save for both hospitals and patients across the country with such technology? Specialized blood tests—like for many metal poisonings, for instance—aren't offered at every hospital. It may not be available even in every state. Those types of lab results can take weeks to get back to a doctor and the patient. And you're saying that you can not only potentially create this type of technology, but that you may be able to make it affordable if you really want them to be?"

"Well yeah, sure. I've done it a few times with other things. I could probably do that with a blood meter thing. I doubt the tech's that complicated."

His mouth was partially hanging open, Stephen realized this, but he couldn't bother at the moment. He was flabbergasted. The first thought that came to mind went to his mouth, unfiltered. "And you spent the last two decades building weapons."

"Don't." The word was sharp and filled with an overabundance of emotion.

Stephen fell silent. He crossed a boundary he had yet to see before now, and he was not so callous as to push against it. Instead he turned to his meal and focused on eating. He avoided looking at the other man.

A couple minutes later, Tony spoke again. It was low, pensive. Thoughtful. "There was a good reason I shut down weapons manufacturing after I got back from Afghanistan, you know. If the department ever comes back, it will be with major restrictions and modifications. Likely more defensive than offensive. More shields, less missiles. But in the meantime I've been restructuring. Expanded in commercial aerospace and industry. We entered the energy market properly. Consumer products is coming soon—end of the year, probably." A pause. "Don't see why we can't look into medical tech, either. Certainly wouldn't hurt to try."

He could only nod and say, "It certainly wouldn't."

[meirmakesstuff]

anon talking about the sarfatis again (and making them identifiably jewish in fantasy) -- divination magic exists in this world and is widely practiced; my understanding is that it's forbidden in judaism. 2J3O, but what kind of mixed or complicated attitudes would jewish characters in this world have towards it/how do i convey those? [1]

[2] my original idea was that their mother, when her eldest son expressed interest in divination as a field of study, sat him down and had a long conversation with him, and at the end concluded that as long as he honored god and used magic only to help people, she would accept it as his adult decision, and i'm wondering how this comes across to more observantly jewish people.

Hi Anon, sorry it took me so long to get back to this. Hopefully it’s still relevant. For other readers, this is a follow-up to this ask, which in turn is a follow-up to this one from a different writer also thinking through questions of Jewish representation in fantasy fiction. As always, standard 2J3O disclaimers apply.

That said, from my perspective what you’re describing is a pretty believable conversation for a family to have. While it’s extremely familiar for those conversations to be present in a modern Reform or even Conservative affiliated family, it’s also the sort of thing we see a lot in Jewish American history. Magic might not have been on the table, but questions where halacha (Jewish law, the code of Jewish practices) conflicts with parnassah (the ability to support yourself and your dependants) always have. There have always been shopkeepers who can’t afford to close on Saturdays, merchants or peddlers who can’t avoid eating meat, doctors who can’t turn their pagers off on Yom Kippur, and astronauts who have to make a call on what observance might even begin to look like in a place where the measurement of time, our fundamental guide, is fully arbitrary. 

I remember when Joe Lieberman, who described himself as observant rather than Orthodox, became the first ever Jewish vice presidential candidate in a major political party, when I was in high school. He was asked very pointedly whether he was willing to break shabbat in the event of an emergency or pressing official business, and had to assure the public that he would. The question of course is a product of the antisemitic assumption that Jews’ loyalty to their country is inevitably partial or divided, and only people with the kind of assumptions that prompted the question would be surprised by the answer: to Jews and those who know us well, it’s so obvious that we could easily have left it unsaid.

A question to ask yourself about this example is why either character believes divination specifically is forbidden. We aren’t given explanations in Torah for most mitzvot, especially the ones that warn us against the practices of other groups. The mother and son might have completely different assumptions about what the prohibition means, based on their different educations or life experiences. If the mother assumes the main goal is to prevent assimilation or idolatry, asking him to assure her that he will not adopt non-Jewish/non-monotheistic beliefs makes sense. If he assumes it’s for another reason--or refers to a different definition of divination--then he might have a reason for wanting to pursue that course of study that doesn’t perhaps satisfy his mother but does allow him to assure her that he’s not planning to abandon his Jewish identity. 

In our world, avoiding assimilation and avoiding avoda zara (engaging in non-Jewish worship) are the most common reasonings offered for the prohibition on fortune-telling (among those who feel it needs to be explained: for some people, to seek reasons for the mitzvot is to miss the point: we do the mitzvot because they are mitzvot, period). Personally, I avoid tarot and astrology primarily because I don’t find them interesting but also because I consider them avoda zara. To others*, it’s not a form of worship at all, but a fun psychological game or a way to think through their hopes. 

*I’m excluding in this analysis the people who engage with these practices because they misunderstand them as being a science, because they’re consciously engaging in non-Jewish spiritual practices, or to intentionally deceive others, and only considering people who consider themselves to be within the bounds of Jewish practice, regarding tarot as the spiritual practice of a different group. 

If I were sitting down with someone whose religious life I was part of shaping, and they told me they were interested in astrology, my questions about it would center on what they feel astrology does for them, what they believe that it is, and what they believe that mitzvot do for them, and what they believe that a mitzvah is. These are the kind of questions that a Christian teacher might feel they have “right” answers for,” but for Jews these are intensely personal questions that a Jew over the age of 13 must struggle with for themselves, and are almost guaranteed to disagree on. 

This is all a very long way of saying that I think the conversation you’re imagining between mother and son is incredibly realistic and valid. I get a little itchy when a Jewish character is more focused on the concept of “relationship with God” than “culturally appropriate actions” but some Jews really do think that way, and that could be another difference for them to talk about or for him to think about afterward: if she’s a very spiritual person whose way of thinking about her Jewishness involves an emotionally personified God figure, and he’s a practical sort whose spirituality comes from keeping his actions and motivations in line with Torah values, it’s no surprise that she would use language like “honor God” that he can easily agree to yet not find troubling or compelling himself.

Once again you’ve asked a really interesting question--let me know if I skipped or left out anything relevant, and to readers please feel free to chime in with your thoughts about how this scenario might unfold. 

[petri808]

@bnhahorrorweek Post apocalypse prompt/ non-quirk characters. Threw this one-shot together for this prompt. 🙃 Bakudeku. Sorry my edits suck lol.

It’s been two years since the world imploded and left survivors struggling to just stay alive. No one knew exactly how it began, but many suspected it was man made. When the United States declared war on China, and the world sided against the falling superpower, the country retaliated... soon stories began popping up about people becoming zombie-like and attacking with no hesitation as if all conscious reasoning was gone. The coincidence was how it started in areas being bombed by the U.S., first Asia, Europe, but as with most viruses, it spread quickly through the infected until there wasn’t a country on Earth left standing.

Izuku Midoriya was in his senior year of high school at the time, but once the virus hit Japan, chaos broke out. In the dense cities like Tokyo, it was like a wave washing through that quickly jumped to surrounding cities including Shizuoka where he lived with his mother. Within a matter of weeks the entire island country was engulfed by these soulless beings. He’d lost everyone he knew, his classmates, friends, and after a month of running, his mom when they’d been ambushed sneaking through the subway tunnels.

Perhaps it was his smaller size that was to his benefit. Growing up Izuku was teased for being a shorter, gangly kid, but when the goal was hiding, it became an asset. He was smart and a quick learner, who figured out the best ways to stay out of sight from the roving hoards. These things weren’t dead like most zombie movies tended to portray. The virus infected and destroyed the upper portions of the brain leaving just the brain stems that controlled basic life functions. It generally resembled a mutated syphilis strain, but 10 times worse with no cure, and no way to stop it once it took control. All the zombies knew to do was eat, and eat, and eat.

By the end of the first year, Izuku realized that constantly being on the move had some detriment, so when he came across an abandoned apartment building built with brick walls, he decided to create a fortress for himself. It took some time working only when the creatures weren’t around, but he reinforced the second floor apartments with steel and blacked out the windows. Once the outside was secured, Izuku broke through walls to connect the apartments together.

Maybe he’ll run into another survivor one day. There must be others, but since he didn’t travel far from his base camp, it was wholly possible he’d simply never come across one. Even now almost two years later, he was only a stones throw away from his original home is Musutafu. It was a lonely existence and there were many days when he wondered if it was worth it to keep living like this. Working on his new ‘home’ was the only thing that helped to keep his mind from slipping into depression, and he was quite proud of his accomplishments. Breaking through the ceiling, he managed to rig a pipe to the roof that collected rain water and funneled it into a plugged bath tub. Similar venting allowed him to build a make shift hearth for fires, handy during the colder months and to cook with.

They were truly back to the stone ages now. All the skills many take for granted, simple things like how to sew or forage for edible plants, he had to learn. No more electricity, meant no more quick entertainment, so he raided a nearby bookstore for things to read. Over time, Izuku settled in for the long haul, just concerning himself with finding supplies, keeping occupied, and most of all, not losing his sanity.

Until one day, while returning to his home, Izuku heard a noise and ducks low behind a broken down vehicle. It had only been a quick trip to a close by hardware store. He watched, readying his weapon in case of an attack. Crap! He’d left the fire going in the apartment for heating, so had the smoke attracted a zombie?

A human walks out from around some parked vehicles. At first he can’t tell if it’s a zombie or not, because the person’s attire hid their features. But the longer he watched their movements, the way they walked cautiously, with a backpack slung over one shoulder, Izuku started to wonder if it could be a survivor! It was a dangerous move to break cover, but after surveying the area and not seeing anyone else, he decided to get the persons attention. If it was a zombie there was still enough space between them to get away.

Izuku popped his head over the car and whistled once for 10 seconds. The person stopped and turned in his direction, but just stood in place staring. So he whistled a second time, while standing completely upright and clearly visible. He waved, signaling he was a normie, so the man lowers the hoodie of his jacket.

“K-Kacchan?!” He breathes out. No way! Of all the people to run into, but his long lost childhood friend?! The mans hair was a dirtier blonde now, shaggier and disheveled, but those red eyes were unmistakable. Izuku steps forward, slowly moving towards the man. “Kacchan, is that really you?”

“Deku? Pfft, figures you’re the first live human I find.”

Another sound, distant, but real catches Izuku’s alert attention. He grabs the man by the arm. “It’s not safe here,” his voice is low as to not attract attention. “Follow me, I’ve got a safe place.”

Possibly tired of travel, Katsuki Bakugou follows the smaller male into the secured apartment building. He watches in fascination as Izuku takes them through a stairwell with multiple metal gates that looked added on, until they reach the main entrance.

“Welcome to my home,” Izuku smiles and ushers Katsuki inside.

“Tch, not bad nerd,” The blonde surveys his surroundings. “You set this all up yourself?”

“Yup. Took awhile but I reinforced the top half of the building.” He shows Katsuki each room. “An area for cooking, this is where I gather and store rain water. So if you wanna take a towel bath you can. Here’s where I sleep, and finally my storage area. I think I have clothes in your size if you need something fresh to wear.”

“Think I’ll take you up on the bath first.”

“S-Sure!” Izuku grabs his friend a towel and hands it to him along with a fresh set of clothing. “I’ll be working on a dinner in the meantime,” he smiles.

“Thanks Deku.”

Izuku was on cloud nine! It’d been years, long before the apocalypse hit that he’d ever spoken with Katsuki in a civil manner. The man seemed to have mellowed out, but of course an event like this one was bound to change people. He was just thrilled to have found a survivor and even happier it was someone he knew. By the time Katsuki came out of the bath area cleaned and dressed, Izuku had whipped up a small meal for the two of them.

“Hope your hungry,” Izuku smiles and presents a plate to his friend. “I got lucky and caught a wild hare in my trap yesterday.”

Katsuki takes the plate and sits down on a rug. “How do you have fresh vegetables?”

“I grow them on the roof.” Izuku sits down across from the man with his own plate. “Tomatoes, sweet potatoes, mushrooms, and onions so far, but I’m working on soybeans too. Tell me Kacchan, where have you been all this time?”

“I was in Osaka visiting an uncle when this shit hit, then the bastards killed my parents last year as we tried to get back home.”

“I’m sorry Kacchan,” Izuku’s voice softened, “I lost my mom too a month after it hit.”

“Looks like you’re doing well though.” Katsuki looks around. “Seems a pretty safe hold out.”

“It’s better than the streets. Luckily the zombies are dumb. You know, you’re welcome to stay. There’s plenty of room for two people.”

“I don’t wanna impose...”

“You’re not imposing Kacchan. It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to aside from myself.”

“Alright, I’ll stick around since it beats the elements. Am I the first person you’ve seen?”

“Yeah, alive any way. I’ve run into people we knew but they’re all zombies now.”

“Tch, I mean to live now, then die as one of the last humans on this plant? This blows.”

“I try not to think about that and rather take any positive thing I can cling to.”

“Always the optimist Deku.” Katsuki laughs. “Even with a disaster you never change.”

As the hours grow late, Izuku suggests they pull out an extra mattress he has in the storage room for his friend to sleep on. But Katsuki points to Izuku’s Queen sized bed. “Why? We both fit, and besides it’s warmer this way, right?”

Izuku stammers as his face turns red. “I-I guess, as long as you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind, do you?”

“No.” He did, but it was just his nervousness over sharing a bed with a guy he once had a crush on.

“Good, cause I’m exhausted.” Katsuki slips under the blanket and pats the bed. “It’s late, let’s get some sleep.”

“O-Okay...” Izuku put out the fire and climbed under the covers, but turns on his side away from the man.

“Pfft,” Katsuki spoons up to Izuku, “supposed to keep each other warm remember,” he wraps his arm around and pulls the man close. “Nite, nerd.”

‘Ahhhh! What is going on?!’ “G’night Kacchan.” If this was how he’ll spend the rest of this apocalypse... guess it wasn’t so bad anymore.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 92 - Campfire Stories, Part 2

Added Note: This chapter was accidentally posted during #blackoutTuesday, and I tried to take it down before it was up for too long.

The cause hasn’t ended, we need to keep momentum going.  Please donate to naacp.com/coronavirus to help in the fight for health equity during the current pandemic, especially as the people who are protesting police brutality are risking their health to do so. 

________________________________

Okay, I promised I would post all the stories I received for this event, and I’m keeping my word... so we have Part 2 of the Campfire stories!

The one referenced at the opening of this chapter is an original of mine that I posted about a year ago, called “Lydia Woke Up”. Since it can be found through that link and on my blog, I didn’t want to include the whole story. Some of you have already read it, and I thought that would bog things down.

Also in this chapter, Grey’s story is adapted from this story on r/nosleep, only adjusted to fit the character and the story.  Grey’s creator submitted the story, so I don’t want to take credit for something I didn’t write.

Finally, the story Tyche tells is one I have told before, on another blog. The response is here, verbatim, in Tyche’s story.  However, the basis for the story is so common that it is classified as Aarne-Thompson type 706, a way of cataloguing folk tales. Rejectedprincesses.com has a version of this (Penta: The Handless Princess), and I originally read the Brother’s Grimm version. There is also a Xhosa variant that I highly recommend.

“...Finally, blessedly, Lydia didn’t wake up,” I finished, glancing around.

Charly was holding a hand to her mouth, and I couldn’t figure out if she was going to be sick or cry. Coffee was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  Conor and Maverick were shaking themselves briskly, like they did when they woke up in the morning.

“That story is... disturbing,” Grey pronounced carefully.

Arthur shuddered and shook his head. “Somehow it’s even worse when you tell it, instead of just reading it.”

Tyche arched a brow at him. “Right?”

“What do you mean, instead of just reading it?” Charly’s question was only slightly muffled by her hand.

The arched brow switched targets, while one finger was flicked in my direction. “She wrote that story. Probably fifteen years ago?”

All eyes stared at me widely, except the two who already knew. “Wasn’t that a little...dark?” Conor asked.

I shrugged. “We’re telling scary stories, right?”

Both of my partners glanced at each other, and I knew I would be hearing about this later.  Fortunately, I was saved when Grey spoke up. “I have a story I read once, in the Before.”

“Is it as… bad, as Sophie’s?”

They shook their head. “My fathers were really good friends with the family who lived closest to us, but one day the head of that household was offered a very lucrative job far away. Both of my fathers were upset, but my mothers agree that they recovered rather quickly.  Within a month, the house was sold, and a new couple moved in. Mother Jacqueline said there was something off-putting about them.

‘They were constantly smiling,’ she always explained. ‘Every minute of the day, they had large, painful-looking smiles on their faces. And they were whiter than linen sheets, as though they never ventured outdoors.’

Father Jakob and Mother Sarah confirmed that Mother Jacqueline was not being judgemental, the new couple was odd in a way that disturbed all of my parents.  However, my parents were very strict about manners and social graces, so they still attempted to build a positive social relationship with their new neighbors. Mother Hodaya made a basket of sweet pastries, and all my parents went to introduce themselves.  The new neighbors answered the door shoulder-to-shoulder, with those strange smiles on their pale faces. My parents introduced themselves, but all agreed when they told the story that the couple would only say ‘We like you and you are welcome here always’.

My parents stayed for about an hour, and in that time the couple sat on their couch, shoulder-to-shoulder, still smiling, and would barely answer any questions. Not where they came from, not what they did for a living, just repeating ‘We like you and you are welcome here always.’ Eventually, my parents left, and the couple did not even escort them to the door.

The third day after the couple moved in is when strange events started occurring. First, they painted their house to resemble that of my parents - a light cream color with a thin blue stripe around it.  ‘The next day, as I tended the landscaping, the husband was outdoors also tending his landscape,” Father Issac would explain. ‘Which would not be of note, ordinarily. However, the man was wearing the exact same clothing and sun hat as I wore.  This troubled me deeply, so I addressed him directly. I was not aggressive or accusing, but I did make it clear that I felt there was no coincidence that this man had both painted his home to look like ours and clothed himself to look like me. But he only stared at me with that permanent smile.’

After that, my parents took it in turns to watch the couple more closely. Within weeks, the neighbors purchased a vehicle identical to that of my parents.  This time, Mother Sarah and Father Jakob went to speak with the couple. They asked directly why the couple felt the need to copy our family. The couple would only say ‘We like our neighbors. We like you.’ At that time, Mother Sarah saw something that upset her and made excuses for them to leave.  She would not explain why she was upset until they were back inside the house. All my parents sat together so Mother Sarah could tell them what she saw. Despite all her discipline, she was close to tears and clung tightly to Mother Hodaya and Mother Jacquelilne for comfort.

When she finally calmed down, she explained. ‘While we were at the home of the neighbors, I could see inside their bedroom.’ Mother Hodaya admonished her, but she continued.  ‘They left the door open, almost as if they wanted me to see.  And I am glad for my curiosity, as I saw something upsetting. Their bedroom… It looked identical to our own.’ 

All of my parents fell silent, only to be broken when Father Issac stood and left the room.  He returned shortly after, with recording equipment, which he set up in their bedroom, facing their door.  ‘The neighbors have never been invited into our home, nor have they been on the property that I am aware of.’

That night, none of my parents slept well, but they did eventually sleep. In the morning, they reviewed the recording. Surely enough, the neighbors somehow entered the house and came into my parents room.  However, their smiles were gone  Instead, their faces were contorted with murderous rage and hatred. 

Father Jakob and Father Issac, not prone to violence in ordinary circumstances, both gathered baseball bats from my brothers’ rooms and stormed over to the house next door. They pounded on the door, but no one answered. For the sake of protecting our family, they eventually decided to break down the door.

The house was empty. Even though the car was still outside, everything in the house was packed neatly in boxes, stacked in the living room, but the couple was gone. They never came back for their possessions, or their car. My parents took the recording to the authorities, and they searched everywhere for the pair. They were only able to find out that the identities used were stolen from a couple in another country. My parents packed up my family and moved far, far away for peace of mind.”

Polite applause followed the end of Grey’s story.  They stood up and gave a joking half-bow, smiling. “I am not certain of the veracity of the story, especially after so long since having read it.”

“You did a good job,” Maverick reassured her. “I liked it a lot.  It reminded me of some of the stories my dad would tell me growing up, about demons and spirits that could steal your face.”

“They appear in most cultures,” Tyche added. “We’re very attached to our identities. They’re something we build around ourselves, how we control what people perceive of us.  My identity is what makes me… well, me.” She held up a hand and looked at it thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, I have a story. A man - some say he is the devil, others say he is evil, or simply the evil that lives inside the father - passes the home of a farmer, or maybe a miller, one day. The man, maybe the devil, maybe his own lack of conscience, offers the homeowner either extreme wealth or just enough to get by, in exchange for what is behind the home.

Regardless of what the homeowner thought stood behind his home - whether it’s a cow, a pig, or a tree -  it is his daughter. She is always bright, lovely, pure, clean. So wonderfully pure and clean that evil cannot redeem its prize.” Tyche spat the word pure like it was an obscenity, and I fought the urge to smile as she continued.

“So the daughter is forced to stand - maybe in a magic circle, maybe tied, but always bound - and not allowed to bathe. Forced to become unclean. However, her weeping washes her hands, and they remain pure and clean. So, the evil that pushes the hand of her father forces him to cut off her hands, thinking to remove the last clean part of her.

Of course, regardless of the evil, the reasoning, or the binding, she weeps over the wounds. Because she is still faultless by virtue of her sorrow at her circumstance - her lack of autonomy, her mutilation, the betrayal of her parent, she is in no way complicit, regardless - the evil still cannot touch her. Finally, it surrenders, leaving her unwhole.

She leaves, seeking her own fortune. Whether it is because she is cast out or because she was no longer wanted, betrayal is betrayal. Either way, she later meets a king, who finds her bright and lovely, and marries her. He always has new hands crafted for her, always - by might or magic - of silver.

But what happens between ‘happily ever’ and that ubiquitous 'after’?

She bears a child. Changeling or simply a girl, because of the child she is driven out by the king or his family. Regardless, she is again abandoned to cruel fate.

This time she happens upon a hut. An angel, a witch… It depends who is telling the story, but someone has mercy upon a single mother - the only true mercy in her life -  and allows her to raise her child in the same humble manner she herself was raised. The child - changeling, or girl, or maybe both, it doesn’t matter - grows strong, and so does the mother’s hands. The silver hands fall away, always, replaced by her own that were lost to cruel whim.

After the child grows strong, they encounter the king in the wilderness. He follows this child - unwittingly his own - to their home. For healing, for succor, or simply for curiosity… The tales say any and all, but the reason doesn’t matter: after several years, the king sees his queen again. She is bright, and pure, and lovely, and clean, no matter what has happened in her life. And finally, she is whole. Whether by angel or witch - but never by man - she has found her wholeness.

The reunion scene happens - maybe he recognizes her, maybe she tells him. But here? Here, the tales always lie.

The tales say she always, always, forgives him, and 'ever after’ starts.”

As her singsong tone faded, everyone was left speechless. “I’ve heard that story before,” Conor spoke up, finally breaking the silence. “A different version, but the same tale.”

“It exists in most cultures, apparently,” Tyche clarified. “But her identity never changed, only how she looked on the outside.”

Almost everyone’s eyes threatened to pop out of their heads, except Arthur, who nodded. “That makes sense. It doesn’t make it any less fucked up.”

“Believe me, it gets worse,” she sighed airly, without clarifying.

Simon lunged forward to grab another drink. “Nope. No thanks. Worse than that is something I can live without, if I have the choice.”

Grey blinked slowly before composing their face. “Be glad you have that choice.”

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[dabistits]

To talk about Twice and villainy is to talk about class and criminality (II)

(Masterlist)

Poverty and crime in Japan

Despite Japan’s perception as a country with relatively low inequality, that reputation has somewhat suffered as capitalism advanced and the country faced economic downturns in the 1990s and 2000s. Japan still claims a high life expectancy, universal healthcare, and low infant mortality, but conversations about wealth have been ongoing: academic Sugimoto Yoshio records the changing discursive landscape that transformed Japan “from a uniquely homogeneous and uniform society to one of domestic diversity, class differentiation and other multidimensional forms.” Sugimoto describes the increasing discussion of a kakusa shakai, a disparity society, and the emergence of a karyu shakai—the underclass. Since Sugimoto’s article was published in 2010, [source] many issues of this kakusa shakai identified by him and academics from ten-plus years ago have persisted, such as the proliferation of non-regular workers (now comprising 15% of the labor force), [source] the growing wealth inequality being reflected in Japan’s aging population, and the increasing numbers of elderly poor. More recently, increasing attention has been devoted to the issue of child poverty, usually connected to the low incomes of single, working-class mothers. [source] In 2017, Japan’s relative rate of poverty rose to 16.3% (for comparison, the relative rate of poverty in the U.S. declined to 17.3%), and many non-regular workers expressed fears of getting sick and losing their jobs, remarking on their total lack of stability. [source] [source]

Reflecting working-class desperations worldwide, the most common crime in Japan throughout the Heisei era (1989-2019) was theft. Theft, particularly of material goods, should be thought of as a crime of need, arising out of a lack of a particular good and the money to pay for it. It’s a crime that points to a society with unmet needs, and an effort to criminalize those who try to have their needs met through their own power when social institutions refuse to help. It has long been asserted that the “concepts of "crime" are not eternal,” and that “the very nature of crime is social, and is defined by time and by place and by those who have the power to make the definitions.” The contested legality of abortion is a simple illustration of how definitions of “crime” are constantly in flux, constantly debated, and not at all intuitive or self-explanatory. Being able to label an action, a behavior, or a group of people “criminal” or “illegal” is an act of power, and people doing the labeling have a vested interest in determining what “crime” is. Activist Sabina Virgo, source of the previous quotes, elaborates: “The power to define is [...] the power of propaganda. [...] Most of us accept the images and definitions that we have been taught as true, neutral, self-evident, and for always; so the power [...] to define what is right and wrong, what is lawful and what is criminal, is really the power to win the battle for our minds. And to win it without ever having to fight it.” [source]

The choice to inscribe theft as a crime, as an act to be punished, is part of that propaganda. It’s the decision to criminalize poverty and to protect profit over people, rather than rightfully interpreting theft as a symptom of a dysfunctional system. In Japan, this looks like a large percentage of crimes getting committed by the elderly, particularly theft (90% of shoplifting offenders were elderly women), and a large percentage of incarcerated seniors, who by 2018 made up 12% of the prison population; on the other hand, the law is just beginning to address unethical workplace practices like overwork and power harassment, while facing a rising number of reports on domestic and sexual violence—the raw numbers of which are likely even higher than reported. [source] The difference between which acts are ruled criminal, and who gets criminalized for acting, lays stark the difference between the unethical actions undertaken by the powerful, and the criminalized actions undertaken by the powerless; the more an unethical act abides by and benefits entrenched systems of power, the more we are compelled to see it as normal and acceptable, whereas actions, however minuscule, that resist the hegemony of the capitalist class and reject its propaganda end overwhelmingly with more debt and prison time.

Family and class.

The socioeconomic forces that shift our societies are no less felt within the family structure, and family may be one of the first social units to see destabilization. In a world of increasing economic strife, it isn’t uncommon for parents to spend more hours working than at home, or even to travel abroad to provide for their family in their native country, to see traditional norms rewritten as children either move away or continue to live with their parents, as marriage and birth rates rise or fall, and as the elderly are either embraced back into the family structure or left to fend for themselves. Due to generational wealth, family is also often the determining factor for whether or not someone succeeds, to what degree, and with how much effort. Needless to say, when it comes to “class,” the topic of family receives much scrutiny as academics, journalists, and creators delve into the ways our notions of “family” shift according to time, class, and economics.

Consider that in Japan, and de facto in most countries in the world, the first and most important safety net in modern society is the family. “Public social protection schemes are based on the assumption that everyone is supported by family first,” [source] and this includes the assumption of financial assistance, and duties like procuring care for the family’s elderly. The Japanese family registry—the koseki—is a family tree that records births, deaths, and marriages, and is in many ways a codification of the centrality of family, bloodline, and inheritance. [source] When a character like Jin says that he’s “someone without roots,” perhaps our first impulse is to imagine it as a description of emotional relationships, a difficulty he experiences because others can’t relate to him, but it’s not purely an intangible feeling; there are very tangible repercussions to being “unrooted.” Without a stable family, “unrooted” people miss the safety net that family is supposed to be—they miss its protection. Under a system that expects the worst scourges of modernity to be alleviated by the family, this leaves the “unrooted” out in the cold.

These failures on the part of the traditional family structure to account for prosperity, whether it be through generational poverty, through abuse, or through instability and absence, often leads to a restructuring of these bonds. In Japan, “when the economic bubble burst and the recession exposed the illusion of permanent and stable employment for the diligent workforce, the children found that attaining a better living than their parents through hard work and better education was no longer guaranteed,” and once economic success was no longer guaranteed through traditional paths, children’s bonds “shifted to more individualized, voluntary ties.” [source] Of course, shifting economic conditions aren’t the only reason for non-blood-related individuals to come together—many also come from backgrounds of loss or rejection. As a columnist wrote: “Tragedy and suffering have pushed people together in a way that goes deeper than just a convenient living arrangement. They become, as the anthropologists say, “fictive kin.””

BNHA poignantly embodies these dynamics as Jin tearfully declares that the LOV gave him a “place to belong.” In Japanese, the term used is 居場所 (ibasho), a phrasing which contains the 居 kanji for “residing” or “residence,” as well as “to exist” (it reprises in “I was happy to be (居られて) here” in Jin’s final thoughts). A literal reading could render ibasho as a “place to reside,” or a “place to exist”—something offered only by the friends Jin made, who are a sanctuary from the public that overlooked his alienation, rendering him invisible and denying him existence. For their parts, the other villains are also marked by an ambiguous relationship to their biological family, if not an absence altogether. Himiko and Tomura, whose backstories were touched upon in the same arc, led contentious family lives: Himiko’s parents appeared to regularly condemn their child, and the repeated rebukes that Tomura (Tenko) endured from his father—including an incident of physical assault—resulted in the awakening of Decay and the deaths of his family.

These three were remnants of broken traditional families, scattered and largely isolated across the country. Originally united as a villain group bound loosely by similar goals, they eventually came to rely on each other for survival once the stability of All For One’s hideout and resources were stripped away, leaving them to face a hostile world saturated by incessant policing and villain power struggles. Mutual protection became not only necessary for survival, but necessary for triumph—the League of Villains are consistently shown to be at their best when working as a team, operating on a mixture of communication and even blind trust. Ironically, it’s only when they try to bring outsiders into the fold that the situation goes awry, suggesting that their strength isn’t in numbers or recruitment, but in the relationships they’ve built between one another, relationships that ultimately coalesced under the unpopular worldview that maybe there is nothing wrong with them, but something very wrong with the world. What the readers come to understand is that the LOV are no longer only convenient allies: they can best be understood as a residence for a group of outcasted people with similar experiences and outlooks, who finally found in each other the shelter that traditional family had failed to provide.

[alj4890]

Choices September Challenge

Day 21 Vision

(Hugh Crawford x MC*Elizabeth Hayes) A Choices The Unexpected Heiress drabble

A/N This VIP book has hooked me. I did not expect all the mystery and such in this period drama. And I didn't expect to come to adore Hugh's character as much as I have. He has so many characteristics I adore: sweet, ready for whatever MC needs, sense of humor, and able to handle himself with the upper classes and those of lesser standing. I am not solely focusing on the murder mystery part for this drabble but exploring more of his one on one with the MC as they grow closer. *SPOILER WARNING for a few parts of this Choices book*

@choicesseptemberchallenge20​​ @xjustin-ethansgirliex​​ @lovealexhunt​​ @krsnlove​

Masterlist

Perhaps

"Ms. Hayes!"

Elizabeth turned around. She scanned the crowded sidewalk for the one who called her name.

Her eyes finally alighted on the young solicitor who was eagerly making his way through the crowd.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Crawford." She held her hand out to him. "I didn't expect to see you in London."

"I was called upon to speak to a potential client." He waved his hand in the direction she had originally been going. "May I walk with you toward your destination?"

"Yes, please." She smiled up at him. "Your company is always welcome."

His cheeks flushed a bit as he accepted her compliment. "I feel the same for yours."

Elizabeth's maid, Effie, exaggerated clearing her throat with a knowing smile.

"Ms. Hayes? If Mr. Crawford is to accompany you home, would it be alright if I popped in on a friend of mine?"

"Yes, of course." Elizabeth replied.

Once her companion had parted from them, Hugh focused on the lady beside him. "Is this your first time in London?"

"Oh dear, does my lack of travel show through?" She asked.

"Not at all." He corrected. "Though," he leaned closer to whisper, "You are far more cheerful than many of the ladies I have encountered here."

"I suppose my American optimism is unable to be quashed." Elizabeth teased.

"Ah, yes." He chortled. "That must be what sets you apart from every other woman."

They continued a few steps before he spoke again.

"I have been researching a lot about your America recently."

"Oh? For any particular reason?"

"I have been thinking of possibly moving there." Hugh confessed.

"Have you?" Elizabeth turned toward him. "But what of Lord Somerset? What of your other clients?"

"With the number of solicitors in London alone, much less the entire country; I have no doubt that they will find someone to take my place." He winked at her. "I'm not nearly as important to the outcome of their fortunes as I would lead them to believe."

She laughed out loud, eyes cutting coyly to him. "I think you belittle your talent."

"Nonsense." He offered his arm as they crossed the street. "But I do think a change would be nice." His eyes lowered to the diamond engagement ring sparkling on her finger. "I think a change of pace might do wonders for me. I could still work with the wealthy, then use those exorbitant rates I charge them to help the less fortunate with their legal matters."

"I could write to my father." Elizabeth offered. "I know he is always on the lookout for an intelligent, honest solicitor." Her happiness at first seeing him wavered with the fact that she might lose him soon. "You will be greatly missed."

His eyes lifted to her profile. "I think I will miss England more so now that you're here."

Elizabeth turned toward him. "Hugh, there is something I must tell you."

"Forgive me, Elizabeth. That was too forward." He straightened away from her. "You are to marry the heir to the Somerset fortune." He grimaced. "My employers, no less."

"Hugh." She gripped his arm. "You know why I am engaged to Francis."

"I do." He reassured her. "And I have come to appreciate our friendship." He averted his eyes. "Though it was formed from such tragic circumstances."

Elizabeth thought of the secret she and Francis had concerning their engagement. She chewed on her lower lip, longing to tell Hugh the truth. She knew he of all people would understand the need for a fake engagement while they searched for her sister's murderer.

Coming to England as a replacement bride for Francis Somerset after Amelia's tragic death was hard enough to swallow, much less now that she had met a man she could see herself married to.

Why did her father have to be wealthy? Why was he and her stepmother so willing to trade their daughters and inheritance for a nearly bankrupt English title and land? Was it simply one more jewel in their social status crown?

At least Amelia and Francis had fallen in love. But, if she were to live up to their families' wishes, Elizabeth would forever be bound to a man who would see only her sister each time he looked at her. How could they possibly have any chance at happiness when they had both loved Amelia so much? Now that she knew how in love her sister had been with the young lord, it felt terribly wrong to even think of taking her place by his side.

One look at Elizabeth's despondent face made Hugh rouse his cheerfulness. "Here now. We can't have a lady upset when she is to attend her first ball of the season, can we?" He gently patted her hand. "The upper crust will string me up by my dinner jacket tonight if it comes to light that I caused this."

Elizabeth's head jerked up. "Oh! You will be at the ball this evening?"

"I am always invited." He slightly smirked. "Perhaps it is because I am one of those rare individuals in their world. I am neither noble nor servant. I am neither considered beneath them nor a threat toward a single noble searching for an unwed heiress."

Elizabeth shook her head at the vision his description placed in her mind, one of a man apart yet so easily one of the crowd.

She then imagined him dressed formally and how handsome he would be.

"Neither of us really belong there do we?"

"On the contrary." He paused mid step. "You belong in any company." His smile turned tender at her blush. "I expect you to be surrounded by admirers when I arrive."

"Hugh, you're a charming, intelligent gentleman." She reminded him. "I believe that is why they make certain to invite you."

"Perhaps." He repeated.

The nearer they got to her Aunt Maude's home, the more she wished she had more time alone with him.

"Do you by any chance waltz at these balls?" She asked.

"I do actually." His smile flashed. "Unthreatening competition, remember?" He reminded her.

"Then I hope you ask me for a dance." She shyly admitted.

"I shall." He promised, thinking of this being the one chance to hold her within his arms.

They stopped outside of the townhouse, not quite ready to part from one another. Dusk had already settled around them.

Elizabeth decided that she would tell him tonight that she wasn't truly engaged. If there was a chance Hugh might feel as strongly as she did, then she wanted to at least let him know there was no other man who had a claim on her.

"You being unthreatening to the ladies, Mr. Crawford," she said with a flirty smile, "is a falsehood."

She allowed her hand to trail down his arm to grasp his hand, giving an affectionate squeeze. One more veiled compliment couldn't hurt in making sure he sought her out at the ball

"For you are a larger threat than you realize at stealing a particular lady's heart."

Unable to express what her revelation did to him, Hugh bowed his head in farewell. His eyes followed her until she was safely within her aunt's home.

His step seemed a touch more enthusiastic as he hurried off to make himself presentable for the evening. Knowing he would be granted more opportunities to spend with Elizabeth tonight, he couldn’t quite disguise his excited smile as he dressed for the ball.

[fanfiction-inc]

Golden Faced Bastard

Verse: Death Stranding

Characters/Pairings: Higgs Monaghan/Reader

Warnings/Tags: Masturbation, sexual themes, phone sex, sexual tension, enemies, love/hate relationship, m/f, mentions of sex.

Word Count: 2,444

Summary: When a terrorist grows bored, what’s a better pass time then contacting your favorite person to mess with?

Rating: Explicit

Notes: I used this ask from @dirty-higgs-confessions​ as inspiration for this story: "Higgs calling you while you're on a run for Bridges and teasing you as he jerks off. It soon turns into casual phone sex until he finishes then you just hang up on him despite the fact that now you're needy and wish he was there to fuck you."

I of course put a small twist on this but fuck it! :D

Link to Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22287181

South Knot, lit by the lights of signal post that wavered with each drop of timefall running down and over their initial scanners. Timefall, it had been falling for the past two hours and had no sign of clearing up at any point. The sun was already hidden behind thick and ominous clouds, giving way to darkened blue skies that seemed to shift to black when the smallest but the brightest of stars attempt to peak out of the thick layers and shed light on a damned world. As long as the country was divided, as long as the world went to shit, there was no hope in sight of making it to the end of the year. If it wasn’t the timefall that got ‘ya, or the BT’s that always loomed no matter where you went, it was the Homo Demens. Despite all of this deliveries still had to be made. A distraction was still always in order to avoid the end of life itself to a group that deemed themselves almighty.

A soft sigh of lips flutter in the air as the motorized trike raised from the garage platform, sitting new and ready for the exposure that was sure to knock it out of commission by morning come. Packages bound for Lake Knot and its distribution center loaded up with skilled fingers behind gloved hands that have worked too hard for their years, strapped down and held in place, cases prepared for the intensifying storm. The timefall was growing worse, but nothing would get done if the porter stayed put inside this metal and technology compound labeled a distribution center. In an older life, one may say it was a prison converted into a somewhat functioning distribution center surrounded by a semi-intact city. Others would say its the skeleton of what had once been and is now new. A final breath was given in the form of a sigh and hair tucked up underneath the timefall protective hood was tied back to keep from falling out, legs thrown over to straddle the bikes seat and started with a low rumble that stuck in the gut and fluttered to make the limbs tingle. A single motion to lower goggles that helped protect the eyes from the near toxic rain and the bike was taking off up the ramp and out of the distribution center.

Visibility was growing reduced with the lower in temperature and timefall, fog spreading among the ground and making any sort of travel along rigid rocks and muddy ground grow tough. The first slip of the bike was a fluke, the second sending it off its course a few feet and the third sending it to slide and sputter, mud slinging everywhere among the area before composure was gained once more and the route was continued to Lake Knot. The silence of the water hammering the ground and the low rumble of the bike nearly drowned out the incoming call, the tone that of unknown origin.

“Hello sweetheart.”

The voice brings the bike to finally slide and collapse on its side, sending the rider off to the side into the somewhat enclosed space of a covered cliff side with gathering mud puddle. The timefall hammered the collapsed bike, aching body of the porter jumping up to bring it out of the timefall and protect the contents within the now scratched up and slightly damaged boxes. Rust rubbed off onto the porters gloves and she was quick to remove them, to make sure they couldn't get up onto her skin and let the smear of timefall gather. A check of the comlink and a soft groan of annoyance fluttered from the lips of the porter who threw her hood back and unzipped the top of her jumper, the suit pooling around her waist. It was still active, and the gentle breathing on the other side indicated the presence of the man who simply refused to leave her be. The man who played games and invaded spaces he should never have been in. The one who stands before his men promising the sixth great extinction of the world and yet devotes his free time from the plans to the porter resting against the shallow crevice of an opening in the bottom of the cliff side and Bridges poster boy.

Higgs fucking Monaghan.

“Have a little accident there, darlin’? Did I startled you?” The labor to his breath, the soft flutter of that tone that the porter hated to admit drove her mind to slowly blank. She shakes out of her clouded thoughts, swallowing hard with a hand held to her throbbing head. It it wasn’t the impact that made it hurt, it was the annoyance of the man on the other end of the line who ruined her day and sent her into the wildest of fever dreams that left her body aching for touches she knew she didn’t want to admit she wanted or, being honest with herself, needed. So long without touch, so long without someone finding interest. It was almost gratifying, having that sort of attention, but why must it be him? “Wouldn’t you like to fuckin’ know.”

“Oh honey, one can only assume from the sound. Your little deliveries must be banged up, am I right?” The light hint of a noise and a pause fell over the line. He takes in a somewhat struggled breath and the porter could only confirm what he was doing the moment his hushed tone whispered ‘fuck’.

“Are you calling me just to jack off?”

“What can I say, your voice does it for me, baby.”

A hint of disgust fills her form and yet her body entered a full form of shivers and pin pricks that made everything tingle. The ground soaked in timefall wasn’t the only thing wet right now. His breath kept fluttering over the line and the porter had half the mind to cut it off, to end the call, but what would stop him from calling back and just continuing?

“I’m hanging up, Higgs-”

“Wait! Please don’t hang up (First name). Just...just talk to me and this’ll be over soon. Ya don’t even have to talk dirty or nothin’. Not unless ‘ya want to. Just be a good girl and talk.”

Hesitation met the line and the man on the other end knew damn well he had the other hooked, just by the way he hears a shuffle and a sigh that was a mixture of annoyance and possibly even defeat. She knew as well as he did that he would keep calling back until he was finished and she was annoyed to the point that she would just let it happen. He swallowed when he hears her soft breath, eyes fluttering at the sound of such. If only he could feel it, the hot breath that he imagined to be against his ear or neck, if only he could feel her.

“I’m only doing this so you’ll leave me the fuck alone, you golden faced bastard.”

“Ah, kinky. I didn’t know my honey was into name callin’.”

“I’m not your honey.”

The sound of a chuckle fluttered over the line and the porter was resigned to simply allow her eyes to roll, to ease back against the wall of the crevice and allow her hand to trail. It was no fun for this to be one sided, and she highly doubted any other porters would be coming through this area at such a late hour in the complete downpour of the timefall. Higgs smirked when another sigh sounded. “Is it safe to assume I’m not gonna be the only one enjoyin’ this, darlin’?”

“I don’t give a shit what you assume.”

“Oh come on, sweetheart, you can just lay back, relax and let each of us enjoy the other. One night and one night only. And I won’t tell if you won’t.”

The sound of his tone, as if the smirk could be heard in it. A few low pumps of his hips makes a soft grunt leave his lips and he hears the other try to stifle a noise of her own. Noises did it for each, but it wasn’t enough. They needed each word to grasp onto and allow themselves to melt with. Higgs needed her, and she needed him. She swallowed lightly when there was silence, wondering if he had already left the line, but she hears another shuffle of clothing and the soft sound of skin rubbing against skin. So, this is how it’s gonna be, the two satisfying themselves to pass the time then moving on with their lives. If only it was that easy.

Higgs grasped himself with a bare hand, a shaky breath and airy chuckle falling from his lips. “I wondered for some time what it would be like, ever since I met you in Mountain Knot, to have you just the way I want you. You don’t know how long It’s been, how long its been since I last had a satisfying session alone. It’s never good enough with fantasies. You can dream it but it doesn't get ‘ya anywhere. Do ‘ya know what I mean?”

“Sadly.” The woman begrudgingly admits, fingers simply tracing over the basic fabric covering the single heat patch that deserved her attention. It weeped for stimulation, weeped for the touch of the man, but his voice and her own hand alone would have to suffice. The mental image of him pumping himself would have to do.

“Be honest with me, darlin’, but how long has it been for you? I mean to truly have a good one.”

“A good what?”

“Oh don’t play dumb, baby doll. A good orgasm. Cum. Jerk off or whatever the female equivalent is. How long has it been where your body screamed ‘yes’ in the most delicious?” His pace was beginning to slowly pick up, shivering when he heard the soft wet noises of her fingers moving along her slick core, having moved beyond the fabric. He savored the sound, listened as closely as he could to the soft hitch in her breath and the shaky sigh she gives away.

“Months.” She finally whispered out, eyes fluttering shut as she hears him spit into his hand, or maybe even onto his own member and begins a more leisurely pace that sent a hot shiver up his spine. “You?”

“Maybe a year. They’re never good when rushed. But when ‘ya take your time with ‘em-” A soft flutter of a groan sounding in the air was enough to accent his point, his own head falling back against the headrest of the chair he sat in, legs spreading as much as the material around his knees would allow. Her shaky breath and the soft hint of a wine makes his teeth sink down into his lip, hand working as his imagination worked on what he would be doing to her that would make such a noise come from those perfect lips that enticed him every time he watches her speak.

“What is it about my voice that..Oh fuck...That helps you along?” She asked with a tone that wavered, licking at her lips when he breaths deeply, listening to the increase of skin against skin and the hushed noises leaving his lips. “How soft it is. You’re always talkin’ loud but that softness never leaves it. It’s airy, almost like ‘ya singin’ me a song. I’d like to hear ‘ya sing a different kind of one, my little songbird.”

She speaks before she can even stop herself. “You’d have to be here if you want a song like that.”

This earns a faster pace from each of their respective hands, one working the tip of a weeping member and the other the bundle of nerves that was beginning to make searing pain blossom in her abdomen and inner thighs. More wet noises, more heavy breathing from both parties. They needed more than this. “Then next time I see ‘ya, baby doll, I’ll make sure to make ‘ya sing.”

“You gotta find me first.”

“Oh, I will. I’m a very resourceful man. Though, you may not like what I do when I find ‘ya.”

“Is that a promise?” The barest grace of a smirk in her tone and the man groans at such a comment, hand working him like he would imagine her mouth doing. “I always keep my promises, darlin’. I’m a man of my word.”

“Oh bullshit, Higgs.”

The next groan was a bit more audible and his shivered in delight, savoring the way her voice sounded when she spoke his name.

“Again. Say my name again.”

“Higgs.”

The sound of skin slapping grows.

“Slower. Draw it out.”

He whispered, tone almost like that of a plea.

“Hiiiggs.”

“Oh fuck, just like that.”

He was growing close, just as she was with each noise and word she was able to soak up over the comlink. When he finally spilled, it was the groan of her name that left his lips, that was the tipping point for her and makes her high pitched moan follow and mingle with the groans that left his lips with each overstimulated pump of his leaking member. He wipes his hand on the inside of his pants, hiding the mess from view in case anyone was to check in, though why should he care? He was the man who could send them into the sixth extinction early. When her shaky and soft breath fluttered over the line, he lets his smirk return. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Now, I'll ask again. When was the last time you had a good one?”

“Today.”

“Mm, be more exact.”

“Just a few seconds ago, maybe a minute.” His chuckle followed her words. “You?”

“About a minute ago or so. Now it’ just a matter of getting into bed with ‘ya.”

A soft scoff from her end and he grins away, loving how she goes right back to the defensive. “When’s the last time ‘ya had a good fuck?”

The line hangs up and Higgs lets out a fit of laughter, a shake of his head following as he props his feet up on the table before him. In due time, he’d have her just the way he wanted her.

A call back, the porter groans in the midst of getting her suit zipped back up. “What?”

“South Knot, meet me there and I’ll keep good on my promise.” He was almost giddy, and the woman sighed. “If it’ll shut ‘ya up once and for all, then fine. South Knot it is.”

“I’ll see ‘ya then, darlin’.”

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

Thank you, as always, for reading and let me know what you guys thought about this! If you would like to be tagged in further stories, send me an ask! Remember, request are always open!

Tagging: @dirty-higgs-confessions​​ | @johnlocklover221​​

[yakocchi]

Be My Princess Social // Yakov Chernenkov, Season 1, Episode 1

// The Great Prince of the Country of Ice

o wats this, self-indulgent crap?? haha the joke is that all the translations i post are self-indulgent crap, thank you for coming to the press conference

This is going to be part of a translation of the Yakov Chernenkov route for the Be My Princess Social Platforms (GREE, Joshige, Eternal Kiss, etc.)

I figured this should be… relatively all right given that it seems like Voltage is done with BMP Social games forever in terms having English versions. tbh kinda surprised no one ever took the task of doing it. publicly at least? i searched a bit, found nothing. if someone already did it pls tell me lol  …..but i guess something like this is a stan’s job to do, right (ﾟ▽ﾟ*) 

idk, we’ll see how this goes… only did 1 ep as a test run to see if i feel like doing this rn lol this is lengthy endeavor

Image-heavy!! Please credit if you take any of it, thenk u (･ω･*)

Intro & Legend

This route is similar to Zain’s in that they wipe just about everything from the Paid version (the one with Sergei and the Anastasia backstory…lol that was wild thinking abt it) and start anew with the character. But Yakov is different from all the other BMP1 characters in that they also changed his personality almost completely. This is reflected in his profile when they change his blood type and age from the Paid version (B → O, 25 → 31)

If you’re familiar with the Social Zain route, you can kinda see through his bits how they changed him. A BMP fansite master describes him as “high-handed, but charismatic - a person with the character of a king” which sums it up better than anything I could ever think up

So I guess it would be a good idea to not carry over expectations from the Paid app route to this route because that’s just a recipe for disappointment lol. i know a lot of people like the Yakov from the Paid route, so I wanted to put that out there. It’s a shame bc that character is effectively “gone” but… the yakov i stan is the social one, so if that had to happen so my 2d man could come into existence…well…

thank u for ur sacrifice

➤ are my own commentary.

➢ are the choices that pop up. For the most part I have both (iirc I don’t have one near the end bc I forgot I was trying to pick the wrong ones on purpose lol). Note that all my wrong answers are from the original version’s text and thus they may have been changed for EK. Correct answers are labeled with ❆

➼ at the end of a line signals that the choice text has “ended” and it returns back to the general text. The general text resumes on the line that begins with a ➼. This is mostly just for organization on my part - the docs I type+format these on get very, very annoying to scroll through, so

Bolded dialogue reflect the screencaps.

I hope you enjoy some part of it! ( ´◡` ) Thanks for reading

Episode 1 // The Great Prince of the Country of Ice

➤ Interestingly, the original title they used for GREE and Joshige is The Cold, Rational Prince of Sanct Sybil Kingdom. I dunno why they would change it except maybe it was too long for the title card to look pretty lol

When I opened the door at the sound of the chime, there stood a man wearing a gentle smile on his face. Taking note of my presence, he places his hand to his breast and gracefully bows.

[Zain]: “You must be Miss Kara Go. I am Zain, the personal steward of Nobel Michel Castle.” [Zain]: “As promised, I have come to pick you up.” [Kara]: “Y-Yes. I am indeed Kara Go.” [Kara]: “To go out of your way to come here - thank you so much.” (Am I really… not just dreaming here?) Pulling a letter out from my pocket, I recall the events over the past few days that had led up to today.

I had torn the seal of a blank-white envelope that had no written return address, and my eyes widened in shock. “I want you to become an exclusive designer.” In the enclosed message - along with a bit of contact information, the end of the letter had been signed by Nobel the XIII, the lord of Nobel Michel Castle. (This must be some sort of mistake… A-Anyhow, I should try to verify it.) Thinking that, I call the contact number on the letter…

But, indeed - the letter was not a mistake, and they spoke to me about wanting to have a proper consultation about the position. I was told that Lord Nobel wanted some time to talk in-person with me, and eventually the promised day where I felt that my dreams were coming over the horizon… finally came. (Even when it’s finally here, in front of me of like this, I still can’t believe it…) [Zain]: “Thus, His Grace awaits. Let us depart.” [Kara]: “O-Okay…” With a spring to my step, I get onto the limousine with Zain.

(It would’ve never crossed my mind that I’d be going to Nobel Michel Castle for a second time.) (And on top of that, I’ve been called here in terms of being a designer of all things…) I was pretty nervous the time I had come here for Jean Pierre’s errand, but now I’m even more nervous compared to that day. I felt my heart noisily thumping as I waited for Lord Nobel, and eventually the parlor door opened.

[Zain]: “My Lady, we must deeply apologize.” [Zain]: “His Grace’s conference is going longer than expected, so it seems you will have to wait a few moments longer.” [Kara]: “I see…” [Zain]: “Since you took your most valued time to come here― Would you like to take a look around the castle gardens until the conference is over?” [Kara]: “Castle gardens… you say?” [Zain]: “Indeed. Several varieties of the rare flowers we raise are currently in bloom– so if it pleases you, I can guide you around.” (You don’t get the chance to tour the Nobel Castle gardens everyday.) [Kara]: “Then, if you may.” [Zain]: “Very well. Shall we go now?” With Zain as my guide, I get to visit the castle gardens.

[Kara]: “Wow… it’s absolutely stunning.” [Zain]: “Thank you. Everyone who visits these gardens tend to voice similar sentiments about it.” The courtyard stretched over a vast space, and it was a feast for the eyes even with a simple glance. (In a way, it’s as if I’ve been sucked into a fairy tale.) As Zain explained the parts and features within it, I was completely enamored by the beautiful garden― When an teenage boy clad in a butler’s uniform comes running to us from the castle.

[???]: “Zain! So this is where you were.” [Zain]: “…Theo, you are before a guest.” [Zain]: “I must apologize, My Lady.” [Zain]: “This is Theo, who is training in this castle as an apprentice steward.” The boy called Theo – at being scolded by Zain, straightened his posture accordingly.

➤ i can’t believe bmp2 stans denied us from having the wacky family sitcom a theo route would have smh my head bro

[Theo]: “…I am Theo.” [Kara]: “I’m Kara. Nice to meet you, Theo.” [Theo]: “M-Mhm…” Theo, whose face still held remnants of childlike youth, averted his eyes shyly. Then Zain, who had witnessed all of this, lightly presses the boy in a gentle tone. [Zain]: “Theo, did you have any matters to discuss with me?” [Theo]: “Ah-, right! I was sent by His Grace to relay this message to you.” [Theo]: “He urgently wants your input on something, so you gotta come to the conference room.” [Zain]: “His Grace does?” [Zain]: “But, right now…” His eyebrows knit together, as if troubled. With a smile I turn to him. [Kara]: “I’ll be all right by myself. Though while I wait, may I take a look around the garden?” [Zain]: “Yes, of course.” [Zain]: “I apologize for being unable to guide you around myself for now– but if you could meet with me afterwards…” [Zain]: “Can you wait just a moment?” [Kara]: “All right.” Sounding apologetic in his words, he then goes with Theo towards the castle. (Being the exclusive butler to Lord Nobel must be quite the busy job…) I thought about that as I took a stroll around the calm gardens, sunlight beaming… When―

[Man]: “Please, at least, once more– Please consider thinking about it…!” The cries of a man at his wits’ end cut through the silence of the courtyard. (Is something going on…?) Looking in the direction of the voice, I find three men standing from the other side of the building. The shouting from earlier seems to have come from a man who looked slightly older from other two, and said man also seemed to be desperately calling for something. [Man]: “…The state of the administration right now still is unstable.” [Man]: “If we act too carelessly, the balance of the three nations could collapse once more!” [???]: “…I have long past made a decision.” The words that had answered the aggravated man were bound to a terribly icy voice. As this man stood with his back facing me, I was unable to see his face; but from pitch alone he seemed to be a young man. With his long, platinum-blond hair having been pleated into a single braid, he silently rebuffs the rage of the older one.

[???]: “Even if you did indeed manage to chase me all the way here― Decisions are not something to turn back from.” [???]: “That is all that need be said, so I shall leave first.” [Man]: “…Yakov–Sir, why are you this impatient?!” [Man]: “It can't be that you don’t realize that now is a crucial time for the country, is it…?!”  In pure exasperation, the older man grabs onto the man called Yakov. But in doing so, a man in a butler’s uniform that had stood across from him swiftly yanks the man off.

[Butler]: “What are you thinking in that head of yours, grabbing onto someone of his (Yakov’s) status?” [Butler]: “Even if you get imprisoned for disrespecting the state, this is an inexcusable situation you’ve found yourself in.”

➤ so the term he uses is specifically for lèse-majesté, which is the fancy term for insulting the ruling sovereign, monarchy, ruling state, etc. etc. but i didn’t want to just throw in that term bc i felt like it’s not… very common? idk i feel like the bmp mc wouldn’t know what that is granted i guess you could do the galaxy brain take and be like “she doesn’t know what that term is and that’s why she couldn’t piece together that yakov is royalty” 

[Man]: “Urgh…!”   The older man was then pinned to the ground, and as his arms were confined behind his back, he groans in pain. The moment I see the expression on his face, a cry spills out from my lips.

[Kara]: “Ah…!” [Yakov]: “…!” Hearing my voice, the platinum-blond man whips his head around. 

His eyes, peeking out from behind his long bangs and deep blue like the sea, then sharply leveled at me. [Yakov]: “…What is your business?” [Kara]: “Uh…”

(What should I answer with?) Menacingly asked to speak, I…

➢ I’m unable to say anything. ➢ “He’s in pain.” ❆

➢ I’m unable to say anything. (This person… has an awfully intimidating air to him.) Unable to say anything particularly impactful, I only turn my eyes to the man held to the ground. ➼

➢ “He’s in pain.” [Kara]: “I don’t know what’s going on here, but you’ve gone too far… He’s in pain.” [Yuri]: “Of course. It’s only natural for it to hurt when you’re bound down like this.” The man in the butler’s uniform answers me with a smile plastered on his face. (What the-… He’s smiling, but it’s honestly quite frightening-) [Kara]: “B-But… if you end up injuring him, that’d be terrible, no…?!” While paralyzed with fear, I managed to raise my voice at him. ➼ 

➼ With that, the platinum-blond man shifts his eyes to the man in the butler’s uniform. [Yakov]: “―Yuri, release him.” [Yuri]: “…” At his words, the one called Yuri immediately relinquishes his hold.

➤ Yuri’s name might actually be Urey, as one of Ivan’s Birthday Event routes note how Ivan’s wolf Urey and butler Yuri have the same name (by coincidence). But the JPN version always spells it as Yuri so I’m just used to it. Not that you should really be taking the app’s romanization as official though given they have stuff like “Lewis” (Louis), “Jean” (Jan), and the occasional “Robert” for Roberto ( ´_ゝ｀) 

As the older man staggers back up from the ground, the blond man speaks to the two of them. [Yakov]: “Do not start trouble in the castle grounds of other kingdoms.” [Yakov]: “ ―Regarding what happened here today, I shall overlook it this time. Good?” [Yuri]: “Understood.” [Man]: “…My sincere apologies.” As the two men lower their heads, the man called Yakov then directs his piercing gaze towards me.

[Yakov]: “Forget what you just saw and heard here. Not a word to anyone.” With only those words to me, he leaves with the other two following behind him. (That “Yakov” person, and “Yuri” too… what terrifying people.) Alone in the garden, I was completely petrified to the spot from the overwhelming pressure those men had left me with.

[Theo]: “―Miss Kara, here is where His Grace’s been hanging o– awaiting your presence, rather.” Afterwards, Lord Nobel’s conference had ended and Theo had come to take me to him. While heading to the parlor where His Grace was waiting, Theo’s innocent self causes a smile to crack my features. [Kara]: “Just ‘Kara’ is fine, Theo. On that note, you don’t have to speak so formally with me.” [Theo]: “Uh- But…” [Kara]: “I’ll be more at ease and less nervous that way.” [Kara]: “Besides, I’m in a similar situation as you.” [Theo]: “‘Similar’?” [Kara]: “I’m only a rookie designer.” [Kara]: “So like how you’re an apprentice butler, it’s kind of a similar position.” [Theo]: “Gotcha…” At my explanation, Theo, apparently happy about some part of it, breaks into a smile. [Theo]: “…I get you. Then- When we’re together like this, I’ll be sure to do it.” [Theo]: “Since only super-distinguished people ever come to this castle, I get pretty stressed out.” [Kara]: “Hehe, I’m feeling the same too. Just entering this castle makes me anxious.”

[Theo]: “Right?! Lord Nobel and Zain treat me really well so it’s all right for now, but…” Theo wore a smile that was quite fitting for a young boy like himself. Calmed by his pure sincerity, I enter the reception room.

[Theo]: “…Your Grace, I have brought Miss Kara Go.” [Nobel]: “Thank you for your hard work.” [Nobel]: “Kara, sorry for making you have to wait on me when I was the one who called you up here.” Lord Nobel wears a merry smile on his face as he kindly welcomes me. I bow my head down in gratitude. [Kara]: “I am, indeed, Kara Go.” [Kara]: “Thank you for inviting me to such a meeting.” [Nobel]: “You don’t have to greet me so formally,”  [Nobel]: “as the truth still stands that I was the one who summoned you today. I just wanted to talk with ya about something.” [Nobel]: “―So, Kara, do you know of the country of Sanct Sybil?” [Kara]: “Yes. I’m only knowledgeable with news and info that’s been reported to the public, but…”

Sanctis, Sybil, Versurk― Those three countries had united into one, and the resulting nation is apparently called “Sanct Sybil” from what I’ve heard. With this as my sole knowledge of the country, Lord Nobel speeds up the conversation.

[Nobel]: “Then I’ll cut to the chase.” [Nobel]: “The truth is that Sanct Sybil is planning to join the Nobel Michel Alliance.” [Nobel]: “As they’re still a new nation, they’re searching for talent both inside and outside the country.” [Nobel]: “In pursuit of capable individuals, the prince of Sanct Sybil has come to me for some guidance, so…” Cutting his own words short, a smile then markedly graces his features.

[Nobel]: “Kara, you are to be the exclusive designer of Sanct Sybil Castle.” [Nobel]: “I thought that I’d like to go see you work there.” [Kara]: “Uh-…” (I’m… going to be the exclusive designer… for a royal castle?!)

[Nobel]: “Besides yourself, I’ve been in talks with other talented folks in all sorts of industries.” [Nobel]: “It’s only the designer position that’s yet to be decided.” [Nobel]: “I personally wanted to recommend you, but… what do you think?” [Kara]: “Um… I’m truly grateful to be able to have this conversation with you, but…” [Kara]: “Since I’m still new to this, I don’t have any achievements to show for anything.” [Kara]: “Knowing that, why did you call on me for this…?” I can’t hide my own utter confusion from his sudden invitation. Voicing my bewildered thoughts with that question, the corners of his lips quirk up into a smile.

[Nobel]: “I learned about you through a list I asked from Jean Pierre.” Lord Nobel, upon consulting with the prince of Sanct Sybil, requested Jean Pierre to produce a list of designers with promising futures. (Jean Pierre himself put me on that list…) [Nobel]: “Certainly, you don’t have any prior accolades… but within the multitude of applicants, I saw your design sketches,” [Nobel]: “and I was considerably charmed by them.” [Nobel]: “I grew delighted just from simply looking at that design.” [Nobel]: “And for that reason I wish to bring you to Sanct Sybil, a nation newly born into this world.” [Nobel]: “I think that a person full of zeal like yourself is necessary for such a place.”   [Kara]: “Your Grace…” [Nobel]: “By all means, please consider it for me.” (I’m simply unworthy to be having this sort of discussion…)

At Lord Nobel’s invitation, I…

➢ “Give me some time.” ❆ ➢ “If it is all right with the other party…”

➢ "Give me some time.” Having heard all of this from Lord Nobel so far, the feeling of wanting to give it a shot comes to me. (But…) [Kara]: “…Could you give me a bit of time to think about it?” [Nobel]: ”Of course. You should go ponder it a great deal before coming to a decision.”  ➼

➢ “If it is all right with the other party…” [Kara]: “If it is all right with the other party, I feel that I would like to accept this offer.” [Kara]: “However…” There’s an uneasy feeling in my heart about it, and my words drift off. Then Lord Nobel, as if he understood my thoughts nods his head once. [Nobel]: “It’s all right if you don’t rush yourself to a decision.”  ➼

➼ [Nobel]: “Can you give Zain an answer a few days from now?” [Kara]: “Understood.” Putting my answer on hold for a moment, I depart Nobel Castle.

(The chance to be the exclusive designer for a royal castle won’t ever come by me again, but…) (While Jean Pierre is having a hard time, I can’t just leave him like this.) Turning down the offer to be dropped off at my apartment, I head towards the office of Jean Pierre.

[Jean Pierre]: “Oh my, is that ma petite?” [Kara]: “Pierre!” Not expecting to meet him like this, I’m surprised to see him here. As if he had sensed something about me, he smiles.

[Jean Pierre]: “…With a face like that, looks like you got something to talk about, hmm?” [Jean Pierre]: “Instead of standing around outside to chat, please just come on in.”

Pierre unlocks the door to his office and I come inside. [Jean Pierre]: “You somehow came all the way here… Could it be that you had talked with Lord Nobel?” [Kara]: “…Yes.” [Kara]: “I received an invitation to work as the exclusive designer of Sanct Sybil Castle.” [Kara]: “But for someone like me, who has no experience nor achievements, to take up such a grand job is…”  [Kara]: “I don’t really have the confidence that I can do something like that.” [Kara]: “And on top of that, I want to be further taught by you…”

[Jean Pierre]: “What are you saying?! Is this not a good thing? This is your big chance!” He looks at me with a serious expression. [Jean Pierre]: “In that list I submitted to Lord Nobel, there were also designers that had prior achievements.” [Jean Pierre]: “Despite that, I was convinced that you would be the one to be chosen.” [Kara]: “Why… is that?” [Jean Pierre]: “From your designs, I feel this power to them.” [Jean Pierre]: “There are some parts that are rough around the edges, but there’s this energy, one that can completely transform people, hidden within!” [Jean Pierre]: “Lord Nobel definitely sensed that too, I bet.” [Kara]: “Ah…” (Thinking about it, Lord Nobel did say something along those lines…) (He said that the designs- from simply looking at them, he grew delighted…)

[Jean Pierre]: “Please believe in yourself.” [Jean Pierre]: “I, as well as His Grace, would never recommend someone who we’d feel couldn’t do the job.”  [Jean Pierre]: “I believe in your potential, ma petite.” [Kara]: “Pierre…” Even though he himself is in a difficult position, he’s so firmly supporting me in this. With my heart overwhelmed with such emotion that I couldn’t speak, Jean Pierre smiles. [Jean Pierre]: “I’m also going to use this moment as a source of encouragement for myself, as I plan to work hard as a designer once more.” [Jean Pierre]: “One day, no doubt in my mind― the offices of Jean Pierre will be restored!” [Jean Pierre]: “And that’s why, ma petite… without worrying about these offices, please just go and try what you want to try.” [Kara]: “…Thank you!” (I can’t let this chance from Jean Pierre and Lord Nobel just pass me by.) Urged on by Jean Pierre, a smile appears on my face as my chest is enveloped in this determination. 

―That night. Resolute in accepting the offer of exclusive designer, I contact Zain as soon as I return to the apartment. [Kara]: “Concerning the aforementioned position of Sanct Sybil’s designer… I think that I will accept the invitation.” [Zain]: “Thank you very much. I think that His Grace will be quite pleased to hear that.” In a soft tone - As if thinking for a moment, Zain continues to speak. [Zain]: “If I can be honest with you, the prince of Sanct Sybil himself is actually coming to stay at the castle for official business.” [Zain]: “Normally, we would hold your interview over at Sanct Sybil, but…” [Zain]: “Since the prince will be coming over, how about you two introduce each other here at Nobel Castle instead?” (Is that so?) (Even if Lord Nobel is recommending me, it could become a situation where the prince of Sanct Sybil is not too impressed by me.) [Kara]: “I see… If you could reserve some time for that, that’d be great.” [Zain]: “Then, I shall make the proper arrangements and contact you again.” And with that, it was decided that I would meet the prince of Sanct Sybil.

A few days later―

I’ve been called to Nobel Castle once more. While having a spot of tea with Lord Nobel and Theo, I bow my head again. [Kara]: “―Thank you for granting me an opportunity like this.” [Nobel]: “Ohohoho.” [Nobel]: “At any rate.. you’ve become quite resolute about this.” [Kara]: “…Yes. Your Grace has given me words of immense appreciation, and Jean Pierre has also encouraged me.” [Kara]: “I think, as a designer, I want to take advantage of these chances given to me.”  (But… with no achievements of my own, I wonder if the Prince will approve of me…) Anxiety running through my heart, Lord Nobel smiles while stroking his beard. [Nobel]: “I also have hopes for you, Miss Kara.” [Nobel]: “I believe that, surely, the prince of Sanct Sybil will indeed require your power.” [Kara]: “Thank you…!” When I beam at Lord Nobel’s kind words, Theo then cuts into the conversation.

[Theo]: “So Kara… really is a designer, huh.”

[Theo]: “But… if it were possible, I was hoping that you’d become the designer for this castle.” [Kara]: “Hehe, thank you.” [Kara]: “I think that I definitely wouldn’t be able to be the designer for Nobel Michel, but I hope one day I’ll be able to make clothes for you, Theo.” Replying to Theo with a smile, Lord Nobel watches us with a gentle look on face. [Nobel]: “Ho ho, looks like you two have become quite close.” [Nobel]: “As I thought, Kara, you seem to have this charm that just mellows out everything around you.” He laughed heartily when there came a knock on the door. [Zain]: “Please excuse the interruption,”

[Zain]: “For I have brought Prince Yakov of Sanct Sybil.” 

➤ “op are u just making excuses to post caps of zain as much as possible” perhaps PERHAPS if im gonna need to break down the blobs of text, zain is nice to look at

(Ah…) I get up from my chair, and face the doorway nervously.  But at the next moment, my eyes instinctively open wide. (That, person…) The figures that followed behind Zain were two men I was familiar with― 

The platinum-blond man with the air of intimidating beauty, and the man in the butler uniform who had worn a smile on his face― 

The people I had witnessed in the courtyard days before.

[Prince Yakov]: “―As I have heard that you have found a candidate for the designer position, I have come.” [Prince Yakov]: “Your Grace, I give you my humble gratitude for granting my request.” [Kara]: “Eh…” [Prince Yakov]: “…” I inadvertently let out a small cry of surprise, and the Prince finally meets my eyes. For a split second his eyes had widened, but almost immediately after it shifts into a sharp gaze. (A person like him is the prince of Sanct Sybil, of all things…)

Steeped in the shocking reality of it all, I stare dumbfounded at Prince Yakov―

➤ now part of me was thinking, do people really need all the screencaps of when he makes the -_- face but honestly him doing the -_- face for half of his portraits on this route is part of the experience

To be continued…

(Letter)

➤ so uh this might be a crapshoot in terms of placement bc there’s diff letters based on the special story you choose, and also i forget where the last few letters go loool but that won’t be a problem until later

From: Yakov Title: (untitled)

…So you are the designer recommended by Lord Nobel? If you come to my country, you will be treated to the finest hospitality. Therefore you should not ponder over unnecessary matters and just bring yourself here. Good?

―Yakov

holy fucc idk why this is more tiring to translate than other stuff. maybe bc this is a slow route where we have exposition and non-romantic chara development we have to tread thru first. also lol translating the bmp writers’ style seems like more work? vs stuff like cybird? idk it’s hard to explain.  i’m not a super big fan of what i have rn…. in fact i’m like wtf what is this incomprehensible garbage i made... but i’m too tired to do revisions rn…… aye… but i’ll definitely look over it again in attempt to give it more clarity+readability so yea. there’s nothing’s “wrong” in terms of the literal meaning per se - it’s more like i’d like to make it flow better and actually follow grammar rules instead of cheating with dashes and line breaks hahaaa 

anyway guess ill see u at the next part when (if?) i bother to do it. hrmmm i should try to make the chunks larger given that this story is 15 eps + 3 special stories (with ~3 variations for each story) + epilogue but fuuu ill get there when i get there

Next Episode…

“If you wish to hear of my tastes - you will have to ask me in a more alluring voice.”

yea thats rite im hitting u with the azn drama cliffhanger. well now i have to do this translation or else this would be mean….. this is a psychological effort to get me to not leave this unfinished

Again, thanks for reading!

[localhorrornerd]

31 Horror Movies for the Halloween Season

Well.. It’s a little bit over 31 bc of sequels and such but it’s a fun title for horror recs! For the record these are in no particular order in like what’s the best or anything! It’s just a list of horror movie recommendations that might get you in the Halloween mood. I tried not to have huge well-known movies on here, but I did throw in a few just because I love them and couldn’t resist. I did try to add small descriptions for each one, but given there’s like 31 movies on here, they are rather short. Either way, hopefully you’ll find one or a couple movies here that you’re interested in!

1. Trick ‘r Treat

A rather well-known one but is it really a list without Trick ‘r Treat? A fun horror anthology with four different stories that connect to each other in some way - including the fact they all take place on Halloween night! A fun one to actually watch on Halloween.

2. Hell House LLC

For the record there are two sequels (Hell House LLC 2: The Abaddon Hotel & Hell House LLC 3: Lake of Fire), however I have not seen either of them so can’t include them here, but if you want to watch them I’d say go check them out! Basically it’s a documentary style type film that follows what happened up to the days a horrible tragedy took place on the opening night of a haunted house attraction. No one knows exactly what actually went down, so the reason for the documentary is to attempt to figure out what truly happened that night.

3. Repo! The Genetic Opera

A horror musical! It’s set in a future where organ failure is extremely common so naturally a huge company comes along and is like “Okay you can have an organ transplant, but you have a huge payment plan and if you can’t pay then we’re just gonna kill you and take your organs back.” Also it has so many good songs would highly recommend if you haven’t seen it (and you can stomach a bit of gore).

4. The Devil’s Carnival & Alleluia! The Devil’s Carnival

Another horror musical! And done by the same people who did Repo! For the record The Devil’s Carnival is only about an hour long but the sequel is a full length movie! A short quick explanation is that it’s set in Hell (unsurprisingly) and follows the people who end up there - also during this the Devil is planning an attack - but I’ll let you find out the rest if you haven’t seen it yet.

5. Ju-On and/or The Grudge (Any Film)

It’s my favorite horror franchise, so of course Ju-On was gonna end up on here! Whether it be the original Japanese films or the American remakes, it follows vengeful spirits who were murdered in their home and are taking revenge on anyone who enters.

6. Sinister & Sinister 2

Okay I know Sinister 2 is one not very well liked, but since I have seen it I decided I might as well include it (though I don’t really remember my thoughts on it it’s been a while). Video tapes that contain children murdering their families and a mysterious being that may be at the center of it is the basic plot for these movies.

7. Tragedy Girls

Basically you got two best friends who capture a serial killer because they themselves want to become serial killers! Don’t wanna say too much outside of that, as that is the basic plot concept honestly, but it’s a really fun movie.

8. The Final Girls

A girl dealing with the anniversary of her mother’s death ends up, with a small group of others, stuck in a horror movie that her mother actually starred in. Okay as much fun as this one is it does pull on the heart strings a bit I gotta admit. But it’s truly great and naturally has a feel of an older slasher movie.

9. You Might be the Killer

Another one that’s got that older slasher movie vibe as it takes place at a camp. One where the counselors are getting picked off one by one by a masked killer. Comes in our protagonist, who is calling his friend, who isn’t at the camp and also is a huge horror enthusiast, for help to figure out what to do and maybe figure out what’s going on/who the killer is.

10. Danur (aka Danur: I Can See Ghosts)

A young girl who just wants friends finds them in the form of three potentially paranormal ones. Though it seemingly being just a childhood thing, it actually becomes of great importance as she gets older. This movie also has a sequel, Danur 2: Maddah.

11. Fright Night

For the record I am talking about the remake here, as I have not seen the original, but if you would prefer to watch that one - or maybe even both - go for it! Basically, teen starts to believe his new neighbor is a vampire after more and more people go missing. Also David Tennant is there if you go with the remake so that’s always fun!

12. Tales of Halloween

Admittedly I wasn’t too into this film, but I know a lot of people like it! Not too much to say, it’s a horror anthology with 10 different segments that take place on Halloween! So you’re bound to find something you enjoy within it, whether it be the paranormal, witches, or even just dumb fun horror comedy antics.

13. The Tag-Along

Based on an urban legend from Taiwan, “The Little Girl in Red”, it focuses on a man and his girlfriend. Of which the man’s grandmother suddenly goes missing one day - eventually leading to him discovering clues of a potential unknown little girl who had began following his grandmother around. There are two sequels to this movie as well that I have not seen yet, that being The Tag-Along 2 & The Tag-Along: The Devil Fish.

14. Three... Extremes

Another anthology film that contains three separate stories, each one coming from a different East Asian country. It also has a prequel, Three (or 3... Extremes II in the U.S.), and a full length film made from one of the stories within it, Dumplings.

15. The Hallow

Really feel like the point of this movie is like ‘Don’t fuck with the woods’. As it basically focuses on a couple and their baby, who seems to be the target for the odd things happening to them that seems rather connected to the woods nearby.

16. The Devil’s Candy

A man moves with his family into a new home, and slowly begins to feel as though something is possessing him in a sense. That and also the potential fact his family is being targeted by the previous resident of the home.

17. Wake Wood

Apparently FMA did not teach us not to fuck with the dead enough, so here’s a movie about a grieving couple that lost their daughter who move into a town that holds the power to bring someone back from the dead for only 3 days. Unfortunately like FMA, things go horribly wrong (just not... in the same way as FMA).

18. The Cabin in the Woods

College students go out to a cabin in the woods in which things quickly take a turn for the worst. Seems simple enough, but it’s so much more complicated than that - however I won’t be sharing any of those details for those who haven’t watched it yet.

19. Prevenge

A pregnant woman who’s husband has recently passed away, believes that her unborn child wants her to track down and kill everyone who was involved in the accident. An extremely wild but honestly rather fun time.

20. You’re Next

Home invasion, baby! In which everything goes to hell for a family and their partners when masked killers start trying to kill everyone there. Though things take a turn quick and you start to wonder who is really the ones being hunted down here. (A fairly well known one, but I had to recommend it given one of my favorite characters in horror is in this movie)

21. Kuronezumi (aka Black Rat)

Not too much to say here basic plot wise. Six students receive texts from their dead classmate, they follow as the texts ask and go to the school at night, and then start getting targeted by a killer wearing a rat mask.

22. Lights Out

A family potentially being haunted by a creature that only appears when the lights go out? Plus a whole lot of family drama? Always fun truly! It’s also somewhat based off a viral short film of the same name that the director had made before he got to make it a full length film.

23. Absentia

Absolutely had to put a Mike Flanagan movie on here. One that focuses on a pregnant woman who’s started towards attempting to move on with her life after her husband disappeared seven years ago. However, as she takes a huge step towards doing so, something rather odd happens - which I’ll let you find out for yourself if you choose to watch it.

24. Halloween III: Season of the Witch

Perhaps it’s because it’s the one Halloween movie without Michael Myers, or perhaps it’s because I was blanking out on movies I watched that aren’t extremely well-known, but I felt the need to add this one on here. It focuses on this man who is out to kill children on Halloween by using a line of Halloween masks. So basically another fun one to watch on Halloween!

25. The Barn

Teenagers go to a barn where there’s a supposed curse that can awaken Halloween-themed monsters on Halloween night. What could possibly go wrong? Honestly another one that would be a lot of fun to actually watch on Halloween.

26. Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon

A really fun documentary type film where it’s set in a world where iconic horror slashers are actually real! And a documentary crew are out to make a movie centered around Leslie Vernon, who wishes to go down in history as another one of the famous slashers. This one is really just *chef’s kiss* to me, very much recommend if you haven’t seen it.

27. Creep & Creep 2

Found footage type films in which we follow people who are hired by this rather concerning man to film him. That’s really all I can say unfortunately without trying to give away too much.

28. What We Do in the Shadows

Another documentary-style type movie! It tends to be more comedic than it is horror, but it follows  a group of vampires that live together! Sort of documenting their lives and how they survive day by day. Honestly it’s so ridiculous and hilarious, and I know many people have seen it by now but I have to recommend it none the less as it’s one of my favorites. Plus, it also has an equally hilarious tv series now that you can also give a watch!

29. The Banana Splits Movie

Who doesn’t want to see the Banana Splits as animatronics that start randomly slaughtering people after the news that their show is going to be cancelled? Honestly it’s really just a fun, ridiculous movie that isn’t meant to be taken seriously. Perhaps something to watch with friends to get in the mood for Halloween.

30. The Last Exorcism

Another one that has a sequel I have not seen: The Last Exorcism Part II. Another documentary style film (Sorry I added so many of these whoops), that follows a reverend who goes around performing fake exorcisms. Things start getting a bit more complicated though when lines start beginning to blur between what is real and what is fake while doing his current “exorcism” he was asked to perform.

31. V/H/S & V/H/S 2

There is also a third film, V/H/S: Viral, however I have not seen that one. Not too much to say here, they’re basically just an anthology of short horror films that are supposedly being shown from VHS tapes.

[writerwile17]

Oderria’s Last Light and the Counterfeit Hero, Entry 1

Below is attached a photo of Oderria’s last known haven: Tearkah Fortress

Prologue

  Buried within another time, world, dimension, or perhaps simply your mind, there lies a fantastical land of discovery.  Welcome to a country filled with empirical magic, infection, and a dying hope.  A plain of existence where fantasy and reality entwine.  A compilation of unlikely characters bound by insurmountable odds.  Welcome to Oderria.

  Who am I?  No one special.  Simply a guide graced with the key to this land.  When the gates of wonder are opened, we will, as friends and historians, journey through the mystery, action, and magic.  And maybe–just maybe–we’ll learn a few things along the way.

…

  I direct you to a moonlit town at the edge of poison’s stronghold.  In the confusion of the outburst skirmish, the black-haired boy ran, his pious face held high.  Tonight was the last stand, the last plea that would bring restoration from the ashes of a dying hope.  The time was nigh.

“In order to bring the true hero into this magical nation,

Journey next to the capital of those with evil derivation.

Gather twenty White Jewels at the Pedestal of Light.

The wizard’s apprentice will find a hero that night.”

  The boy repeated these words in a refined melody.  They were his only source of encouragement as he fled in a desperate attempt to reach the opening between worlds.  His lungs burned, his heart raced, and his legs throbbed.  He fled through a crumbling grainery, surrounded by a maelstrom of clashing weapons, armored and hooded silhouettes, and the sounds of warriors bellowing the cries of war.  When outside, he witnessed, with a chill, an old mill crumble to nothing as flames and electricity winded unnaturally about it.  This was their doing.  The boy heard a noise, looked back, and to his horror saw, trailing after him, a savage, sable figure, shrouded by the undulating mass of a cloak.

  A Dark Sage.

  With determined speed and quavery hatred, the fiend tore through anything and anyone that dared cross his path.  The boy would be lucky if he could escape.

  His speed and fear escalated as he raced through the disparaged remains of smithies and masonry shops and up the jutting terrain until he was at the center of town.  He darted into a violent throng of heroic knights and evil hooded beings with weapons of glowing purple.

  While he shoved his way through the thick cluster of people, the child glanced back.  The shadowed man had changed.  He was now a beast.  Glaring at the boy with glowing orange eyes, this monster shoveled people out of its way with its crinite arms, horned face, and earth-shaking hooved feet, heading toward him rapidly.

  Choked with dread, the boy’s pace quickened.  He darted up a tall hill laden with obtrusive stones and thorns, reached in his leather bag, and pulled out a red gem, which had on it a winding symbol of fire.  The monster’s shadow looming over him, he pointed his Erythro Jewel over his shoulder.  Mounds of boiling lava burst out of the jewel and onto the monster.  In pain, it gave an ear-splitting screech, and as if by the lava, its form began to shrivel and diminish, then it altered and grew.

  The animal quickly grew bigger and bigger as its skin turned into rough black scales, some of which were extending out from its back.  Swiftly, the creature’s two back extensions formed into umbrella-like wings while the rest of its body turned as big as an elephant and as scaley as a lizard.  It grew massive keen talons and, inside its gigantuous mouth, foaming fangs to match the size of the claws.

  He tried to sprint away, but he did not get far before the large dragon was directly above him.  From the boy’s jewel there emanated a transparent red shield that looked as if it was made of a strange mixture of glass and wind.

  The dragon pounced down on the shield and relentlessly clawed at it, slowly fragmenting it.

  His heart racing, his breath hollow, the boy struggled to keep the shield standing.  “You are failing them,” his thoughts rang out.  “You are failing yourself.”

  The steam-like shield had little strength remaining.  The boy felt a shadow pass over him, and he closed his eyes expectantly.  When pain did not come to him, his eyes opened.  He saw an immense mass fly above him and ram into the black beast, and next thing he knew, the black animal had plunged down the hill.  The child looked up and saw the thing that had done this was another dragon with muscly arms and glistening orange scales.  The boy’s eyes were wide with astonishment.  He was saved.

  As the orange creature began to claw at the black dragon, it said in a distinct low-pitched voice, “Hurry, boy, get to the portal!”

  “It’s Chad!” the boy thought aloud, immediately recognizing the comforting voice of an age-old friend.

  The boy smiled fervidly as he and the orange dragon’s eyes met.  Then in fatherly protection, the creature lunged, swiped, and charged through the other dragon’s breath of flames, the boy’s safety of higher concern than his own.

  “Dear boy, this could be our last goodbye.  Find the kid, get the gem, and don’t trust anybody, or else they’ll get you!” stated the shape-shifted man as he hardly held back the adversary.  Though he had said this in his more casual tongue, he still sounded so unnaturally stoic, as if the message carried the weight of the world.  “Now, hurry to the Ingress!  Go!”

  The child bolted away, tears streaming down his face.

  “Goodbye,” he whispered.

  Eventually, he stood beside the pedestal filled with arcane carvings and upheld by sculpted gems of dragons.  The portal’s source opened before him.

  The boy took one final look at his world.  His mentor may have been gone, and he would soon inherit a tremendous responsibility.  He was at a crossroads between worlds, and from now on, nothing would ever be the same.  His hands were trembling.  He clenched his fists, glared at the portal, then jumped in.

…

  Another dream.

  Jeramy struggled against a dark, cloak-like mass that closed around him.  His eyes flew open as he jumped out of his bed in a panicky sweat, one foot landing on something soft and the other on something fiercely sharp.

  Instantly, his feet returned to his bed as he stared down at the floor, infested with the scattered remains of old school papers, forgotten T-shirts longing to be washed, and action figures with sharp accessories.  The latter two were the culprit behind his pain.  His hands brushed against his blanket and he then realized this was the item he had just fought against for dear life.  He glared at the bedroom window through which there shone the bright-golden glow of a summer day and his mind drifted into its usual ponderings.

  The boy, the figure, the violence, the destruction, the seemingly medieval town–it had all felt so vivid, so real.  He could smell the plumes of smoke, hear the sound of chaos, he could even feel the wind of weapons just an inch away from maiming him.  And, like a tormenting curse, he saw, night after night, through the eyes of the child, the same beast, the same chaotic battle; the same dream.  It was yet another question, yet another unknown to leave him in eminent, insurmountable fear.  Because of both this and his curiosity, he could not help but wonder, as he had many times before if this dream meant something, and he could not help but feel that—somehow, some way—he was connected to it.  He felt accursed, for the reality of this dream would seemingly leave him imprisoned in endless confusion.

  He almost accepted the events in the dream as reality, but then, as usual, he questioned the things presented to him.

  “Magic jewels?  Portals?  Shape-shifters?  How can it be?”  And with this, he had quickly dispelled the thought from his mind, knowing that he was being absurd.  Of course, it was not real.

  Still, the usual sliver of doubt buried within him kept his mind troubled by his ponderings.

  After maneuvering through his cluttered room, he gazed out the window and hardly stirred.  He saw blooming spindly trees and savored the warmth of the sun.  Because of his pull to nature and the way it seemed to clear his head, he concluded to go on a walk and empty his mind of the dream that afflicted him with unending questions.  He headed downstairs and opened the door when, suddenly, a voice rang out from the other end of the house.  “Jeramy mu’ boy, you going on a walk?  I’ll join ya’!”

  The origin of this southern accent was undoubtedly his mother.  His mom could hear the tiniest noise from a whole mile away, and like some manic beast, she pounced.  Jeramy rolled his eyes and sighed in irritation.  He wanted to run out that door right away, but he restrained himself.  Of course, he loved his mother, but he hoped his mom would not love him to death, especially when he was in public.

  As the boy headed out the door, his mother joining him, his thoughts drifted back to the dream.  He remembered the mysterious plea of the dreampt child’s magical protector.  It had sounded desperate, yet strong, tense, yet informal.  There had seemed to be much behind the creature’s words.  What, he wondered, could they mean?

[omoi-no-hoka]

Hi, what does it mean "on-yomi" and "kun-yomi"? I'm a bit confused :(

Oh man, this is such a good question! Thank you for asking it!! Today, let’s talk about the basics of kanji. 

(Let me just preface this by saying that I have done absolutely zero formal study of Chinese, so I’m not going to talk much about kanji usage in China and countries other than Japan.)

Origins of Kanji

漢字 kanji, or Chinese characters, are a form of writing that the Japanese imported from China in the 5th Century AD. But before we get to talking about Japan, let’s very briefly cover their history in China.

Chinese characters are the oldest continuously used writing system in the world, first used in China in the late second millennium BC. At the time, most words in Old Chinese were monosyllabic, and one character denoted one word. Nowadays, as language, society, and culture has become more complex, many words are multi-syllabic and require multiple characters. 

How Kanji Are Formed

Anyone who has taken it upon themselves to learn some kanji has probably seen something like the above image showing kanji’s roots as a drawing. Characters that depict the item or idea they represent like these kanji are called pictograms and ideograms respectively.

However, even when the Chinese writing system was still in its infancy, pictograms and ideograms accounted for only a small percent of the characters. The majority of Chinese characters were created using the Rebus Principle. The rebus principle is a linguistic term for the use of existing symbols, such as pictograms, purely for their sounds regardless of their meaning, to represent new words.

An English example of the rebus principle would be writing “I can see you” as “Eye can sea ewe.” Regardless of the meaning of “eye,” “sea,” and “ewe,” their pronunciation is the same as “I,” “see,” and “you.”

Many Chinese characters are phono-semantic compounds. Phono means “sound” or “pronunciation” and semantic means “meaning.” So in other words, the character reveals a hint not only the pronunciation but also its meaning. Let’s take a look at a couple examples taken from Japanese, since I don’t speak a word of Chinese. 

長 long, chou

This 長 will become the phonological aspect for the following kanji.

帳 notebook, account book, chou

The 巾 on the left means “cloth” or “scroll,” which is what records would have been written on or bound in when this kanji was invented.

張 lengthen, stretch, chou

The 弓 on the left means “bow” (as in the weapon), and you can imagine stretching the bowstring to fire.

Figuring out these phonological aspects and their patterns is what really helped accelerate my Japanese reading abilities. I’m kinda a weirdo about picking up patterns like this, and I basically internalized them by reading. A. LOT. 

Another super important aspect of kanji is the radicals.

Radicals are Radical, Yo

Radicals, or 部首 bushu, are the building blocks of kanji. They provide meaning and pronunciation to the characters.

For example, the kanji 部 is composed of 3 radicals:

立

口

⻏

And there’s only 214 radicals to memorize!

Ahahahahaha why did I choose this language to study

It’s actually not that bad, though. Many of the radicals in this list are the same radical just in a different place within the kanji. And some of the radicals themselves are kanji, like the 長, 弓, and 巾 radicals from up above. Also, some of them are pretty seldom used. So don’t panic. Deep breaths. We’re gonna get through this.

I think I’d like to make a separate post about radicals and their meanings, or maybe make an individual segment on each radical in the future, so I’m not going to talk a ton about them in this post. For now, just know that they play an important role in helping you distinguish kanji from one another. 

Pronouncing the Kanji: On-yomi or Kun-yomi

Oh boy, now we get to what is arguably one of the most difficult aspects of the Japanese language (both for foreigners and native speakers alike). 

1 kanji, 11 different ways to pronounce it. And it’s one of the most commonly used kanji in Japanese. 

I should’ve just studied Spanish

To be fair, I picked a very extreme example of a kanji with a ton of readings. For the most part, kanji tend to have just two readings, the on-yomi and kun-yomi.

音読み On-yomi (lit. “sound reading”)

★　On-yomi is the modern descendant of the Japanese approximation of the base Chinese pronunciation of the character at the time it was introduced.

★　Often, due to the vast differences in Chinese and Japanese phonology and the dynamic nature of language, the Modern Chinese reading and Japanese on-yomi of the same character do not match, though you may be able to see a similarity in them. 

★　Because on-yomi represent the Chinese reading, it is standard to write the on-yomi in katakana.

訓読み Kun-yomi (lit. “meaning reading")

★　Kun-yomi is based on the pronunciation of a native Japanese word, or 大和言葉 yamato kotoba, that closely approximated the meaning of the Chinese character when it was introduced.

★　Some kanji do not have a kun-yomi.

★　Because kun-yomi represent the native Japanese reading, it is standard to write the kun-yomi in hiragana.

Let’s take a look at a compound kanji word and examine its possible readings.

今日, today

The most common reading for this word is kyou, which is the kun-yomi.

However, it can also be read as kon’nichi, which is the on-yomi. 

Probably 9 times out of 10 it will be read as kyou, but kon’nichi is more formal and you do see it on occasion. Also, konnichiwa is technically written as 今日は, even though this greeting is written in hiragana 99.99% of the time. 

Sow how can you tell when a word should be on-yomi or kun-yomi?

1. Look for okurigana!

Okurigana are kana suffixes following kanji stems. They serve two purposes: to inflect adjectives and verbs, and to force a particular kanji to have a specific meaning and be read a certain way.

For example, in the word 読みます yomimasu (read, polite, present tense), the みます (mimasu) is okurigana providing the inflection of the verb. 

Basically, if you see okurigana, the reading will almost always be kun-yomi. 

2. Surnames are almost always kun-yomi.

This makes sense, because kun-yomi is the native Japanese reading and these are the last names of Japanese people haha. 

3. If a word is made of 2 kanji, generally both kanji will be on- or kun-yomi.

受付 uketsuke, reception

this is the kun-yomi for both kanji.

物語 monogatari, tale

this is the kun-yomi for both kanji.

電話 denwa, telephone

this is the on-yomi for both kanji.

漢字 kanji, Kanji lol

This is the on-yomi for both kanji.

Of course, there are exceptions to all of the above guidelines I’ve given you. That’s what makes learning Japanese hell.

Fun. 

I meant to say fun.