#1400 words

[robbingprince]

not for the fear of it

1.4k, CW for references to self harm and suicide. 

“Laurent,” a gasp of it, sticky in the back of his throat, “Laurent, what—”

Only the slightest rise in tension, the line of his shoulders. Laurent looked up. “Yes?”

“Stop.” Tried to think of other words, but none would come. Opened his mouth anyway. “Don’t, don’t—”

“What?” a single eyebrow arched. But his hand was still on the knife, the blade still at his own throat. Damen’s knees nearly bucked as he took one stumbling step after the other, panic slushing rat-tat-tat wild and wet in his chest.

“Please,” fell to the floor before he could reach, hand stretching out, dizzy-weak with it, “please don’t do it, please.”

Laurent’s eyes widened, then narrowed. His breathing was loud. “If I wanted to kill myself, I’m sure I’d find a better way.” He blinked. “A neater way.”

“Laurent—”

Panic, panic, reverberating through the empty expanse where his heart used to sit, where it was now clenched into a whimpering, writhing ball. Laurent’s knuckles were white against the knife.

“Calm down. Damen, control yourself. I don’t intend to use it.”

But panic—“What… what do you intend to do?”

“I,” said Laurent. Swallowed. It made his throat move against the knife, made the air thicken in Damen’s lungs. “I wanted to know. How it felt.”

“How it felt?” his voice would not go above a whisper. On his knees, Damen pushed himself a touch closer. Kept his hands to himself, didn’t dare.

“For Nicaise. When my uncle—I wanted to know what it felt like. Before he died.” Tension was rolling off him in waves. Laurent was holding himself as tightly as he could, and he could, but—but the hurt etched into every line in his face, the head-spinning magnitude of it—

Damen took a deep, useless breath. “Laurent.”

“Of course, it’s hardly the same,” the sound of his laughter, lemon-sour and heavy. “I know I won’t do it. I know I won’t die. It remains—unimaginable.”

“Dying?”

Laurent looked at him. “The fear.”

Damen’s eyes closed on their own, body slouched, too weak to hold itself up. Something popped between his ears, or something broke outside the walls, or maybe the whole world was unravelling, as it should, as Damen sometimes hoped it would, desperately, furiously. Tried to swallow this impossible churning, to turn it into something helpful, good, failed miserably. It drummed inside him like the tatters of his ball-heart: anger, anger, anger.

A metallic clang; the knife fell to the floor, and warmth suggested Laurent had come closer. Still an impenetrable distance between them. A few inches, a wall.

“Damen,” Laurent breathed, crackly and tight, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No,” shook his head, didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t dare. Too angry and too scared. “No, don’t. I… Laurent,” but he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make it un-hurt, how to make it un-real, un-happen.

Something cold touched his face—took a breathless moment to place it. Laurent’s fingers, careful on his cheek. “I didn’t intend for you to see,” as an offering. It only made it worse.

“I hate,” Damen started. Bit his lips so hard, couldn’t stop the words. “I hate that he can do that. That he hurts you still.” Hatred like fire, like death. Sometimes it was all he could do not to succumb to it, not to take this horrible world and start unravelling it with his own bare hands.

Laurent’s cool touch was a blessing he could barely endure. They kneeled together, silent but for the rampage of their uneven heartbeats. Damen opened his mouth to say more, and nothing came out.

“When I was young,” Laurent said, and huffed when he felt Damen tense under his hands, “I meant, before I knew you. There was a place in the woods outside the palace, a clearing near a stream. A peaceful place. I would go alone, without my guard. And I would scream.”

“What?” surprise opened his eyes for him. “What do you mean?”

“Just as I said. I would scream until my throat tore open. Or till it felt it did. I’ve seen you do something similar, I think, in the training arena. You do know how little I enjoy giving up control?”

A giggle wrenched out of him. “Not so much, no.”

Laurent said, “In the clearing, there was no one to hear me. I could be as vile as I wanted, as I needed, and all I had left was the sweet tingling of ache afterwards. I mean to say, sometimes, release can feel… sometimes it looks like this.”

“Release?”

“Relief. If it isn’t cut out it will bubble and fester and leak on its own. And I can’t let, won’t let it do that with you. I refuse to hurt you with it. I refuse to let him hurt you through me.”

Damen—breathed. “I wish…” he swallowed the words. It was easier for him as well, he supposed, to fight for someone else. To fight for Laurent. Closed his eyes, settled on another, closer truth. “I wish to be as courageous as you.”

A small sound of surprise. “You must be joking.”

“You know I’m not.” With heroic effort, Damen stilled his hand from taking Laurent’s face. “You are the single most—”

“Stop.”

“—brilliant, truest man I’ve ever known, and—”

“Damen, stop.”

“—I don’t know how you can—”

Had to stop, as Laurent swallowed the rest. Hands tugging at his curls, forcing his head back, teeth biting his lips till they opened. Laurent pulled away the tiniest amount, hot puffs of air against his skin.

“It won’t work every time,” Damen said.

“Suppose I’ll have to find a new tactic.”

He found his hands cupping the back of Laurent’s head, arms wrapped around him. Found he did not possess the strength to let go.

“As long as you don’t—” Damen choked. Didn’t really get to make demands, not here.

“Don’t what? Kill myself by accident?” when Damen didn’t answer, “On purpose?”

“Don’t… forget how important you are,” he managed, hoarse.

“Important to the kingdom,” a question.

Damen sighed. Brought him even closer. “To me.”

Laurent jerked in his hands, but didn’t pull back. Swallowed a couple of times. Bent his head low, then brought it up, blue-blue eyes with their ever-constant determination. Damen held his gaze as carefully as he held him. Time passed.

“Well,” Laurent recovered first. “This is all rather dramatic.”

Damen laughed. What else could he do? The ball in his chest was fully wrung out. “We should probably get off the floor at some point.”

“At some point,” Laurent agreed.

“Perhaps we could go for a ride. There’s a forest nearby, forty minutes outside the fort. I know not if it has a stream, but…”

The tiniest of twitches to Laurent’s lip. “You are the single most aggravating man I have ever come upon.”

“And come you have,” Damen smiled back, offered his hand. “It’s a pleasant day. We might as well spend it outside.”

“So you might make me come, again, against the trunk of a tree, too deep in the forest for anyone to intervene?”

The thought hadn’t crossed his mind before. Now, it wouldn’t leave off. “I doubt someone would.”

“Because you’re King?” Laurent rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to be pulled upwards.

“Because you are King,” Damen placed a gentle kiss on the top of Laurent’s head, “and far more fearsome than I.”

“On that we can agree.” Laurent took a step back. “Are you—I apologise. For startling you. I never meant…”

“I know.” He finally allowed his hand to take Laurent’s chin. “I know, sweetheart.”

Laurent looked at him evenly. “I don’t think I would be able to imagine it,” he said after a while, quietly. “Nicaise’s fear when the blade clung to his throat. Not now. I might have, before, but it’s been—you have,” he swallowed, “it hasn’t—I can’t remember it anymore.”

“Being afraid?” something rattled and shook between his ribs.

“Being alone,” Laurent said, and took his hand.

It was a different kind of fear, ecstatic and awful and bright. Damen embraced it with all the gratitude still in him, all the panic and relief of it. Then he embraced Laurent, and he was warm in his arms, and present. They weren’t alone—it had to be enough for now.   

[rhythymicwriting]

Date ~ Celty and Shinra

“Go on a date with me just once. If you hate it, I’ll let it go.” His words were desperate despite the cheerful grin splitting his face. Celty tensed. If she had a face, her eyes would be wide and staring at the hopeful man before her. He clasped both of her hands in his own, mocha eyes glimmering at her. One thing she’d come to notice was that Shinra had an eye contact problem. He would stare at her as if she did have a head, making eye contact with eyes that weren’t there. And now, his loving and expectant gaze bore deeply into her, smoke billowing furiously out of her throat. 

Celty took a moment to consider what he was proposing. He always was the type to be that forward, it was one of her favorite things about him, but what if she went and decided she didn’t love Shinra? She wasn’t sure she could hurt him like that and, even if she could, she doubted he’d let it go just like that. The Kishitani’s didn’t ‘let things go.’ Shinra wouldn’t just turn away like that. Though, maybe he should.

They’d known each other for almost twenty years now. Celty had watched Shinra grow into the man he was now. She knew she had a soft spot for him, for the way that he was so insistent and curious, for the way that he smiled and laughed even when others couldn’t, for the way he loved her regardless of her oddities. She toyed with the idea that she might have real feelings for Shinra. 

Slipping her hands from his, Celty typed in her PDA, fingers catching other keys. Shinra’s eager eyes followed her movements. His face lit up as he read the screen. It was a miracle that he could, her message was buried in typos and extra symbols. 

“Celty!” He cried, taking her hands again. Shinra pulled her toward him, spinning the two around the room. “Thank you! I’m so excited!”

Celty scrunched herself further into her turtleneck sweater. The soft yarn was the color of leaves in September and layers of it swam around her shoulders. A cold autumn breeze nipped at her fingertips, chill infiltrating her fingerless gloves. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against her bike and waiting for Shinra who had forgotten something in the apartment. 

He finally came bounding down the stairs, long white coat trailing behind him. While he’d refused to ditch the lab coat aesthetic, Shinra had decided to leave his at home. In its place he picked a cream colored trench coat that hung loosely around his own turtleneck sweater. He flashed an ecstatic grin at Celty, a cheery bounce in his step. 

“I’m ready.” He sang, stopping before her. “You look really pretty, Celty! I’ve never seen you wear that color before!” He continued to gush over her, butterflies flickering in Celty’s stomach. She elegantly swung her leg over the bike, her PDA shooting out of her sleeve as she settled onto the leather.

Celty typed quickly as she created a helmet around his unwieldy brown hair. ‘You didn’t tell me where we’re going.’

Shinra laughed. “Oh that’s right. Let’s go to the park!” He clumsily climbed on the bike. Celty would have smiled if she had lips to do so. No matter how many times he’d ridden with her, Shinra just wasn’t built for motorcycles. 

Celty’s legs held the bike up firmly, Shinra’s wriggling causing it to wobble. When he finally got settled, his arms slipped under hers and wrapped tightly around her center. His chin nuzzled into her shoulder, his helmet bumping against hers. Celty’s posture shot straight up. Her hands flew off the handlebars, swatting at Shinra’s, who’s adventurous fingers had drifted to her chest. 

She typed quickly while he laughed, holding his hands up in the air. ‘Behave or you’re walking.’

“Sorry, sorry.” Shinra giggled. Celty huffed as she slipped the PDA back into her sleeve and set her hands back on the bars. His arms wrapped back around her, but his hands clutched at his own forearms. Satisfied, Celty retracted the kickstand and took off like a shot, swiftly navigating the streets of Ikebukuro. 

The two soon arrived at the city park. The space wasn’t much other than a fountain and a couple benches, both of which were heavily graffitied, but it was still stunning in the fall. Red and gold leaves cascaded from the trees, dancing through the air before settling onto the paving stones and dead grass. The little oasis was nestled on a lot across the street from strip malls and skyscrapers, a little breath of nature in the midst of the concrete jungle. 

Celty felt herself relaxing more by the second, the tiny change of scenery just what she’d needed. She lingered on the bike a few moments, Shinra already having clambered off. He offered her a hand that she’d bashfully taken. 

He led her to one of the benches. As the two sat, Shinra gestured to a bird resting on the fountain. The bird was small and seemed unconcerned with the people in the area. “That’s a brown-eared bulbul,” He murmured. His voice was strangely soft and Celty couldn’t help but be surprised at his choice of topic. 

‘Since when are you interested in birds?’ She asked, tilting her neck.

Shinra’s response was trimmed with gentle laughter. “I’m not really, I just thought bird watching might be fun.”

‘Where did you read that?’ Celty teased. 

“I read it on some forum,” He confessed, light pink coloring his cheeks. “I honestly couldn’t think of anything you’d enjoy that we don’t already do.” 

It wasn’t until he’d said it that Celty realized how true that was. They did everything together. They played games, watched movies, cooked, studied, everything, together. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done something without at least thinking of Shinra. 

“In truth, I didn’t even intend to date you.” Shinra muttered, drawing Celty’s attention back out of her head. A pang of disappointment surprised her. Then Shinra turned a brilliant smile her way. “I was just gonna propose. I mean, we’ve already covered the dating part anyway, right?”

A cloud of smoke puffed out of Celty’s throat, surprise and embarrassment shooting through her system. She fumbled with the PDA, trying and failing to type a legible question. ‘Propose?’

“Well, yeah.” Shinra said. His eyes shut, a sweet smile pulling at his lips. “I’ve always wanted to marry you, Celty.”

Heat flooded through Celty’s system, blood rushing to the head she didn’t have. Part of her knew he thought that way and she shouldn’t have been surprised, but hearing him say it like that made her heart race. She had been considering her own feelings lately, but now they had come all the way to the surface. When she heard him say that, she felt…happy. Really happy. Her shoulders tensed, pulling up to her ears. Her sight blurred, the PDA swimming in front of her eyes while she tried to think of something to say. Her attention moved from the device to the man beside her, his loving expression blurred behind tears she couldn’t cry. 

She thought of all the times she’d come home to collapse in Shinra’s arms. All the times she’d been out on a job and gotten lost because she was thinking of him. All the times he’d been off at school or telling her about his freaky friends and she couldn’t bury the overwhelming worry. All the times he’d touched her or said something stupid and it got her heart racing. She thought of laying on the operating table drowning in anxiety and feeling gentle fingers wrap around her own, kind brown eyes capturing her own. She thought about the twenty years she’d lived with him. They really did skip the whole ‘dating’ thing, didn’t they?

Shinra’s expression shifted, his excitement mixing with concern. “Celty? Is everything okay?”

She nodded furiously, gathering him vigorously in her arms. Her heart beat faster as his chuckle sent vibrations through her chest. His arms wrapped softly around her waist. “This is nice. I love when you hold me like this.” 

Celty shook her head, pulling away from Shinra and typing frantically, ‘You’re an idiot.’

“Hey, that’s mean.” Shinra pouted playfully. He let a second pass before he started again. “I know I said just go on a date with me, but I have been wanting to ask you this for a while.” Celty felt butterflies clog her throat when his tone changed. A sweet smile pulled at his lips as he took her hand in his own. His eyes were crinkled from his smile, but they held a certain intensity that kept her cemented in his gaze. His voice was smooth and strong. 

“Celty, will you marry me?” 

[writeouswriter]

You know what, this "actually writing" thing is really fun, someone should tell my adhd that 'cause it still doesn't believe me.

[skeletal-butterflyy]

D&D subtext in Stranger Things

Highly, highly requested analysis (no it’s not) of some interesting things I noticed going on with D&D in stranger things. This includes my personal thoughts based on my credentials of; having watched the show more times than i can possibly count over the past 7 years and current knowledge of DnD classes, worldbuilding, monsters, character creation. I’ll have this on the pinned post on my blog and i’ll add a text break because it’s…a lot.

Misc. :

The show starts with and is based off of Dungeons and Dragons, a table top rpg that the characters like to play. In the first season we don’t get much insight into the boys characters or the game itself, it’s used as a device to further the idea that these kids are nerds, they play a nerdy game that involves fantasy and math. As the show progresses it continues to be used to push across certain ideas, like establishing each character in the party and in season three showing how the game might represent the boys as social outcasts and their childhood.

DnD, is used throughout the show but we get to see actual play of the game in season one and four. It’s also used as a way to name the monsters they face (the monsters do get the right ideas across but the game and show versions are actually quite different from each other, especially the demogorgon)

In season 4 the idea of satanism connected to DnD really interested me. Why was everyone connecting DnD to satanism? I mean we know that everyone thought that Eddie was killing all of these people but that doesn’t mean that his club had anything to do with it. The duffers interestingly incorporated the real stigma that was widely held in the 80s against the game. At the time people were going on witchunts against anything regarded as being possibly related to satan. The most interesting part about all of this though is that, Dungeons and Dragons was made by two very devout christian men, Ernest Gygax (one of the founders) was even a Jehovah’s Witness! The two being christian’s though, incorporated a lot of religious themes into the game including clerics and paladins (calm down you fiends i’ll be getting to that) who carry a lot of religious themes and monsters that may represent demons. Outsiders might have seen a game presenting such themes as a mockery of their faith or a way to promote satanism simply by having monsters.

Characters:

I want to preface this by saying the classes that I’ll be talking about aren’t actually time period accurate. The boys would have been playing D&D 1e which had the three classes of : Fighting-man, magic-user, and cleric. While the classes listed are from D&D 2e which didn’t come out until 1989. Anyways.

In season 1, in the first scenes of the show we get to see what is the middle of DnD session before it gets interrupted. We get the basic ideas of their game across, Mike acting as DM presenting the adventure he created to his players while the rest of the party waits in anticipation for what they have to fight next. We also get to see some of will’s drawings of the party and his character

Keep these pictures in mind.

In season 2 when mike and max are arguing in the gym we hear mike say, “I’m our paladin, will’s our cleric, dustin’s our bard, lucas is our ranger and el is our mage.” At first glance it seems like nothing, oh he’s just listing off the party members and their roles and how max doesn’t fit into the party. But when you look at it properly it’s so much more.

Lucas and Dustin could not be more perfect for their chosen classes. Lucas is a ranger which means the ideal stats to be highest would include dexterity, constitution, and wisdom. Dexterity refers to, in this case the hand eye coordination and general reflexes. Constitution refers to a characters stamina and toughness, and wisdom is well, wisdom. Sounds like a certain character that has quick reflexes, has a tendency to take punches pretty well, and has good problem solving skills huh? All of these apply to lucas quite well, AND his weapon of choice is a ranged weapon, the slingshot (wrist-rocket you know what I mean), it’s really quite perfect. As for Dustin, he’s said to be a bard and the highest ideal stat for that class is charisma. Dustin has been proven to be very charismatic, he gets along with people and he can very comedic. Another thing about bards is they will tend to be very eloquent, inspirational, and persuasive, it comes with the territory of having a high charisma score, and we know dustin has a way with words. Dustin’s known for being a an eloquent and persuasive character; he convinced Mike to make up with Lucas after their fight in season one, he convinced a hesitant Mr. Clarke to tell him how to make a censory deprivation tank, he convinced steve to join him in looking for dart, and convinced erica to go through the vents (sort of). So, it makes complete sense for dustin to be a bard.

Taking a look at Mike’s character, his class also makes a lot of sense. Mike plays a paladin when he’s not the DM. A paladin is a “devout warrior” they fight with a cause, to serve their patron deity. They’re often compared to knights because of their values and the armor they usually wear. A paladin is the perfect representation of mike, especially for how will described him during the painting scene, he’s a leader and will throw himself in dangerous situations for the sake of the party, like when he jumped off the cliff for dustin.

Now, remember how will’s drawings, specifically of his character? Remember how mike said that will was a cleric? Will’s character is complicated. Will’s character being a cleric doesn’t make sense but makes so much sense at the same time. His character doesn’t look like a cleric. Clerics might be spellcasters but they don’t traditionally carry a staff or wear robes like we see will’s character does. He wears wizard clothing and has wizard abilities, not to mention in the first scene we see him play DnD and attempt to cast fireball, a spell that is most commonly associated with wizards and sorcerers and he does not seem to get his magic from a deity like a cleric traditionally would. (Clerics can cast fireball but only if they are part of the light domain) So, his character seems to be more of a wizard than a cleric, which is odd.

My theory relating to Will’s character:

Looking back at what mike said, Will’s character class doesn’t make much sense. But, I personally feel like Mike wasn’t being totally honest. First, he listed el, who they might consider to be part of the party but she doesn’t have an actual role in the game, but of course she would be the magic-user/mage. I think that mike made the list based on his feelings about the party specifically regarding will and el. El has powers in real life so it makes sense he assigned her the role of mage, and replacing will for him to become a cleric. It’d be interesting if Will was simply a cleric in mike’s personal thoughts about the party because it would make it so mike views them as very close. Paladins and clerics are very similar in relation to the fundamentals, a paladin is a warrior that swears an oath and serves a deity while a cleric is the servant of a deity that heals and fights. Basically, a cleric does more spell casting and less fighting while a paladin does more fighting and less spell casting. Since the two are so similar it would give a lot of depth to the characters being best friends, who have a much deeper understanding of each other than the rest of the party would. And even if he wasn’t simply a cleric in mikes mind and will the wise is actually a cleric, this would still show that the two having a much deeper connection and understanding of each other was hinted at from the beginning.

[foxqueen211]

My favourite part of Shadowpeach Fire Within one-shot im writing

[bright-and-burning]

this post will self destruct when i remember to delete it (cw for like allusions to somno + free use)

He sees it play out behind his eyelids: Lando walking in, scrolling on his phone, looking up as Oscar groans into his pillow, grinding against his sheets. Coming when Lando gets his hands on him, or maybe when he gets his cock inside. Before he arrived, even, coming from the friction beneath him and continuing through the aftershocks.

There’s a wet patch on the pillow. He must’ve been drooling, mouth lax with sleep as he’d gotten off. Oscar doesn’t even want to know, wants the possibilities to haunt him for weeks. Wants to think about Lando every time he falls asleep and again when he wakes up. Wants to wonder, hole puffy and sore with no memory as to why.

[soot-and-salt]

Alastor left him behind but Vox remembers.

He remembers his warmth. His scent.

Vox couldn't forget if he tried.

The hands that cradled him had been covered in blood, had dripped with gore... but they cradled him, didn't they?

In an effort to try and get out of my writer's block, here is a bewildering 1,400 words of stream-of-consciousness radiostatic angst.

But... but I think I remembered how writing works so maybe this was useful for something.

*stares at WSBE 9 google doc* You're next, buddy

[bachirasbodyguard]

Shoutout to one of my favorite Blue Lock beefs. No cunning, no grace, no restraint with these two. Just throwing hands ON SIGHT. God bless.

also shoutout to Shidou for being the only person who actually makes Rin lose his composure like that (and so easily too). king

((this post by @bluelock-textposts inspired me))

[stray-somnium]

so i am on a mission to get my animation degree with 1sts while writing every essay i possibly can on homestuck

we are on our way boiiiiii

[antialiasis]

I am more than 10,000 words into writing up All of My Thoughts on The Good, the Bad and the Ugly and I only just got to the halfway point of the movie. I don't know if anyone is going to read all this but at least I will have put all the Thoughts in writing and then I will probably be able to do some other things

[semperintrepida]

FTH Fic Progress: A Working Title

I've never been the kind of writer with a docs folder full of "Untitled", "Untitled (1)", "Untitled (2)". At the very least, I need a working title, something short and snappy that embodies the concept I'm writing towards.

My novel "The Breaking" had a working title of "Kyklos"—and to be honest, I actually prefer that one to the final title it ended up with.* In ancient Greek, kyklos means cycle or circle, appropriate for a book full of cycles: of violence and abuse, of vengeance, of agriculture and the seasons, of the structure of the narrative... By choosing a working title, I'm stamping it on my draft document as the first thing I see. It's the name of the file and the first line in the text. It grounds me and my intentions for the work.

For this FTH fic, the first word that came to mind was "familiar," as in "evil's familiar face." But it didn't thrill me, even though it adequately described the premise of this story: canon!Kassandra (the "hero") coming face-to-face with her evil AU counterpart, Deimos Kassandra.

So I pulled up my handy dandy Onelook.com, and a dictionary, and wiktionary and started peering down etymological rabbit holes related to the concepts of mirrors and opposites, because that's where my head was at at the time. And after a while I stumbled across "antithesis." That's a good Greek word!

But it still didn't feel right.

I gave it more thought, and eventually, I realized I was approaching this story all wrong: Kassandra and Deimos aren't opposites—they're two faces of the same being.

After that epiphany, the word "resemblance" immediately came to mind, which led to the phrase "states of resemblance." We have a winner!

"States of Resemblance." Is that going to be the final title? I have no idea. I've been known to kick working titles to the curb whenever something better comes along. But I like this one for now.

Next time, we'll talk about first sentences.

More to come!

~~

* Unfortunately, the most common definition of "kyklos" in English has shifted to mean "the cycle of governments in a society" and that's the first thing that pops up in a google search for the word. Since that definition's not what I intended, I changed the final title because I didn't want readers to get confused.

[useless19]

Still going with this.

Tw: vomit

...

Bowser curses as he fails to turn around. The palace toilets might be a step above most of the ones in the castle town, in that the flush works and they look clean. However, none of them have been built on Bowser's scale. His shell has gotten wedged every single time he's tried to use the loo.

Granted, that's only been twice so far (once during his armour fitting and now), but that's plenty!

Bowser grits his teeth as he twists around. He (stupidly) picked the stall at the end of the row, so now he has a rough stone wall on one side and flimsy wood on the other. The wood groans as his shell spikes gouge into it, bowing it horribly.

The bathroom door bangs open. Bowser freezes. The last thing he wants is to be known as the guy who got stuck in the toilet. He's not even officially employed yet.

There's some shaky breathing, then the other person retches. Bowser can hear the splatter of liquid into the sink. Eww. He'd been half considering actually washing his hands for once and now this? There's another cough and splutter and then a weak sob.

Okay, screw this. Bowser shoves his way out of the toilet (taking out the cubicle wall and knocking the door off one hinge).

Prince — very soon to be King — Luigi stares at him. He's unhealthily pale and his hands are shaking.

"How long have you been there?" Luigi asks in a thready voice.

"Your pre-coronation party was boring." Bowser waves at the destruction. "Petty vandalism is way more fun."

Luigi frowns at the splintered wood, but instead of growing angry and shouting for Bowser's arrest like his brother would have, his eyes widen in realisation as he looks at Bowser again.

"Oh, that's…" Luigi coughs into his fist, clearing his throat. "I'll have to speak to the architects about remodelling. Is there any other part of the castle that you think might need adjusted?"

Bowser crosses his arms, annoyingly embarrassed. "It's fine, it's big enough. Too big for stumpy humans like you."

"Stumpy? That's the first time anyone's called me short," Luigi manages the ghost of a smile.

"Get used to it."

"The castle doesn't feel big to me," Luigi says. "Maybe it's just because I grew up here and I'm used to it. Sometimes it feels too small for anyone. Claustrophobic, even."

How an entire castle could feel small, Bowser would never know. One thing's for sure; he doesn't need it rubbing into his snout that he didn't grow up in luxury. He can't stand up in his childhood house without bashing his head on the ceiling (that is, if it had survived the fire).

This is going to be a miserable job if the king insists on showing off his wealth and privilege at every opportunity. Bowser reminds himself that the pay is good as he turns away to wash his hands in a different sink.

"Are you done throwing up in sinks now?" Bowser asks gruffly.

"I…" Luigi loses what little humour he had when Bowser glances at him. "I'm sorry. I'm nervous about, well, everything that comes with my coronation."

"Everything," Bowser says flatly.

"It's a lot of pressure and I don't know if I'm up to the task." Luigi says. "It's a difficult job. What if I mess up and people think I'm a terrible king?"

"Oh, boo hoo," Bowser snaps. "I'm the king and I get to live in a massive castle and sleep in a feather bed and never have to worry about where my next meal's coming from, but I still worry that people won't like me! I'm so privileged I can't appreciate that my bathroom has consistent running water. I'll just whine about my petty little problems to everyone because I don't even have to play the social game because I'm the bloody king!"

Smoke hisses through Bowser's fangs with his words. He knows he's scary when his fire threatens. Prince Luigi's fists are balled and trembling as he glares up at Bowser. Good, let him fear.

"Are you finished?" Luigi says.

"Depends if you're going to complain about how hard such a cushy life is again," Bowser says, flexing his fingers.

Luigi looks at his reflection, anger blotching his cheeks. Bowser folds his arms, wanting… more, somehow, but he doesn't know what it would be. How hard can it be, really, being the king? You want for nothing and everyone has to do as you say. The last king knew that and —

Shoot.

This isn't Mario. This isn't the king that Bowser's spent most of the past five years railing against over petty laws and unnecessary arrests (mostly his own). This is someone unprepared for their new job and still grieving a family member.

Fine, whatever. Bowser knows how to be delicate. Or at least he knows how to get someone refocused on the job again. Same difference.

"So when do you need to be back out there?" Bowser asks, nodding towards the door.

"I should be there now," Luigi says. He splashes some water onto his face but only succeeds in making himself look like a drowned squeek.

"They can't have the ceremony without you. When do you want to go back out there?" Bowser says.

"It doesn't work like that," Luigi says. "Even if I'm royalty, I still have to follow the rules or —"

Bowser rolls his eyes. "I don't mean you have to order people to delay it. No one does everything on time all the time. If you want to put it off for another day, find an excuse."

"I don't want to put it off," Luigi says. "I'm not going to get more confident for waiting."

That's abundantly clear. Bowser tilts his head as he thinks. Has Luigi honestly never lied to a tutor to get an extension on his work? Or told his advisors he was meeting with someone reputable in order to sneak out to a party? What a straight-laced wimp.

"Alright, on your head be it," Bowser says.

"It will." Luigi coughs, hiding what Bowser is sure is a smile. "The crown, I mean."

Bowser can't help his snort of laughter. "That's terrible."

As awful as the joke is, it's at least wiped away the worst of the misery clouding Luigi. Bowser straightens Luigi's fancy fur-trimmed cloak before remembering that randomly touching royalty is the sort of thing that can get lowlifes like him a one-way ticket to the hangman. Well, he's never met a situation he couldn't brash his way through.

"Drink some water, go back out," Bowser says, shoving Luigi towards the sinks. "And I'll get a rumour spread that you narrowly avoided assassination so those poncy nobles think you look shaken because of that."

"Which would also highlight the importance of hiring on a bodyguard," Luigi says wryly.

"Now you're getting the idea."

Luigi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He splashes water on his face again and then takes a drink using one of the cups on the shelf behind the sinks (who puts cups in a communal bathroom, seriously?). He doesn't look ready to do anything as important as getting crowned, but he doesn't look a shade away from passing out like he had before.

"Okay, let's go," Luigi says.

He pauses at the door and turns back to face Bowser instead.

"Is running water still a problem in the castle town?" Luigi asks. "Mario had the pipes overhauled a few years ago; I thought —"

"Nah, not anymore," Bowser says. "But I bet you didn't have to worry when the urchin infestation was at its worst."

"No, you're right, I didn't," Luigi says. He sighs. "Sorry."

Bowser groans. "Stop that."

Complaining about the silver spoon in his mouth is one thing, being pathetic is another. Bowser refuses to put up with self-flagellation while he's working, it brings down the whole mood.

"Go knock 'em dead," Bowser says.

Luigi gives one last determined nod and then leaves.

Bowser runs a hand through his hair. He's going to have to wait a few minutes before heading out on his own and then he really should hang around at the ceremony for a bit. Mostly he needs to make sure he's a visible presence at court because half the job of being a deterrent is reputation, but also partly because assassination attempts are a legit concern. There probably won't be any (if Bowser's luck is anything to go by, this is going to be the most boring day of his life), but maybe it'd be fun to make it look like there's a threat to watch all the rich people panic.

Bowser counts to a hundred and then shoulders his way out of the bathroom after the soon-to-be-king.

[ciderjacks]

Oh my god they’re finally waking up maybe in 2024 we can actually stop pretending that word isn’t a slur

[neversetyoufree]

Ok gang, so while I've talked a lot on here about VnC's recurring Vanitas painting allusion, I don't think I've ever actually talked in detail about my favorite example of that reference, so it's time to do the thing.

I am obsessed with the cover of the first volume, and I think you should be too. It's the perfect introduction of Vanitas as a man doomed to death, executed entirely through symbolism.

To start off, for those of you unfamiliar, a brief introduction to the concept of Vanitas art: Vanitas paintings are artistic reminders of the inevitability of death and the futility of all earthly pleasures. A Vanitas can technically be any form of art, but still life paintings are the most common variant by far.

Vanitas still life paintings were most commonly done in 16th and 17th century Europe. They use specific symbolism to evoke the images of death, the ever-ticking clock of time, and the transience/inevitable decay of the fine things in life. They often place images of the decadent and luxurious next to the rotten and dead in order to remind the viewer that death is always there waiting, no matter what pleasures you may have. This was, of course, a deeply Christian art movement. 16th and 17th century protestants were very invested in reminding themselves and others that pleasure (and even life itself) was futile and transient in the eyes of death and god.

I promise I'm going to relate this art history lesson back to Vnc soon.

The most common symbols in Vanitas paintings include, among others, books, maps, and instruments (symbols of worldly knowledge); jewelry and gold (symbols of wealth and power); bones, especially skulls (symbols of death); fruits and flowers (luxuries subject to quick decay); and clocks, hourglasses, and burning candles (symbols of the passage of time).

Fun fact: Mochijun once did a Gangan Joker cover featuring Vanitas and Jeanne hooking up in front of a Vanitas still life.

If you think about it, the presence of the still life there kind of turns this cover into a Vanitas painting in its own right, but that's a deep dive for another day. In the meantime, let's look again at the volume 1 cover:

The frame that Vanitas is sitting in here is covered in images from Vanitas paintings. In particular, it very heavily features bones and flowers, which are two of the most common Vanitas symbols. Bones are the very direct reminders of death, especially skulls, and flowers are something beautiful and pleasant that decays quickly.

The frame also includes a crown (luxury and wealth made meaningless by the presence of death),

butterflies (living things that are beautiful but incredibly fragile and brief),

and what I'm fairly sure are pomegranates (fruit as another example of luxury subject to decay).

Plus, though you can't see it on the front cover itself, the exact same frame is replicated for volume 1's inner cover illustration, and guess what's on the bottom under Vanitas's leg.

It's an hourglass! The symbol of time's eternal running out, and one that is very deeply tied to Vanitas as a character.

Beyond the fact that these images are commonly found in Vanitas paintings, almost all of them have further significance and meaning. The traditional uses of the flowers featured are very relevant, pomegranates have the Persephone myth, butterflies have their own established symbolism in vnc, and the way that crown is bolted onto the center skull is also important. However, each of those could be a meta post in their own right, and this post is already long enough, so for now I'm going to focus on the simple fact that these are Vanitas images.

Because the thing is, the inclusion of Vanitas painting imagery in this cover is really just what sets the groundwork for my favorite part of it. By introducing the idea of Vanitas paintings via these images, then putting Vanitas the character inside a picture frame, Mochijun suggests that Vani himself *is* a piece of Vanitas art.

Every volume cover features a version of this frame motif, but volume 1 is the only one in which the featured character is within the frame in this way. Vanitas is perched on it and almost entirely contained, as though he's coming from within it, and the background suggests much the same thing. With the stark white of everything outside of the frame, it doesn't look like an empty frame that you can see through to the other side of (the way Noé looks on the volume 3 cover). It looks like volume 1's Vani has climbed out of a painting.

Thus, with the symbols decorating the frame putting Vanitas paintings in our minds and Vani himself held within the frame, he becomes a piece of Vanitas art, and that fits the story perfectly. Vanitas the man is a walking, talking Vanitas. A human reminder of death. And that's why he's called that.

I've talked before about how I suspect other vampires called Luna "Vanitas" because they served as a living, breathing reminder of futility and death for crimson vamps, and Vanitas took his name from them. So on an in-universe level, it makes sense for Vanitas to be called that because he has taken on the role of "death symbol to crimson vamps." But even more interestingly than that, on a more metal level, his whole life is eventually going to become a reminder of death and futility for those close to him.

The story of Vnc is the story of Noé and Vanitas's relationship. It's Noé's memoir of their time together and his case study of Vanitas as a man. They've only grown closer and more important to each other as the story has progressed, and I doubt that's going to change. Vanitas is a great source of joy and color in Noé's life.

Vanitas is also going to die at the end of the story. From the very first chapter, we have known that Vanitas's end is coming and that all of that joy and closeness is going to do nothing to stop his demise. And that is the futility of Earthly passion in the face of the inevitable creep of death. That is the reminder that no amount of joy or pleasure can avert the end of all things. That is the setup for a powerful reminder for Noé and the others at the end of the story. Death comes for us all and will render your pleasures moot, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Furthermore, Vani's inevitable end won't just serve as a Vanitas, a reminder of death, for the characters of Vnc. It also serves the same function for the audience. In fact, I'd argue that since Vnc is the case study of Vanitas (the character), and the character is a living (for now) Vanitas, Vnc itself functions as a piece of Vanitas art. It's Vanitases all the way down.

Vani's oncoming death at the end of the story carries the exact same lesson for the audience that it does the other characters he meets, and that's what makes Vnc a piece of Vanitas art. As a story, it's exciting and it's sexy. The art is a feast for the eyes, the settings lush and almost every character beautiful. And yet, the cold, painful reality of death waits inescapably at the end. What is that if not the manga equivalent of a painting of stunning finery with a skeletal hand lurking in the background?

And of course, it's not like Mochijun is a 17th century protestant. I don't think she's trying to teach her readers a lesson about the meaninglessness and vanity of earthly pursuits so that we'll devote ourselves to god. However, I've always read Vnc as a tragedy, and futility is a fundamental mechanic of many tragedies. All the pleasures Vani has experienced will be inevitably erased by death. All his relationships will be forever marked by one-sidedness and grief. And that's because his story is tragic, and no matter how much he heals from his traumas, he cannot take himself off the path toward death.

But it's not like every character in Vnc is sitting within the frames on their covers. And though Noé and the others will be marked by tragedy in the sense that they will suffer Vanitas's death, not every individual character arc in Vnc must necessarily be tragic.

This is the case study of one instance that encapsulates the ideas of a Vanitas. It is the story of Noé experiencing Vani the man and reacting to his death. It doesn't mean that futility and death are the only lessons that Noé learns through that experience. And though the central theme is bleak and heavy, the manga itself is about the beauty and pleasure experienced on the way to death as much as it is about the death itself.

The love and joy and sensuality is all tangled up with the death in Vnc, and neither can be extracted from the other. It is beautiful and fun and it is a piece of Vanitas art, and none of that is contradictory. You cannot have one without the other, and that means that death can never be escaped.

So on the cover of volume 1, Vanitas the man becomes a living piece of Vanitas art, sitting within a frame that is covered in Vanitas art, within a manga that is in itself a piece of Vanitas art. And that's why it's my favorite illustration from this series.

[iruinn]

baby, you're the sweetest thing ❀ nanami kento

chapter 4

cw : none that apply (please let me know if u think there's anything that needs to be tagged!)

wc : 2237

masterpost

The morning sun shines through the window, waking you out of your deep slumber. You wince in annoyance, burying your face into the warm pillow in front of you. The pillow that is moving up and down. You’re sure normal pillows definitely don’t do that. You crack open an eyelid, coming face to face with a ripped chest, the shirt stretching over the muscles and if you turned your head you could totally rub your cheek against it-

And then he’d wake up to you probably drooling and rubbing your cheek all over his strong torso like an imbecile. You whine in frustration, your eyes opening again, tilting your head up.

Nanami is out like a log, his face soft in sleep. Wiggling, you realize his arms are firmly wrapped around your body, restraining you completely. On one hand, you could just go back to sleep, encased in the arms of the man of your dreams. He envelops you almost completely, his body temperature higher than yours. While the idea is extremely appealing to you, you also feel your bladder scream at you silently, and you curse it out in your head. Breathing out and shifting, you manage to get your arms free, but his are still firmly locked around your waist, pressing your body against his. You sense something else pressing against your stomach and you feel your cheeks heat up. It was early in the morning….

You weren’t positive but you think it’s pretty big. Getting more and more distracted by delicious thoughts, you grab Nanami’s arms, attempting to shuffle upwards, but the movement jostles him too much, and he wakes up with a grunt. You yelp as he grabs you tighter, leaning his body weight against you and pressing you against the wall your bed is against, your legs entangling with his. You will your bladder to hang on. “Kento!” You hiss, poking his side. “I need to pee!” “You move too much…” His voice is gravelly and low this early in the morning, and it makes you attempt to rub your thighs together. The movement pushes his leg up between yours higher, and you yelp in surprise at the firm feeling. He cracks his eyes open at the sound, realizing the position you were both in, and he sits up quickly, letting you go. You bounce slightly on the bed, missing his warmth immediately.

“Sorry, (name).” He turns his head away from you, and you think the top of his ears redden. “I was -am, still half asleep.” “It’s okay! Really!” You raise your hands, getting up and backing away into the bathroom. “Probably my fault too, I did warn you I was a cuddler, haha!” He watches you as you slam the door behind you, and you sink onto the floor, your head in your hands.

The cold floor calms you down, and you refrain from screaming into your hands. Any more close contact with him like this and you might jump him yourself, consequences be damned. Peeing quickly, you pat at your cheeks in the mirror, distracted by a knock on the door. You hear Nanami through the other side. “(name), everything okay?” You open the door quickly, meeting his eyes. You’re very aware that your hair is a bird’s nest, and you probably look like a mess this early in the morning. His hand is raised, like it was in the middle of the knock, and he puts it down, smiling at you.

His shirt is slightly raised over his stomach, and you sneak a peek at the exposed skin, biting your inner cheek at the sight of his toned torso and the hint of a happy trail. “Good morning….sleep well? He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “You could say that. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. You make a nice pillow.” You try to convey to him psychically that he could use you as a pillow whenever he wanted but you think you fail and you end up just staring at him in silence. “Don’t worry about it!” You jump, shooting him a thumbs up. “You’re very. Warm and comfortable too. Zero complaints.” Maybe you’ll save telling him that you wished you could bottle up his smell for yourself in a bottle for another day. You’ve vomited enough of your thoughts for now.

You make your way downstairs after you’ve showered, grabbing a piece of toast and buttering it. You nod sleepily to your mother, following her into the living room as she details the wedding schedules for the rest of the week.

You look up in surprise at your mother. “Seiko’s having a traditional Shinto ceremony?” Your mother nods. “She insisted. The Zenins weren’t persistent on one but she wanted it. We’re having a western style reception the day after.” You thought the Zenins would have pushed for a Shinto ceremony more. You remember Naoya’s father being an extreme stickler for traditions. You groan, remembering your wardrobe. “I did bring along a kimono just in case, but I don’t really think it’s wedding suitable. I might need to go shopping for a suitable evening dress too.”

You’re distracted by your sister and Naoya coming down the stairs, having overheard your conversation. “Seiko and me were planning to go out tomorrow, you could join us and get your outfits while we’re at it.” Naoya pipes up, and you stare at him in disbelief. For once, you think you and your sister are in the same mind, as she’s also staring at him, a frown forming on her face.

“I don’t know if we have the time, Naoya, that was supposed to be us shopping for our honeymoon and I’m sure (name) would rather-“ “Nonsense, Seiko.” He dismisses her with a wave of his hand, casually. “I’m sure we can adjust for your sister.” You raise your eyes at Seiko, wincing when you see how furious she looks at being interrupted. “As flattered as I am for the invite, Zenin, I’m sure I’ll manage fine on my own. I’d hate to intrude upon you both.”

“Well, you won’t be on your own anyway, will you?” Your mother points out. “Take the opportunity to show Nanami around and make a day of it.” You never thought you’d be thankful towards your mother for telling you what to do, but you nod at her. “Sounds like a plan.” “You’re sure you still remember your way around, (name)?” You grit your teeth as Naoya asks, your name rolling off his tongue the way it used to back when you were together. You’re not sure you like his smug tone. “Or are you too used to living in Tokyo?” You turn on him, cold seeping through your voice. “I’m sure you’ve forgotten, but I grew up around here, same as you and Seiko. It’ll take more than a few years for me to forget.” He raises his hands, and you huff. You’re not sure what he’s angling at, but you’re more thankful than ever you’re not here alone.

“Besides, even if I do get lost, I’m sure I’ll be perfectly fine with my boyfriend to keep me company.”

You stretch, getting up. “I’m going to go ask him what he wants for breakfast now, anyway. See you around” Your mother waves you away, and as you’re halfway to your room, you feel a hand around your arm and you slap it away on reflex, before realizing it’s your sister, who has followed you. “Ow, (name)! It’s just me.” She winces, holding her hand. “Oops, sorry about that.” You’re aware you don’t sound apologetic at all, and she narrows her eyes. “Listen..” She starts, and you cross your arms, waiting. “Can we talk? I know the last time we did properly, it was anything but pleasant, but I want to get it all out in the air before I get married.” She tilts her head towards her room and you sigh, following her in, plopping yourself down onto the bed. She shuts the door behind her, and sits down on a chair nearby.

“Well? I’m listening.” Seiko pauses, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen her this unsure. “Your new boyfriend..you’re happy with him?” You silently wonder where this was going, but you decide to entertain her. “You’ve seen him, right?” You snort. “Yeah, he makes me pretty happy.” A part of you feels guilty that you’re lying. Not to your family, as far as you’re concerned, they should be happy you’re even making an attempt to show up and be nice. But you’re unable to stop feeling bad about dragging Nanami Kento into this lie. As much as he’s reassured you that he’s okay with everything, a part of you fears that he’s putting up with all of this just for the favor he owes Gojo.

You’re broken out of your thoughts by Seiko continuing. “You…do you still have feelings for Naoya?” You lean forward, meeting her eyes. “What, you’re afraid I’m going to break down at your wedding and embarrass you about you marrying my ex-boyfriend?” She breaks your gaze, looking away. Her fingers play with a string on the chair’s cushion, pulling at it. “Well?” “You haven’t visited in two years. You kept in touch with everyone except me. And now you’re back for the wedding. I’m just wondering…”

You eye your sister curiously. “You’re…a lot more subdued than you used to be. What changed? You were positively smug before I left.” She sighs. “It’s been two years. Things are…a lot different now. Would you believe me if I said I regretted the way everything went down?” Well, wasn’t that a surprise. But you knew your sister wouldn’t magically turn a new leaf for no reason. You know her far too well, and you keep your guard up. “You’re not telling me something, Seiko. Out with it.”

A grimace is present on her face, like it’s painful for her to get the words out. “Naoya isn’t the heir of the Zenin family.” Your mouth falls open in shock. You certainly weren’t expecting that. When you dated Naoya, it was all but certain that he’d become the eventual head of the family, following his father, and inherit the family business. You certainly had to deal with a fair amount of his ego, but you always thought you balanced him out pretty well. “Who is it, then? One of his uncles? Maki or Mai?” You count off the family members you remember from your few visits to the Zenin household. “It’s Megumi. The Fushigoro kid. Naobito announced it a couple of months ago.”

You whistle. You remember the kid. You think he was just Yuuji’s age, and pretty polite and nice unlike the rest of his family. A petty part of you feels vindicated that he was named heir over Naoya. As much as you’d like to gloat , you decide to put on a pitying face for your sister. “As unfortunate as that is for Naoya, I’m not sure what that has to do with me.”

Your sister glances at you, biting her lip. “You’ve always been pretty familiar with the Zenin family, and I don’t think Naobito likes me that much, but I know he was fond of you..” You were pretty sure he barely tolerated your presence, and it was only your family name that kept him from disapproving of you and Naoya. But you wait for her to continue. “But now you’re back and if it was you and Naoya, he might still be heir, and I’m just afraid you’re here to get him back-“

You spring to your feet, rage rushing through you. “You really think I’d do that, Seiko? Steal Naoya back from under your nose?” Your voice raises. Your sister shushes you, and you click your tongue. “Did you really have such a low opinion of me?” “I just thought-“ You laugh in disbelief. “I don’t know why Naoya isn’t heir, Seiko, but I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with me considering you were always the golden child of our family. I’m sure everyone was happy when I left for Tokyo.”

“And in case you forgot,” You hiss. “Naoya broke up with me. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, since, by your own admission, you both fell deeply in love in love with each other a couple of months after he dumped me. I’m sure the Zenin family wants nothing to do with a disgraced daughter that left for Tokyo and works at, what did mother say? A desk job?” “(name), wait, calm down! I wasn’t accusing you of trying to steal him from me, I-”

She puts a hand on your arm and you shake it off, gritting your teeth. “I only came because I didn’t want people to whisper about the Morita’s oldest daughter skipping out on her own sister’s wedding. But don’t worry, Seiko.”

You stride towards the door, slamming it open. “I’m sure we can both be perfectly cordial towards each other until you’re happily wedded to the man of your dreams. I’ll let you have the picture perfect day. But after this, you’ll never have to see me again.”

The last thing you see before the door slams shut is your younger sister’s anguished expression, her hand reaching out towards you.

[aflawedfashion]

I am working on two Mel/Ben fics

One short one where Melanie is in episode 5 and one longer one that takes place post season 4