#I understand why and people probably aren’t as interested anymore but it was one of the few things that got me through the holidays

[daae-dancer93]

Remember when we had @rjdaae Poto secret Santa… and @timebird84 hosted the poto advent calendar. Feeling nostalgic and sad that it’s not happening in this year. I made some great friends and phans when we shared art and prose. *sigh* we’re all old now.

[whalesforhands]

what’s yours is mine (1/?)

masterlist next

pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse, rating may change with every update.)

“Ito Saya, reporting in for your daily broadcast. In a noteworthy shift, Omegas are increasingly finding more employment opportunities in positions of power. With a positive trend towards reduced oppression of—“

You’re averse to this sort of thing. A folly, something you can barely care about as your eyes squint at big words floating around the screen, a pretty lady holding papers and looking all serious and… Boring. TV shows are supposed to be fun, supposed to be playing that anime you had been waiting all week to see, supposed to be… Interesting so that you can feel less alone.

You definitely don’t want some silly lady on the screen talking about— Those things that you can barely understand. Why do they always talk so much? A picture could probably end their entire long spiels in seconds.

Your nose scrunches, your fingers cupping your chin like those TV characters did when they were thinking really hard. So why don’t they just use pictures? They’re more colourful and tell you stuff faster, won’t they? It’s not your fault that the TV station people are always so inefficient.

(It’s the television’s fault isn’t it? Definitely, right? Mama always did tell you it was a little old.)

Or maybe it’s because you don’t know a lot of things.

You’re 4, staring up at the glowing screen of your all too old television, sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor in this wide, wide room that was a little too empty for your liking. Your nose picks up on the scent of coffee, ears barely picking up on a clink of porcelain against a cheap wooden coaster. Mama circles things in newspapers, the gliding of her red marker against the sheet attracting your attention to the focused look in her eyes, the furrow of her brows, the way she just held that pen so elegantly…

(Your Mama is so much prettier than the lady on the TV.)

You like it when she’s focused like that, so serious-looking! This must be the pinnacle of a hard worker. Brains… And beety? Or whatever you heard some other old man on the TV used to cheer about.

So you decide you don’t wanna watch anymore, Getting up onto your small feet and barely catching yourself before you topple over, toddling over to your Mama with socks padding against the wooden floors.

You’re soon taking decisive peeks at your all too focused mother, watching over her shoulder in silence to let her focus. There should be a reason why she’s so serious, right?

Maybe it’s something fun? Something exciting? That’s why she’s so focused on it— right?

“J…Ob list…ings open…” Your eyes are narrowed, licking over your lips to wet them as you take another deep breath in. “Mini—um, ex-peer-i-sense?”

You can see the red marker coming to a halt, her sweet chuckle perhaps to humor you, to acknowledge your attempt. Patting your head when she turns her head around, and a smile upon her face as she smooths over the fabric of her skirt, as you feel yourself being lifted and plopped gently into the warm confines of her lap.

“That was a nice try, sweetie.” Her eyes meet yours when you take the decisive move to lean back, a ruffle of your hair and your quiet giggle as the short relief of her attention leaves you, though not without sating your curiosity. “Mama’s looking for a job.”

You know what that is. It’s for adults to make money, disappear for hours in a day and only come back super, super late at night.

(You think your father had one. Or… Did he really?)

And it means they spend all that time in a place nowhere close to their home or cute, adorable, obedient daughters either.

“Does that mean you can’t stay home with me anymore, Mama?” You’re still leaning back into her chest, staring up at her chin from your position as you bring yourself impossibly closer to her, the calm smell of vanilla and honey in your nostrils making you all warm and fuzzy, calm and happy.

(You always liked it when she smelled like this.)

“Maybe, sweetie.” She pulls away briefly to tap the end of the marker against your nose. “But Mama will be able to buy you more delicious food,” She pauses to smile so sweetly down at you, a pinch to your cheek. “And finally get you some toys.”

Toys. You realize that you don’t have any toys. At least— You couldn’t bring any of your toys with you when your mother had so urgently scooped you up into her arms in the dead of the night, a luggage rolling behind her as your nose picks up on an urgent, intruding scent of sour milk and rotting flowers, your senses spiked with uncertainty and fear as you soundlessly drink in the last sight of your old home for those few seconds before the darkness ate it all away.

You remember boarding 1 train, 2 trains, 3 trains… You lost count after that. Only simply remembering getting pulled along, Mama’s soft whispering and cooing promises that this is for the best, that your Papa won’t be able to follow you here, that you’ll be happier than ever. You remember her scent, less rigid, less frightened but still steeped in misplaced excitement. Like a fragrant scent of calm that beckoned you to follow and imitate.

You remember living in small apartments, tiny, squeezy and virtually no space. You remember how sickly, horridly sweet Mama’s scent was, caked in perfume when she rushes out every night for her job at the local izakaya. Her uniform always a little messed up in her haste before she leaves your dinner usually already in your hands as you slurp on ramen or eat another scoop of curry rice.

She would pat your head as you offer her a bite, giving you a smile before she tells you to be good, several locks clicking into place when she closes the door behind her.

It wasn’t much, wasn’t the most fun you’ve ever had in your life, but it was comfortable. You were happy with that simple life with her. But one day, you heard jangling at the front door, you hear hurried, panicked movements, smell sour fear despite the thick odour of perfume as your Mama hurriedly slams the door shut behind her, cold sweat on her as she hugs you close, buries her face into your hair.

You don’t like it when she’s like this.

You remember a man with a scent so different from your father come knocking at your door for weeks on end, gradually changing from slow knocks to furious banging on the metal with a rough pleads begging that he won’t hurt your mother, that she was beautiful, the she was—

That’s how you ended up here now. It’s been at least a year since then. And only about a month since you moved in.

(You think. You’re not really good at telling time yet.)

“Mama, I don’t need toys.” It’s not like you don’t want them, you just don’t need them. A lesson taught to you by more pretty ladies on the TV screen, you’ve also stopped by many a toy store only to see too many zeroes on price tags, and it’s been steeled in your mind that you just don’t need them. Not when you have Mama to play together with now that she’s smiling so much more.

So you’re adamant on not wanting any.

“Is that so, darling?” You feel a mindless pinch to your cheek as she circles another paragraph of words. “Then how are you going to keep yourself from getting bored when I’m not around?”

Now that has you in a slight dilemma, your hands freezing in place from where they had been twirling with her hair. You blink once, and again when you quietly see her marker tap against the paper, as if awaiting your thoughts as your eyes start to dart all over the room.

(She makes really good points. Too good. As expected of your Mama.)

The television? No. Mama would tell you too much is bad for your eyes. The pillows you both use for your futons? No. You’ll probably dirty it and make more work for her. Your eyes silently trail over to the window, sun shining through the panes and onto the floor as a glowing thought arises.

“I can just play outside.”

——

Be careful what you wish for, as they say.

An amused chuckle from Mama as she pushes you towards the door, nimble fingers excitedly doing up the straps of your old sandals and arming you with a couple of handmade cookies, a pat on your head and parting words of;

“Don’t wander anywhere past the playground, don’t follow anyone strange, be back by sunset and make some friends.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have said that you’ll go play outside.

“Honey, I know it’s only been so long since we’ve moved here.” She’s clears her throat, a cloth being gently rubbed against your face to help get rid of any stray rice grains. “But,” She sucks in a breath, a rise and fall of her chest as you blink at her.

“Have you…” She has to take another breath in. Does she have breathing problems—

“Made any friends yet?”

Oh.

The answer is no. Your go-to counter being, ‘I don’t go outside, so how can I make any?’ as if it was the most obvious thing in the world as you give her a smile.

(This isn’t something you’re meant to be proud of.)

And all she’ll give you is winced smile, ruffling your hair and saying that there was no rush. That you’ll get your chance. That you’re the sweetest kid there was. That she has faith in you and wants you to work hard!

But it’s not like it’s as easy as your capable mother makes it sound, and not like you wanted to be out here, anyway. You think the sun is too hot, that there aren’t enough clouds, that the wind isn’t picking up enough, the cicadas are too loud, that you need water—

And that you need to stop complaining so much.

You’re kicking at the path, a long stick in your hands poking at the ground beneath you, cookies pinched between your fingers as you wander and wonder. You can make friends. Surely, you can. That’s what the the cookies are for, right?

Other kids your age should love cookies. You sure do, and you’re Mama’s number 1 fan when it comes to her baking.

(Or her… Anything, really.)

So… You know her inside out, you swear you do. You love her, she loves you, she makes good food and she wants you to make friends, come back with no cookies and a new bond forged.

(Anyone would do, right?)

But you don’t see any kids, the playground you just arrived at deserted and empty. It looks sleek, almost as if it were brand new. Dark wood and galvanized steel, it was so… Clean. So untouched. Yet nobody was here? Your shoulders slump forwards in mild disappointment, yet your heart thrills at the thought of being able to have the whole place to yourself. Alone.

Well, choosers can’t be beggars… Or was it the other way around? Either way, it’s not like Mama would know if you ate them both yourself.

——

So you find yourself sat down comfortably within the top of the little hut housing the slide, your feet splayed out in front of you as you prepare to take a bite. You feel the straps of your sandals relax against your feet, a slight breeze picking up despite the shade you had hidden under. Perfect. This was perfect—

“Are those cookies?”

You can feel your shoulders jump in shock, fear pulling at your heartstrings and a startle nearly making you drop your precious dessert. So much for a peaceful time. You have to physically lurch yourself back before any harm was done to your food. Just who do they think they are? To just come up to you and—

A flurry of white snow and icicles of frost. But you’re pretty sure the summer heat is still beating down, the cicadas are still singing, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. Yet the one before you defies all of that. He had an aura about him, a commanding curiosity. And he does definitely—

“Look weird.”

His eyes widen for just that fraction of a second, before he furrows his brows, the long sleeves of the firefly kimono swaying when he crosses his arms in rebuttal.

“You’re weirder.”

You blink maybe twice. Once in surprise, and the other to really blink back into reality. He must’ve heard your thoughts.

“I didn’t. Ya just said it out loud, weirdo.”

Oh. You have to say your sorries, then. Mama didn’t raise you to be rude.

“This is my playground.” Your eyes catch a glimmer of the wara zori his feet donned. They were too neat, too well put together. “Nobody else is allowed in.” His tone sounds so proper, his pronunciation so abnormally clear, especially for someone who looks your age.

“Oh.” You didn’t know that. Though to be fair, you don’t know a lot of things. “Sorry. I didn’t know playgrounds can be owned…”

“That’s only for poor people.” You hear the tap of his shoes against pressure treated wood. “If more people were like me, they’d have their own playgrounds too.”

“Oh. Sorry then.” You really are. You just thought playgrounds were a place for every kid… 

“S’that all you can say?” You can see the shine of iridescent blue, making use of his standing height to belittle and threaten your sitting position. He makes himself look big, makes the glimmer in his eye turn into one of malice and impatience. It twists his features, turns them into something rugged and rough and uncomfortable.

And you think it’s such a waste of the cute face he has.

“Sorry.” To his Mama who gave him such a nice looking profile, and to him, you guess. You don’t really know if you should be apologizing, don’t really know if what you’re doing is right.

(But apologising has always worked. It felt right to you.)

And you think he’s satisfied now.

He harrumphs, unfolding his hands. “Some old lady put me on a sweets ban.” He settles down next to you, pushing you aside to make space for himself as he plops down, and you notice the shifting of the pretty blue fabric he donned matching perfectly with the crystal blue of his eyes. You notice the print quality being one so clear and vivid, despite the simple design. That’s a really nice kimono. “So I can’t eat anymore for the rest of the month.”

(He really is cute.)

“But since you’re trespassing on my playground,” He holds a dainty, porcelain hand out, a small twitch of his fingers that itch for your compliance. “I’m charging you cookies for it.” He’s smiling now. A proud, smug grin with the upturn of his eyes into crescents.

”It’s okay for me to eat ‘em cause it’s tax.”

He’s kind of irritating, but… Anyone would do, right?

You swallow the lump you weren’t aware of in your throat, the sweat that you didn’t know that was starting to form on your hand. You think you have an idea. A good one, at that.

“Okay,” You produce the other packaging. “But you have to promise to be my friend.”

Now it’s his turn to blink at you in utter confusion.

“Are you—“ His eyebrows furrow deeper than before, his smile dissipating into this confused frown. His eyes scrutinize and watch you closely, as if he was scouring your every breath, your every movement to uncover something that just wasn’t there.

“Being serious?”

Why… Wouldn’t you be? The way you just blink back at him, waiting on him to continue only to be met with glaring silence… Is there something on your face? Is there a bug you didn’t see crawling in your hair?

Or maybe he just wants the cookie.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Your hand is warm as they grip his wrist, gently dropping the wrinkled plastic onto his hand with a tilt of your head and eyes that flick up to meet his. It’s innocent, genuine, even. Frightfully so. The way you smile with nothing else, the way your intent was shown upon your very sleeve.

Nothing. He garners absolutely nothing from you. Your hands feel too warm, the chocolate chips within the cookie already look like they were melting, sweat is starting to stick your hair to your skin— And he thinks it doesn’t get anymore real than this.

“Okay.”

Oh, good. He agreed. You have a friend now, and it makes your heart squeeze with just that bit of excitement, of joy. It felt like you were swinging too high off the ground, felt like you were going to be swept off your feet.

It felt good. Maybe you should make more friends.

“Do the thing with me.” His pinky is held out, pushed into your face. “Ya gotta promise me something too. That’s how promises work.”

Is that how it works? You didn’t know that either.

“Yeah.” It isn’t. “That’s how it works here, you dunno that cause you’re new.”

Well… Okay then. “What’s the promise?”

You see his lips curl up, his eyes sparkling with something unknown as you begin to stick your own pinky out. “You’re already my friend, right?”

You nod.

“Good.” There’s a smugness to his face now. “So you can’t be friends with other kids from this neighbourhood. That’s betrayal to me.”

You catch a whiff of something spicy, hot. As if it were burning you to the very edges of your body— Before it disappears completely, as if it were never there. He makes sense, to you at least, and it sounds… Fair enough, you guess.

Your pinky wraps tight around his, in spite of how foreboding and suffocating his hold feels. Your nose picks up on the scent of fabric cleaner, the scent of summer weighing heavy on your nose in this moment. You see blue and white, see oranges and pink light starting to envelop his hand from where the sun had begun to set, making his hand glow as your promise becomes sealed in this very moment forward.

“Hey,” His eyes still don’t leave the way your fingers were intertwined with each other. “Which house do you live in?”

(“I’m forgiven for coming in here without permission, right?” Your hands are stained with sticky chocolate that you’re trying to dab off with your dry handkerchief, bits of crumbs littering your lips.

“Ya can come here whenever you want now.” He wipes the remnants of soft biscuit and gooey chocolate off with a dismissive sleeve.

“That’s such a waste of a pretty kimono…”)

——

Even when your pinkies have lost their binding to each other, you still find his hand holding onto yours, adamant on them being intertwined as he huffs in annoyance at your stare.

“I’m only leadin’ ya back cause I wanna see your house.”

You give him that owlish stare again. The blank one that looks like you don’t have a thought passing through your head at all. “Okay,” You smile again.

“What’s your name, by the way?”

It’s a dismissive question, one that had only just occurred to you. You’re far more interested in watching the way the sun casted your shadows together on the concrete pavement, how your silhouettes gave you a sense of weird unity. Having a friend feels really nice, you think.

You take a glance at him when he takes too long to reply, catching an icy cold gaze that contrasted the warmth of your hands conjoined.

“You first.” Well, if he insists, you guess. It’s just your name.

“(last name) (name).” You’re pretty sure you got the pronunciation right.

“Gojo… Satoru.” You can hear him hold his breath as his name leaves his lips, his voice ever steady and confident, though with a tinge of hesitance. As if he expects something, as if he wants it to be over and done with.

It never comes. Only a confused tilt of your head as you keep staring at him like he was the crazy one in this situation.

And you can see his face change into one of disbelief, one that barely tilts over the edge of what you can only describe as ‘shocked relief’. Maybe he is as weird as he looks. Does he have some sort of weird complex? You can swear you’ve heard about it on TV before. Or maybe he just has really bad comedic timing? You can at least compliment him.

“You’re funny, Satoru-san.” Because he’s genuinely making you smile now.

“I didn’t give you permission to call me by my name.”

“Oh.” You thought friends were allowed to be on first name basis immediately. Were you wrong about friendships afterall? You stare at the ground for a little longer than needed as punishment for yourself, “Sorry, Gojo-s—“

“I didn’t give you permission to call me by my last name either.” His hand squeezes yours ever tighter in small retaliation, his face turned away from yours to hide the way he was starting to grow red with rapid embarrassment.

(You can still see the tips of his ears burning red.)

Now you’re just confused. A scratch of your head as you try to think a little bit harder.

“…do I just call you friend, then?” And you can hear him stifle a snort.

“You’re really weird.” He squeezes your palm again. “Lose the honourifics, weirdo.”

(“So, Gojo…?” You test the waters again. You see his eyes stare off to the side in thought for just that one moment before they flick back to meet your gaze.

“Satoru.”)

“My house is that one,” Your small fingers point towards the horizon, a quaint, unassuming home coming into sight. “You have to walk 3 houses down from the playground.”

You stop before the front. Trying to loosen your grip only to feel his hand tighten significantly around yours.

“Satoru.” You call his name when he’s seemingly lost in thought, his eyes staring blankly at your humble home. It almost looked as if he hasn’t seen one before. “It’s getting late.”

“Oh.” Is he copying you now?

“Don’t you need to go back home? Your Mama would be mad if you’re late, wouldn’t she?” You probe a little more in efforts to snap him out of his trance, poking at his squishy face to get his attention.

But to no avail.

He doesn’t say anything, his head only turning to the side to stare you straight in the eye as you await. You see how pinks and blues are practically reflecting off of those crystalline optics, the sky reflected in them as they shine with a certain warmth.

“Can I come by tomorrow?”

——

A small knock at your front door early into the morning, when the sun had barely risen and the skies were still painted in shades of night blue.

To be specific, it was 6:00 AM. Your Mama was startled as she sipped coffee in the kitchen, you hear her shuffling downstairs, hear the clatter of the very few kitchenware you had as you begin to stir from your sleep, your brain flaring into overdrive as you try to sniff out the air— Trying to capture whiffs of that rancid scent that you hate so much—

Nothing. Nothing but the growing smell of rotting flowers that sends jitters down your spine. It worries you, sends you into a panic as you practically trip over yourself to run downstairs, disregarding any of the instructions of hiding away in the closet like your Mama had taught you beforehand. You have to check— Have to see if she’s okay—

The door is already open.

“Is (name) home?” He’s the first to talk, eyes flicking back and forth between the slightly open door and the dim light from within your home and your sleepy mother.

Mama only blinks down at him, her phone on speed-dial to the police releasing its tense grip as her shoulders visibly slump forward. Her scent calming from the initial flare up as she opens the door just that little more to allow her full view of Gojo Satoru standing before your home accompanied solely by a pretty lady dressed in a simple kimono.

“Yes… She is—“

“Good morning, (last name)-sama.” A low bow that takes your mother by surprise. “Our young master has scheduled a playdate with your daughter for today.”

“I— Um, heard, yes. But I certainly didn’t expect it to be this early—“ Your Mama shifts in place a little uncomfortably, taking note of how the sun had yet to rise, how the street lamps were still alight.

“We apologize for the disturbance.” The servant girl swoops down into another polite bow, head low and hands holding out a neatly wrapped gift before her. “These are snacks to show our gratitude for hosting this event. Young Master Gojo was looking forward to this arrangement, and had made preparations to come as early as possible.”

What an… Interesting child.

“As I am not allowed to accompany him inside due to his request, please also take this number with you, (last name)-sama. Do not hesitate to call us if anything arises. I will arrive to pick him up when he wishes to go.”

“Ah, um… Thank you…” The box feels heavy in your Mama’s hands as you tug on her pajamas from behind, peeking out slightly once you hear the door close.

“Gojo-kun… Was it?” She has to blink a few times to really get a good look at the snowy-haired boy.

“How did you say your friend looked again?” She’s picking up a dumpling with her chopsticks, gently laying the food onto your plate as you continue to chew in humming delight.

Your training chopsticks are clacking against each other as you smile up at her, all toothy grin and happy glow.

“He’s really cute.”

She figures it checks out, the doll-like, porcelain features of his face, the shiny blue eyes and his silky looking hair. He doesn’t say anything, furrowed brows and curiosity in his eyes as he scrutinizes her too, the air starting to still just that little bit when he nods at her in greeting.

As if he was acknowledging her… And as if he didn’t know how else to react.

“It’s nice to meet you.” She leans down to shake his hand, noticing the softness of his skin, the grip of his hand. “And thank you for the gift.”

You pop out from hiding behind your Mama’s legs, blinking at how his clothing had switched from the pretty kimono yesterday— To a simple shirt and shorts.

“Satoru.” You smile only slightly, your voice dimmed with the raspiness of just waking up, waving your hand in greeting. “You’re not wearing your pretty clothes anymore.”

Mama watches, watches how his gaze had been fixated on you the moment you appeared, how he’s waiting—

“I’ll leave you both to it, then.” A ruffle of your hair as you let out a quiet giggle. “Make sure to wash up and brush your teeth.”

“Okay.”

And when she’s out of sight, her footsteps disappearing down the hallway— He starts to speak more.

“Your house is tiny.” Small. Inferior. Almost unlivable. He swears he’s seen servant quarters bigger than this as he kicks his sneakers off by the genkan, dusting himself of imaginary dust as he climbs up the step, his hand somehow finding yours with almost scary accuracy.

Is it? You always felt that it was too big. Always having too much space that you didn’t know what to do with.

“I think it’s nice.” You can feel yourself squeezing his palm with gentle self-assurance, leading him up the stairs and into the bedroom where your futon still laid upon the ground messily.

He sees darkness, hears the soft pads of your socks against tatami mats. Smells the faintest scent of honey within this room.

He stares. Silently, quietly. At the hadakake of your futon, at the thinner blanket that your Mama had taken out to deal with the sweltering heat of summer, at the overall state of the room.

“Are you poor?” You blink at him when he lays down next to you on his side, the softness of the bedding making your body feel heavy and sleepy, feeling a bit too lazy to want to keep the comfy sheets away.

“No.” Your whisper is quiet, soft. As if you were slowly fading away into sleep. “I have enough.” And he knows you’re telling the truth when you just give him a sleepy smile, a yawn escaping your lips as you cuddle against your pillow, eyes losing focus and turning the sight of your friend into a bleary blue and white.

”So I’m happy with just this.”

And he thinks you’ve really gone crazy.

“Good morning, Satoru…” Because you’re pretty sure you have yet to say it, as weird as it is when you’re in the midst of falling asleep.

“…morning.”

He’s fun to be around.

——

A couple weeks have passed, the same days of Satoru coming around to knock at your door too early in the morning, your sleep-deprived Mama getting the door and letting him in—

Only to end with both you and him sleeping in on your futon until early afternoon, when you both awaken only to play… Whatever, really. The playground, drawing at home, building pillow forts…

Mama tells you she doesn’t mind if he wants to come over, doesn’t mind if Satoru wants to play with you so often when she’s off to work. She tells you what really matters is what you want, that its up to you if you want him to come over this often, that it’s your choice to play with him.

(Mama described him once as ‘clingy’. You don’t know what that means, but you think it’s good. You have a friend. Your only friend.)

So you told him to only come once every 2 days, that you think too much interaction may ruin your alone time with Mama… Only to be met with a pout and eyes that teetered almost on watery even as you pat his head and apologise.

He still listened to you, though. Despite the glare to the side and the very evident pout on his face everytime he realises he doesn’t get to see you the next day—

Though, as of recently, Satoru had been the last thing on your mind. Your eyes taking interest in and stuck onto the house next door instead. It’s always been empty, more barren than your own. But it’s gotten ‘renovated’ as your Mama said, the walls losing their dull shade and obtaining a new shine, the boarded windows replaced with shiny, clear glass.

It looked really nice.

“Stop staring at the ugly house and look at me insteaddddddd!” Ever selfish, ever vying and whining for you to give him your undivided attention.

“(nameeeeeeeeeeee).”

“It’s not ugly, though.” You think it looks quaint, looks prettier than your own. “It looks pretty.” You’re curious what kind of people are gonna live there. Are they gonna be an old couple like how Satoru always claims? Maybe it’ll be a nice middle aged lady who likes to share her pickled vegetable dishes?

You just hope they’re nice.

“How much do you think it costs to rent-uh-vate?” Your stare is still pointed at the house next door, your window directly facing one of their rooms as you stare with curious intensity.

He narrows his eyes at the view of the empty rooms, the windows that still lacked curtains and the blank white of their freshly painted walls.

“Not much, I’m pretty sure.”

Probably not much in his terms, anyway.

“Mama said she thinks they’re gonna move in today.”

“Really? Then let’s watch ‘em later then.” He lets out a huff as he rolls around your floor, watching you settle down cross-legged next to him as he makes a grab for you. “I don’t wanna play at the playground t’day.”

“Oh. Okay then, let’s play the cards you brought then—“ Your words die on your lips, body reeling back to the window at the telltale beep of a horn, the loud rumbling of a truck starting to pull into the street just mere meters away from you.

And that has the both of you clambering up to the window, his hand holding yours to ensure you don’t fall as you both squeeze to stand on the same stool, hands pressed up against the glass as your cheeks squish against each other in hopes of getting a view of what these people will look like.

“If it’s not an old couple, can we play on the swing today?”

“Y’er on.”

Your eyes watch the dark blue Toyota pull in close behind, your heart starting to race in palpitating beats that make you think you’re gonna be sick.

“Looks cheap.” Satoru’s still as snarky as ever.

The passenger door swings open, mesmerizing you with the sight of someone new, someone unfamiliar; a stranger that you’ve never seen before. Your gaze is stuck, unable to leave the features that capture your mind first—

Black hair and purple eyes.

masterlist next

[blossomgaz]

Dear readers around the world...

You reallyyyy need to understand that if you don’t like a trope or type of fanfiction, you can do so much. And no, one of the things isn’t talking shit about others on Twitter or in the tags of a post or the comments of the author. But I’ll give you the list:

Read the warnings; if it doesn’t meet your standards, scroll.

Block the writer, so you don’t see their work anymore.

Click “not interested” if it is ever suggested for you to read on your home or 'for you' page.

Block the specific tag of “dead dove”, “dark fic”, or anything else you do not enjoy.

Dark fics can be very triggering to the reader, I agree. Yet, at the end of the day, they aren’t hurting anyone apart of the story. The characters you are ranting about are absolute pixels or art of an artist in a comic. They won’t get offended or hurt (paraphrasing here: “Simon would hate you if he saw what you guys do”). Simon doesn’t exist. Simon is a character from a video game. From a comic. He won’t get offended. And the OG artists of Simon/COD? I swear to you that they, most probably, do not want to read fan fiction about their work, but, if they do, they will, indeed, read the warnings and scroll past if it doesn't satisfy their needs.

Speaking of warnings: all big fic writers (my experience) that write dark or even dead dove fics do warn you that they are posting such things in bold and red letters at the top of every single post. Help them help you, people. If you see those red letters, scroll past.

So, to conclude, you have a choice that doesn’t include calling writers rapists if they write non-con or dub-con, pedophiles if they write (legal) age gaps (since I think that is why this title even began on Twitter), incest-enjoyer because they write pseudo-incest, or a beastiality-enjoyer because they write about animal-human hybrids, etc.

LIFE IS TOO SHORT FOR YOU TO WASTE IT ON TRYING TO GET PEOPLE OFF FANDOMS OR OFF YOUR FANFIC HASHTAGS. JUST IGNORE THEM AND ENJOY THE WORK THAT YOU WRITE OR READ BY OTHER PEOPLE. AND, DURING THAT, LET OTHERS WRITE WHAT, if you go check their amount of followers and notes (and no, just to be clear, you don't need to open an explicit smut non-con fanfic to check those), A LOT OF PEOPLE ENJOY EVEN IF IT DOESN'T INCLUDE YOU.

Thank you.

[farfaras]

Part 2.

What if Eddie moved on from thinking Steve and Nancy should get back together when Jonathan came back and saw how they’re actually destined to be together even tho they still have shit to figure out.

I know it’s a popular hc that Eddie and Robin clock each other immediately BUT I still think that as two queer kids in a small backwards town they’re more worried about no one finding out about them so they wouldn’t notice someone else. So worried about themselves that they (like straight people) also fall into the mindset of ‘everyone is straight until proven otherwise’.

What’s the result of this? Eddie seeing how close Robin and Steve are and thinking there must be something there. And because Steve is a little more affectionate than Robin, now Eddie thinks he’s pining after her.

“Why aren’t you and Robin together?”

“It’s not like that. She’s my best friend.”

“I don’t buy it.”

So now Steve has to put up with Eddie constantly going on about how Steve should just ask her out already, what’s he waiting for, she probably likes him back.

It bothers Steve to no end. He wished society had advanced enough to realize that men and women can be platonic friends without having to explain themselves.

A nightmare.

And Steve would never out Robin, so telling him the truth wasn’t an option. And he really wasn’t interested in dating anyone right now, so that was out of the question. What could he do to get Eddie to understand that him and Robin would never happen?

Then he remembered. It seemed so distant but Steve actually tried to tell Robin he liked her once. It was kinda embarrassing to think about now, specially because he saw Robin as nothing more than a friend now. He couldn’t even remember what having a crush on her ever felt like. And maybe he never even had one, shitty friends and shitty parents maybe warped his perception and then he couldn’t see the difference between platonic and romantic feelings. Well, that was for another day. He could tell the difference now. He thinks.

He could just tell Eddie about that moment in starcourt. He would just leave out the part about Robin having absolutely bad taste in girls. Foolproof. Eddie would leave it alone now.

“What? She just rejected you and then you decided to become her best friend?” He looked surprised, like the idea was impossible to understand.

“And I don’t regret it. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“You’re crazy.” Steve didn’t expect that.

“What do you mean?”

Eddie looked at him and his expression was hard to read. “You’re telling me that after being rejected you didn’t need time away? Just jumped to being a platonic friend? Despite your feelings?” He scoffed. “I could never do that.”

“It wasn’t that hard.”

“Now I know you’re lying. You still like her?”

Steve really tried to convince Eddie that he didn’t like Robin anymore. But no matter what he would say he didn’t believe him.

So Steve gave up.

Now he goes along with it. It’s easier. It stopped Eddie from trying to set them up or whatever.

Except it didn’t.

Now Eddie came up with the absolute great idea of making her jealous. Which was so so ridiculous Steve had to hold back laughter. He didn’t mention how much Robin had heard about past dates. This was beginning to amuse him just a little bit.

“How would I even do that?” Steve asked, curious as to what Eddie would come up with.

“You know? Let me think about this.” He made a show of putting his hand on his chin, contemplating. “Show up at work with some marks on you neck. You know, see how she reacts to that knowledge.” Steve knows how Robin reacts to that. Before Vecna, on his endless quest to find ‘the one’ (what a waste) he had some hookups. One time he went into work with one or two hickeys on his neck. Robin wouldn’t even bat her eyes, just would ask ‘who was it now?’ and then ask if he would see her again. The answer was no. Eddie didn’t know this.

“Yeah well, I really don’t feel like going on a date and hooking up with someone just to use it to bait a reaction. Seems kinda cruel to the other person.” Steve thinks that should be enough to shut this idea down.

“Huh. Maybe you’re better than me because I didn’t even think about that.”

Steve doesn’t reply, just snorts. And he thinks that’s gonna be the end of it. There’s nothing else Eddie can really do or come up with. Right?

Wrong.

“I could do it.” Did Steve hear that right? Huh?

“What?” Steve asked.

“Give you a hickey. It’s no big deal, really.”

If you asked Steve why he said yes. Man, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. He really doesn’t know! It’s like someone possessed him and he was moving his mouth, but it wasn’t him. Maybe it was because he couldn’t come up with a reason not to do it fast enough that would convince Eddie.

They were both sitting on the couch so Eddie just leaned in and started on a spot on the left side of his neck. Steve’s hand instinctively moved to the back of Eddie’s head. One wouldn’t think so based on its appearance but Eddie’s hair was surprisingly soft.

Suddenly there were teeth scraping his neck. Steve let out a noise that he hadn’t heard before. He accidentally pulled a little on Eddie’s hair, he was gonna apologize but Eddie didn’t seem to mind, he just hummed.

“Did you just bite me?”

Eddie pulled back and sneered. “Sorry. I let my impulsive thoughts win.” What does that even mean?

Steve was gonna ask if that did it but then Eddie moved to his lap, straddling him. “What are you doing?”

“Getting the other side?” Makes sense? Honestly his mind was getting a little mushy and was only focusing on Eddie’s weight on him. When Eddie leaned in again, Steve’s hands traveled to rest on his hips. Eddie’s on his shoulders to have leverage, his hips hovering now.

Steve tipped his head back to give him a little more space. With more space Eddie seemed to be satisfied with that spot and moved lower, however this next one was sensitive to Steve, he’s always known that. He was gonna say so but he couldn’t, Eddie was already on it. He let out a breathy sound and gripped Eddie’s hips tighter making him slam back on his lap. He thinks Eddie moaned, he’s not sure tho. “Sorry.” He muttered.

He didn’t think he’d enjoy this.

He did.

Maybe he should put a stop to it.

He hasn’t so far.

It went on a little longer. Some hands wandering. Some sounds uttered. Minds getting floaty.

He knew it was coming to an end when Eddie started leaving kisses to soothe the spots, he trailed until he got to his ear. Which he actually licked. It was probably to make a joke but it only made Steve shiver.

“I think you’re done.” Eddie said. He hesitated a second before climbing off his lap.

Steve knew he looked winded. Eddie tried to look casual but he’s known him for a while and could see that it was feigned casualness.

“Uh. Good.” Lame. Steve is lame.

Mike Wheeler was right because Steve Harrington is lame.

How is he gonna explain this to Robin?

[casanovawrites]

random sentence prompts  ━ from various tv shows, part 16

i don’t think i’ve ever been this fucking tired.

sometimes people act like one thing, even though they’re something else.

that little bit of hope, that’s the part i couldn’t bear.

i would give anything to feel like a good person again.

best way to make us suffer is to give us hope.

piecing this together is like trying to grab hold of water.

so far, i’m underwhelmed. 

i don’t want a relationship. i just want to be with you all the time.

i just wanna know why everyone always abandons me.

i can’t be around you anymore. it’s confusing, and it makes me feel insane.

you didn’t take me out of love, you took me out of spite. 

don’t let love make you out to be a fool. leave before you’re left.

you are a lonely, selfish, narcissistic asshole. 

every time i look at you, i feel so completely dismantled. 

i have people who mean more to me than you would ever understand. 

always surprised to see you so tenderhearted. 

that’s more like salvation than a simple favor.

when i think about the specifics too much, i just get sad.

i let my ego get in the way of a lot of good shit in my life.

it’s easier to lose interest than to work through things. 

it’s my life. it’s already over in the first place. 

i only wanted to leave because i’ve never felt seen here.

do you wanna be right, or do you wanna have your family?

you’re exactly like me. that’s the problem.

i just wanna feel normal. please help me feel normal.

it felt like we were changing the world.

i am so sorry i freaked out. it will not happen again.

i thought that work would distract me.

you challenged me, and in return, i made you feel small. i’m sorry.

you said that we were bad for each other.

why is my fucking point of view the one everyone’s assuming is wrong?

sometimes it feels like i’m watching other people experience things.

you know, sometimes i think you just lie for the fun of it.

i fucking love that. i love when you stoop to my level.

sometimes i just wanna feel so normal that i’m almost boring.

that’s the thing about liars. they look just like everybody else.

i don’t hate you. what good is that gonna do?

i feel angry, sad, betrayed. i don’t hate you, i feel bad for you.

i feel bad for you because you aren’t the good person you thought you were. that’s gotta hurt, knowing that.

i'm either all in or all out. i need to find a way forward.

when you are ready, this will make you stronger. better.

you either adapt, or you lose your mind.

don’t tell me you’re pretty, privileged, and humorless.

you know, at some point, we’re gonna have to start trusting each other. 

i used to be a happier person.

thank you for not being full of shit.

she was a nuisance as a child and a horror show as a teen. 

i’m so sick of hearing everybody’s opinions about me.

i don’t think you’re pathetic. i just want you to be careful.

i’m done looking like a fucking idiot, so i’m asking you to treat me with some respect from now on.

i just got you back. i’m not losing you again.

everyone was so scared, there was no time to be angry.

i believed in you. don’t you get that?

would you rather i just pick you apart and make you feel like shit?

what you want is for me to read your mind so i can say whatever you want to hear at any given time.

i was already on my fucking own.

whatever this is, it’s you and i.

i couldn’t kill you. i’d probably just cry.

if we’re gonna do this, we’re doing it together.

this seems like a really good plan to piss off my parents, so i’m in.

do things around here feel different to you?

scared people do scary things. even the good ones.

i know we don’t right now. but could we make sense again?

we keep playing with fire, and we need to stop before we burn our lives down.

i am the one who keeps people alive.

which fucking nightmare am i supposed to be afraid of?

i cant help if i’m in the dark.

every time something good happens, something bad comes to ruin it.

whatever this is, we are stronger than this.

will i ever feel normal again?

i think this is your normal now. and everyday, you’ll get a little more comfortable with it.

[amywritesthings]

Love your fic love, it's the best one I've ever read. Could you do something from Levi pov when he started realising he liked Reader and he felt about that?

first of all, thank you for such lovely words! i'm so happy you like it. second of all, i can certainly write you a levi pov where he had his 'oh shit do i like her?' moment xo

all at once. / levi ackerman x f!reader

word count: 900 warnings: language, levi pov set in the silver underground universe

( read on ao3 here )

Furlan had a funny saying about the people he fell head over heels for.

It happens slowly, he once told Levi.

The two of them were sitting around their newly-bought two-bedroom apartment, comically vacant and egregiously filthy.

With his long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle, Furlan chose to sink his palms into the dust to tattoo his fingerprints. 

To say he was there.

(I was here. I am here.)

Levi chose a more civilized position — sitting backwards on one of the only two chairs they had in this place, his sleeved forearms folded over each other on its curved back. He peered down at his friend with the utmost curiosity, head hung under a curtain of black fringe.

“The hell’s this question coming from?” Levi grunted as he shifted his shoe on the floor.

Fucking disgusting; he wasn’t going to sleep tonight if the entire apartment ended up being this damn dirty. 

“What do you mean?” Furlan asked. "Which topic?"

“The topic of this,” Levi clarified, “and why you’re so interested in who I may be looking at on the streets."

"What, we can't gossip?"

The way Levi's brow quirked said otherwise. Furlan sighed.

"We're roommates now."

"So?"

"So?"

"I don’t think I asked who you're interested in, Church.”

“No, you didn’t,” Furlan hummed happily with a dopey smile on his face. “But now that we have this place with two whole bedrooms to ourselves, we have the luxury of inviting people over. Think about it: two young and handsome bachelors, ready to take on the—”

“Wait, invite people over?” Levi interrupted, brow rising. “This isn’t a community house. It's headquarters.”

“No, I know."

"Do you?"

"Yeah! But like I said, think about it: now that we’re taking names and carving our own legacies down here, I’m sure plenty of people will think we’re great. Maybe we'll even get some kinda group of admirers for our efforts.”

“Doubtful.”

“Aw, c’mon, Levi,” Furlan pouted. “Don’t you like anyone? There’s that one guy with the tattoos over on second street.”

“No.”

“Or the dark-haired girl who always seems to give you a discount on soups.”

“Not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

Furlan blinked.

The black-haired boy felt his temper — and embarrassment — rising.

“Because I wouldn’t know what the fuck it feels like to like someone like… that.”

Levi grit the truth between his teeth, hating the honesty that came with this ridiculous conversation. 

The Underground City doesn't quite offer anything real. Down here love was transactional. There wasn't room for emotional error.

He saw what it did to his mother.

He saw how it molded whatever the fuck he’d call Kenny.

Bottom line was that feelings weren’t good.

And then there was Furlan, looking at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Well, when you realize there's something about someone, it's slow,” the ash-blonde boy suggested, nodding with encouragement. “From my understanding, liking a guy, girl, person, whatever — it happens slowly, then all at once.”

“How’s it slow?”

Furlan smiled, knocking his feet side to side against the wooden floorboards.

“Probably because the people you actually like are kinda in the background until they aren’t anymore.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Levi echoed. "You're supposed to be attracted to them first."

"That definitely helps, but that's like... lust or whatever," Furlan challenged. "I'm talking about liking someone. Wanting to hold hands or be with them so you can listen to them talk all the time and never get bored of what they're saying."

Levi scoffed, turning his chin sharply to the right as he considered.

Slow, then all at once.

Except it was never slow.

It would’ve been really fucking helpful if it had been.

You’d been ready to rip his throat open all those years ago.

No one had ever gotten the jump on him the way you had. No one would ever come close.

Maybe watching your fights after Kenny dropped him for reasons unsaid had been the slowest part about this. Watching your sweat-streaked face as you caught your breath in the midst of folding someone double your size like it was nothing. Listening to your voice in the alleyway when you spoke to that witch of a woman. Conjuring up an excuse to talk to you, to see if you even remembered—

It’d been all at once from the very beginning.

Someone as fleeting as a ghost had haunted his once dreamless sleep.

Hell, you still did.

“Sounds like you got someone in mind.”

His gray eyes darted back to Furlan, instantly on the defensive.

The other boy sported a goofy smirk. Levi scowled.

He could tell him.

He could ask if the way his throat closed up whenever he so much as considered uttering her name was a sign that he was head over heels.

That sometimes it wasn’t slow, but as fast as a blow to the damn head.

That sometimes liking a stranger felt more powerful than anything he'd ever known.

“Nah,” Levi lied, surging from his seat to stand at full height. “Only thing I’m interested in is cleaning this piece of shit up. I’m not sleeping on cobwebs tonight, so get up, grab a broom, and help.”

James.

Maybe one day he’d face it; liking someone.

Really, genuinely, devastatingly wanting someone.

But he couldn’t afford it.

(Maybe one day.)

[rendy-a]

If your interested i would like to request a self aware au where the player instead of possesses Ramshackle instead of Yuu

My first thought is that I don’t understand this request.  Possess the actual building of Ramshackle?  Then I thought it might actually be funny if the Player were stuck in the building Encanto-style.  Feel free to drop in a new request if this isn’t what you were looking for.  Until then, enjoy this silly idea.

The Dorm Magical

All the characters in Twisted Wonderland had an innate sense for when they were being observed by the Player.  It was a feeling so sublime that it was the only thing a character craved.  One day, they stopped receiving that feeling as they did lessons, went about the storyline and even engaged in event stories.  These were all the Player’s favorite times to grace them with their notice!  It was deeply disturbing to them (could you have quit playing the game?) until they noticed that feeling again within the walls of Ramshackle Dorm.  Now this unique dorm isn’t just the home to the odd students Grim and Yuu but also the only place left on campus to experience the notice of the Player. 

Nothing matters anymore unless you can do it in Ramshackle or take it to Ramshackle.  Riddle brings every perfect-scored test to casually hold up to the walls, hoping you’ll take notice.  A suspicious number of movies being filmed by the Film Club seem to use old houses as a setting.  If any odd floorboard squeaks or movements of doors happen, all the club members merely clap and declare that the Player is so good at ad-libbing. 

Epel bursts into the lounge of Ramshackle and Grim nearly chokes on a bite of tuna.  “Nya!  What’s the big idea barging in here like that?” he asks between coughs.  Epel holds up a spelldrive trophy enthusiastically, “We won the tournament!”  Yuu smiles at him indulgently, “Great job.”  Epel shoots him a puzzled look as though to say, ‘Why are you talking to me?’  Then he turns about the room, holding the trophy aloft until a beam of sunlight from a window seems to shift and hit the trophy perfectly.  Epel grins as though the Player had personally awarded him that trophy.  “Awe, shucks!” he beams while grinning like a fool.  Then, he suddenly seems to recollect somewhere he needs to be.  “I…I should probably get this trophy back now before Leona notices its missing.  See you later Player!”  He makes awkward eye contact with Grim, “and…I guess Yuu and Grim too…”

It’s not just students, so many classes seem to be held in Ramshackle dorm.  The same students that used to try to sweet talk teachers into holding class outside on sunny days are now suggesting they can concentrate so much better in the quiet Ramshackle dorm.  Staff are surprisingly fast to agree.  There is now a sign-up sheet in the faculty lounge to reserve a Ramshackle day.

“Turn to page 101 in your textbooks.  Today we are covering proper methods of distilling potions,” Crewel begins his lecture.  A hand raises, “Professor, couldn’t we learn this better in Ramshackle?”  Crewel lets out a long-suffering sigh, “There aren’t even potion making facilities in that dorm.”  Another hand raises, “But Trein got to have history there twice this week already.”  Crewel pauses for a moment considering that petty argument.  “Screw it,” he finally replies in an arrogant tone, “Grab your things.  We are moving this class to the kitchen of Ramshackle.”  A cheer erupts from the masses.

Rules had to be made preventing transfer to Ramshackle.  Crowly is very firm on this; if he can’t live there, no one else can either!  The few times in the main story where people stay over are the highlight of those student’s year.

Vil slides his hand gently down the banister of the staircase as he descends and lets out a satisfied sigh.  “Stop stroking my house,” Yuu retorts in an annoyed tone. “For the duration of the VDC training camp, it’s our house,” and continues to lightly run his fingertips along the wallpaper with a dreamy smile.

The guest room is the most coveted invitation on campus.  Students would gladly jump over any number of couches and tables for the honor of being trapped in the corner of the Ramshackle guest room.  Even Riddle is happy to cut class, dress up in his Halloween costume and stand idly by. 

Deep in the corner of the room, Sebek stands on two small squares of open space.  He paces a single step backwards and forwards.  He’s been trapped there for at least an hour, yet he still sounds at the peak of happiness as he exclaims, “THIS DECORATION REMINDS ME OF THE THORN FAIRY HERSELF!  WHAT A MAGNIFICENTLY APPOINTED ROOM!”  The door blows open slightly in a breeze and Sebek preens as though receiving an approving wave from the great Player themselves.  Ah, what a moment to be alive and trapped in a room.

[hatsunemiku-official]

ABOUT ME-KU

(+ FAQ / VOCALOID-OFFICIAL MASTERPOST)

hi! im miku and welcome to Internet! you can do lots of fun things here. like look at my blog! ok im gonna hand the mic over to the omnipotent being that watches my every move

thanks miku. here are some things to remember before you send an ask:

- I am not associated with crypton, sega, or the official miku twitter! im just a guy making funny post

- miku lives in a computer. i probably won’t answer anything referring to her doing things in the real world, since saying “I am in a computer what are you talking about” is only funny the first five times

- I use my askbox as a jumping off point for jokes! if I don’t answer your ask it’s not because I didn’t like it, I just probably couldn’t think of anything funny to respond with

- I love receiving art!!!!!!! please send me your miku art!!!!!!! you can even send me a link to your art posted on your own blog and I’ll reblog it so you still get the notes!!!! I LOVE ART!!!!!! (also the ai training toggle has been turned off for this blog so. you’re safe here.)

- there are some things you should speak to a mental health professional about ( ie “i just can’t go on” “my life is terrible” ect) and you should not send these things to hatsune miku. i understand and empathize with you but I cannot help you and it’s very upsetting to receive things like this !

- anything written in parentheses for the most part is an ooc comment from the person running this blog (that’s me!). I don’t like doing this very often though, so if you have a question that can only really be answered ooc then please ask it off anon so I can respond privately!

- please remember I am just one person and sometimes I make mistakes! im a pretty busy person and also disabled so sometimes things slip through the cracks when im low energy. I do my best though so please let me know if you think i’ve made a mistake and i’ll do my best to fix it :]

- sometimes I like to reblog miku art from other people! please be respectful in these artists notes. I know this is a silly jokes blog but these people have not necessarily signed up to be goofed at on their posts. please be kind and keep the clowning to a minimum on posts that aren’t made by me!

- no TERFS allowed. hatsune miku loves trans women

FAQ

Q: can I make a vocaloid-official blog too???

A: yes!!!! anybody can!! please let me know if you do so I can add you to the masterpost and interact with you! I would check the masterpost first though to make sure there hasn’t already been a blog made for that character :]

Q: do you also run [insert other vocaloid-official blog]?

A: no! I can barely think of funny things to say here do you really think I could manage being funny on two blogs at once. I am friends with the people who run the teto, luka and una blogs so if our posts seem coordinated it’s because I asked them really nicely

Q: who runs this account?

A: secret

Q: miku what’s your opinion on [insert queer identity]

A: I don’t like answering these because I don’t want to open myself up to shitty comments and I can’t think of anything funny to say that wouldn’t just sound like “ally twitch streamer smiling at the camera and saying trans rights”. this blog is run by a queer person and miku is whatever you want her to be, if that helps.

Q: i made a vocaloid-official blog! how do I get added to the masterpost?

A: adding people to the masterpost has gotten really overwhelming for me so I won’t be doing it anymore. sorry! feel free to still make a vocaloid-official blog and interact with me if you want, I just won’t be updating the masterpost anymore. the current list will stay up as it is as sort of like. a memento or something.

Q: you posted about something that I don’t understand!!! why!!!!!

A: sometimes i like to post about my personal interests that don’t really have anything to do with hatsune miku because i cannot contain the mental illness. you will see the occasional post about bands or video games you do not and will not ever give a shit about. sorry. I can’t stop it. it has to happen.

Q: do you know anything about PJSK???

A: no <3

OFFICIAL VOCALOID-OFFICIAL MASTERPOST

these are my Official Friends! go say hi to them!!

🥖 @kasaneteto-official

🐟 @megurineluka-official

🐙 @otomachi-una-official

🍷 @hanakomeiko-official

💛 @neruakita-official

🍌 @kagaminelen-official

🍊 @kagaminerin-official

🍦@kaitoshinon-offical

🐢 @ryuto-official (RESURRECTED)

💜 @vflower-official

🥕 @gumi-official

🖤 @zatsunemiku-official

🍡 @tohokuzunko-official

🩹 @fukase-official

🔌 @utatanepiko-official

🐰 @yukari-official

🩵 @ringsuzune-official

⚓️ @oliverv3-official

🌷 @nekomurairoha-official

🥢 @vocaloidcul-official

☕️ @rukoyokune-official

🥂 @meiko-offical

👑 @galaco-official

🐱 @seeu-official

🌸 @meikahime-official

🪻 @meikamikoto-official

🍆 @gakupo-official

🎀 @utanekoe-official

🌹 @sakinemeiko-official

🔪 @mayuofficial

🛰️ @moonbase-alpha-tts-official

🍺 @yowane-haku-official

🪐 @ia-official

🎹 @namineritsu-official

☁️ @tone-rion-official

🎤 @maika-official

🌈 @kawaiine-official

🍏 @macnenana-official

🌻 @dex-official

💗 @garnetvocaloid-official

💿 @yohioloid-official

🌺 @zhizidongfang-official

🤍 @kokone-official

🐸 @vocaloidrana-official

🌟 @xingchen-official

🍎 @yuki-official

🌿 @fionetheutau-official

💫 @sfa2miki-official

[phocidine]

As sad as most of the original hispanic streamers not being on the server anymore is, I do think it’s really interesting storywise.

Roier has fuckin trauma dude. And almost no one knows or fully understands why because it happened entirely between hispanic streamers. Spreen and Rubius aren’t on anymore. Quackity doesn’t remember what happened, and Missa only just came back recently.

It’s kind of the same with Slime, too. He has Mariana’s things on the wall next to Flippa’s. The Brazilians and the French understand he’s a grieving father, they’ve probably heard Slime say his wife killed his daughter twice, but they have no idea how deep that well goes.

These guys might not be on the server anymore, but they really left a mark. And it’s insane to watch the people who joined after just dance around the narrative consequences they left behind completely unaware of it all.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

The important date [R. L]

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

word count: 5.1k

an: I was very excited to write this. I'm latina and Kuku completely won my heart and I think he's absolutely like a young remus. If you want to read more of this you can tell me and I would be very happy to see a comment or reblog. Kisses!

People who might be interested: @fairysluna @madame-fear @luceracastro @luv4fati

You were quite nervous when you knocked on the door of the modest apartment whose address was written on the folded paper inside your pocket.

You had tried to look your best before leaving the house, but the wind on the way had messed up your appearance slightly and while you waited for a response you ran your hands through your clothes, trying to fix the damage.

After a few seconds no one came out and as you knocked a second time the fear of having gone to the wrong place settled in you. You were startled when the door finally opened and a boy appeared, about your height, with long black hair and whose bare chest was covered in tattoos.

“You aren’t my pizza.”

“Uh, sorry. “I probably went to the wrong house” you exclaimed sadly.

“I don't know if you were wrong, but you can come in if you want,” the boy said, smiling mischievously at you while winking at you and leaning against the door frame.

“You weren't wrong! I'll be there in a moment” a voice spoke from inside. He sounded agitated, but you still recognized him.

The stranger looked at the apartment in disbelief and then looked at you from head to toe, as if he was analyzing the situation.

“Are you coming with Remus?” You nodded. “Okay, so I… Excuse me?”

Without waiting for your response, he half closed the door and then you lost sight of him, leaving you just as confused as at the beginning.

Sirius, oblivious to your sight and hearing, practically stumbled down the hall until he reached Remus' room. He was trying to comb his hair at the same time as the toothbrush rested in his mouth.

“Do you want to explain to me why there is a pretty young lady waiting for you out there?”

“She's my college classmate,” he said in a half-understandable way.

The place was so tiny and there were so many books everywhere that he almost fell when he went to spit the toothpaste into the sink, trying to hurry as much as possible.

The apartment was always messy, in general, but the one who made the least mess was Remus. His only problem was the ridiculous amount of sweaters, boots, and pieces of literature he bought at second-hand places, which had slowly managed to plague his piece of space.

“Are you wearing that expensive cologne you bought last time?” mocked James, who had been in the living room but thought it appropriate to join the conversation. “And you're combing your hair.”

“Is she the one you stay with to study so often?” Sirius insisted, his brain spinning events.

"Yes, sometimes"

“And why did she come here?”

“Because I invited her to dinner.”

"Here?!"

“No, in a restaurant”

Both James and Sirius were slightly taken aback, as there had been no mention of you in any previous talk and it wasn't very common for Remus to do that kind of thing.

“And why didn't you go to her house for her?”

“She said it was on the way,” he responded breathlessly. He was still struggling with putting on his shoes.

“Bad there, Moony. You should be a gentleman and go pick her up at her house instead of keeping her waiting.”

“I would have done it if it hadn't been for the fact that you two idiots forgot to pay the rent that is due today. I had to pass a while ago and the time was barely enough for me”

“Didn't you pay, James?”

“I thought it was your turn!”

“Anyway, that doesn't matter anymore.” Remus got up to search his dressing table for a few golden rings “It's late and I have to go.”

“You can't leave us like this! What's her name? Have you kissed her?”

"He is right. Come on, introduce us to your girlfriend.”

“She's not my girlfriend yet,” he exclaimed, taking a last look in the mirror. He looked good, to have done it so hastily “But I plan for her to be today.”

The jaws of both listeners almost dropped to the floor at that statement and if they were already curious about the stranger's appearance, that had only increased their interest.

“I'm leaving, don't wait up for me.”

"Wait!"

“Bye,” he said, hurrying down the hallway toward the exit.

Sirius and James immediately followed him, but before they could ask anything he had already opened the door.

“Remus.”

"Hi, sweetheart. I’m sorry for the delay,” he apologized benevolently, as he leaned down to kiss your cheek in greeting.

The two curious people managed to see this exchange and then Remus closed the door, but not before giving them a warning look that was responded to with an expression of astonishment and another of pride at what they had just seen.

“How well he kept it, right?”

“Why do you think he didn't want to introduce us?”

“Possibly because you are in pajamas, I flirted with her, and because there are pigs that live in better conditions than us.”

“But he still could have told us something. We are your friends.”

“Give him his space. Maybe it's a nice thing he wants to keep for himself."

“That's why he's been so happy lately,” James reflected.

“Yes, it is likely.”

A knock was heard on the door and the two began to fumble with each other to open it first, eager to be able to see even a moment more of their friend's woman.

But it wasn't them, it was a thin boy dressed in uniform.

“Good evening, Sirius Black?”

“Yes, it's me,” he responded disappointed, taking a bill out of his pocket and receiving the pizza box in his hands while James returned to lie down on the couch.

By this point you and Remus had already left the building. During the way he offered you the full explanation for his lateness, trying so not to get angry with him.

“It's okay, I didn't wait too long,” you reassured him. “I guess those are your roommates.”

“Sirius is the one with the tattoos and James is the one with the glasses.”

“They seem nice”

“They are a little weird, but when you meet them you like them”

With one deft movement Remus placed you on the inside of the sidewalk and both of you took a moment to observe each other. You were wearing a tight white long-sleeved blouse, underneath a strapless dress with a floral print, and you were wearing your comfortable brown leather boots. He, looking completely elegant, in a beige trench coat over a light blue formal shirt and a kind of scarf with lines that combined both colors. For a few months he had been growing his facial hair, which made him look older, but in a good way.

"Where will we go?"

“There is a restaurant a few blocks from here. He looks calm and I thought you might like it. James orders food delivered sometimes and it tastes good.”

“Good” you smiled. You trusted your friend's good judgment in choosing a place.

The truth was that the beginning of your friendship was somewhat curious and you would have to go back a while to understand it.

A few years ago, Remus had his doubts when Sirius and James encouraged him to enter a Muggle university. They had decided after graduating from Hogwarts and moving to the apartment they shared in search of independence and adventure, but the brunette still didn’t have a clear picture of what he wanted for his life. 

Furthermore, he didn’t have as many financial resources as his friends to live comfortably and study at the same time. He allowed himself a year of work to raise money, even without knowing if he would use it for an education or something else, and since in that time he saw that they were both comfortable in what they had chosen, he decided that he could give the Muggles a chance. Although he had some administrative problems, since Hogwarts wasn’t a validated school for those cases, after sending a letter to Albus Dumbledore to ask for help, everything was solved and he was able to enter the philosophy faculty in a modest institution.

Before you, Remus didn't have many friends. He was able to start a conversation with his classmates and function in the classroom, however, he almost always spent his time in his books or at home. Sirius invited him to art school parties but when he attended, beyond drinking and making sure his friends didn't do anything stupid, he didn't do much.

His life had been quiet until you met him a few years later. The link that brought you together was that you had enrolled in an elective sociology class at the university and it turned out that Remus had chosen the same one. Despite being quiet, the boy quickly gained your attention due to the scars on his face and arms, which you still hadn't dared to ask about and he hadn't talked about.

Although you were curious, you tried not to observe him too much so as not to make him uncomfortable, but when he had to present a topic or answer questions it was inevitable to focus all your attention on him.

Remus didn't even notice your interest in him until, as fate would have it, the professor assigned pairs for a project and you were his lucky partner.

During the first meetings he felt out of place and even a little uncomfortable, since he wasn’t so used to spending time with other people outside his circle or studying in company. But he soon began to enjoy working with you and eventually recognized that you were an excellent teammate. You almost always spent it in the library because the atmosphere was calmer, although sometimes you would look for a lonely meadow on campus to lie down and continue moving forward. On one of those occasions you discovered that the boy carried chocolate all the time, because he shared it with you to lighten the hours, and it had become a habit to bring something to eat.

The weeks passed and when you presented the product you obtained the highest grade as well as congratulations from your teacher, with which Remus felt more than satisfied. He thought that once what you had in common was over, you wouldn't want to continue frequenting him, but he was surprised when you started looking for him to have breakfast together and he, to reciprocate, accompanied you some afternoons when you stayed in the library to study or walked with you to the bus stop.

You soon discovered that he was, in addition to being intelligent, kind and that he had many qualities that you liked. Likewise, he saw another set of attributes in you that made him feel the same.

As the weeks passed, you began to get along well and by the middle of the course you could already tell that you were friends. Less than a month after finishing it, you had already fallen in love.

“How is your hand?” Remus asked in the middle of a silence, when you had already gone quite a few blocks.

You had cut yourself by accident a few days ago and when he saw the wound he was quite worried, because it didn't look pretty at all.

“Better, it almost doesn't hurt anymore and the antiseptic helps a lot”

As you said that you raised your palm covered with a big band-aid, as if trying to show him that it was true, and he took the opportunity to capture it with his. Remus had a lot of experience with wounds and wished he could heal them with magic, however, he knew it was forbidden.

"It is good to hear"

He searched you for some sign that you didn't want him to hold your hand but, beyond your flushed cheeks, he found nothing.

You continued walking and talking about some other things until the boy stopped at a picturesque place. A couple of people could be seen through the large glass windows, illuminated by the warm light from inside.

Your hand missed his warmth when he let you go to open the door for you and then you followed him to a free table, with a view of the outside but private enough. All around paintings were decorating and some plants too.

You expected Remus to choose the seat in front of you but he decided that the one next to you was better, with your knees touching under the red table.

“Good evening, welcome,” a young girl, who couldn't be older than your age, greeted you. She was a beautiful redhead and her metal badge said Lily.

After she left a couple of menus, she asked you if you wanted any starters or something to drink, to which you denied.

“I thought we were going to a cafe or something.”

"You don’t like here?” 

“On the contrary, it is too cute. If I had known, I could have worn something better.”

"What are you talking about? You look beautiful,” Remus said, without thinking, and you laughed sheepishly.

“You're not far behind,” your hand went to his neck, where you adjusted a fold “You look like a professor.”

"Is that good or bad?"

“I like the professors. I mean, their style” you stuttered. “They look elegant.”

Although you had never spoken openly about what you felt, both of you had the suspicion that the other person felt the same way. Those moments of indiscreet flirting were signs of this, in addition to the multiple daily actions that showed interest and affection for the other.

Still, Remus felt insecure about himself. The physical marks on him were only the most superficial, since he was too afraid that if he confessed to you about his lycanthropy you would end up being scared or simply believing him crazy. He couldn't talk to you about the magical world and that made it even more complicated.

He didn't have much experience with girls in the romantic sense, but he liked to think that he wasn't doing too badly with you. He really liked you, so he wanted to try as hard as possible to win your heart and hoped that he would be worthy of your affection even despite his various flaws.

When the waitress returned you ordered a glass of wine and Remus simply ordered tea, wanting to be as calm as possible to talk to you. The last thing he wanted was for his statement to be ruined by alcohol.

The moments with him weren't awkward but, honestly, the atmosphere demanded a certain composure and it wasn't until after a while that you started chatting like you always did. You talked about final exams and products to be delivered soon, discussing the topics and making some suggestions that could be useful.

When the girl returned Remus ordered a stew for dinner and you ordered some meat pie which soon arrived. You ate it with pleasure, keeping the conversation when it was appropriate.

“Have you thought about what you will do during the holidays?”

“Probably visit my parents. And if not that, maybe enter a summer seminar”

"Study more?" the brunette laughed.

"It's a possibility. I think it would be too boring if I don't. And you?"

"I don’t know yet. Maybe look for a job, or…”

“Let's take a seminar together,” you murmured excitedly. However, you later added: “I mean, if you want.”

“I might consider it,” he murmured with a tight-lipped smile “So we could spend more time together.”

“It's strange, you know? This semester I have felt so happy studying with you. I didn't think college would be so interesting until I found you in that class."

Remus's heart began to rumble in his chest when he heard you say that and it was inevitable to smile. You liked to see him smile.

“Did I ever tell you I wasn’t sure about going in?”

“To sociology class?”

"To the University"

"Oh really?"

“I thought I could have dedicated myself to something else. In Hog... High School I was a good student and I thought it would be enough to get a job. But James and Sirius entered a college and then I thought I'd do it too."

“Remind me to thank them later,” you joked. If they had not convinced him, you probably would never have met “Will you ever introduce them to me?”

“Do you want to meet them?”

“They are your friends after all, right? But only if you feel comfortable, I wouldn't want to…”

“Okay, that would be great. I just feel a little embarrassed sometimes."

"From me?"

"No! From them. No, don't even think about it from you” he hastened to say and both of you laughed “It's about them. Sometimes they act like idiots, like Sirius did a while ago."

“I thought I was just imagining it, but he's kind of… flirtatious, right?”

"Quite a bit, I would say. I would like it to be limited to girls, but I don't think anyone is safe" he laughed. "But don't worry, he won't bother you anymore now that he knows that you...”

Remus fell silent as he realized what he was about to say and you noticed the sudden interruption.

"That?"

“That you are my friend”

To be honest, the answer disappointed you a little. You had been waiting for any kind of sign or proposal for a while and you thought that statement might have been in the answer. And although Remus already had those plans in mind, you clearly weren't aware of it.

There was silence for a moment as the two of you reflected on the conversation, for different reasons, and you tried to make it less awkward by eating some of your dinner.

“It’s raining,” you said after a while, eager to change the subject “I forgot my umbrella at home”

“We'll figure it out, don't worry,” he said happily, oblivious to the feeling he had provoked in you. You had practically finished your dinner when he asked, “Do you want dessert?”

You nodded at that and ordered a delicious red velvet cake and he, as expected, a chocolate one. After this you tried to talk about something else, convincing yourself that you were thinking about nonsense instead of enjoying the moment with your friend. With the boy you liked. 

At some point he excused himself to go to the bathroom and you were left alone at the table, playing with what was left of food on your plate. You looked around as if expecting to see something interesting, but all you saw was the rain falling outside and a pair of people sitting a few tables away from you. They looked happy and from the way they looked at each other you assumed they were a couple. As you watched them you wondered if that was what people thought when they saw you with Remus, because the way they interacted was the way you did; Is that what other students would say when you spent hours in the library, talking quietly and barely distanced from each other? Did anyone think you were a couple when they saw you laughing lying on the grass at dusk?

You considered the possibility of being the first to confess what you felt and wondered if it would be better to wait. Remus called you sweet names all the time and in the last few weeks he had started to become more physically affectionate; he greeted you with a kiss on the cheek, he held your hand from time to time, he even sheltered you in his arms that time you had a terrible morning and all you wanted to do was cry. But did that mean something else or was it just the courtesy of a good friend?

You wanted to continue reflecting on it, but your musings were interrupted by the waitress's voice calling your attention.

"Miss?"

"Yeah?"

"This is for you"

She held a beautiful bouquet of pink carnations with clouds surrounding it, wrapped in white fabric and topped with a ribbon. The sight unsettled you, but out of inertia you extended your hands to hold the gift. It was heavy and gave off a mild smell.

"W-What is this? Who sends it?" 

“The gentleman over there,” she pointed out happily.

For a second you felt nothing but confusion. Had someone been stalking you? You didn't remember anyone you knew when you walked in and receiving flowers from a stranger was ridiculous, because the most you could have imagined was that they would buy you a drink. But when you turned and saw that it was Remus who was smiling shyly at you, you understood what it was about.

“Oh my God…” you whispered barely audible, your cheeks turning red “Thank you, you’re so kind.”

“To serve you” she exclaimed, probably happy to have been a participant in that demonstration of love, and then she withdrew.

Trying to calm yourself down, you turned around to talk to the boy, who was still sitting on the stool in front of the bar. You spent a few seconds looking at each other, him slightly uneasy and you feeling completely blushing.

“Are you not going to accompany me? I have some cake that the boy I was with left”

“You'd have to be a fool to abandon a girl like you,” he muttered on the way to the table. He sat on the opposite side to where he was initially, as if he wanted to maintain the fantasy of being someone else who accompanied you. “Did you like them?”

“They are beautiful, you wouldn't have bothered”

“They have something there” he pointed out and in his eyes you could see some nervousness. You took a paper envelope between your fingers from which you took out a small note.

A modest gift for the most beautiful and interesting girl I have ever met. I feel like you brought color to my life and every day I am happy that you found me, wondering what I did to deserve the grace of such a wonderful human being.

It's been a while since my heart has been uneasy about your feelings towards me and at the same time certain about how it feels about you.

I'm sorry if I'm not that good with words, or that good in general. I just hope I'm enough to win your affection and be lucky enough for you to say yes.

Sincerely, Remus.

The boy watched you with a mixture of anxiety and concern as you read the words, waiting for what your reaction might be. You read the entire note twice, just to be sure it meant what you thought, and then you looked at him.

In your eyes, he had never looked more handsome.

“Say yes?” was the only thing you managed to say. It was the part that intrigued you the most about the note.

“To the question I want to ask you, of course” 

“You're not going to ask me to marry you, are you?” you tried to joke, feeling your heart race with anticipation.

"Not yet. But we can start as girlfriend and boyfriend, what do you say?”

Remus was a very curious guy. He was shy and quiet at times, but when an idea got into his head no force could convince him otherwise: he was determined. And he was sure what he wanted with you.

One of your hands went up to his cheek and your thumb caressed one of his scars, one that went down to touch his lips, feeling free to be able to observe him more closely now that you knew you could do so.

"This bothers you?" you asked sincerely.

"What?"

“That I am touching you like this. Your scars”

"I don't mind. I've gotten used to them."

“That was the first thing I noticed about you.”

“Do you think they are ugly?”

“I think they make you look sexy,” you said honestly again and he let out a laugh that was somewhere between nervous and amused. “They make you stand out.”

You were so close to him that he had to lean just a little to kiss you.

“I don't think anyone has ever said that about them.”

“I really like you, Rem. That's why. And I would like to pretend that I need to think about it more, but I know I would be very happy with you. I already am, but... I want to be with you"

“Is it a yes, then?”

“But first I need to do something” you explained and with the help of your hand, without giving him time for anything, you brought him closer to steal a kiss.

Remus gasped in surprise, but put up no resistance and delighted in feeling the taste of your lips mixing with the chocolate he had previously eaten. You were kind and careful with him, who tried to reciprocate as best as possible. 

When you separated from him, your cheeks were red and your eyes were bright.

“It's a yes”

“Did you need to kiss me to decide?”

“I had already decided, I just wanted an excuse.”

And then Remus laughed again. Unable to contain his excitement, he approached you until he hid his face in your neck, trying to drown out his blush, and you felt tickled by his hair rubbing against your skin. Now the closeness of that way between you was correct, no one could say anything and you had the right to do so.

“I was so afraid you would say no.”

“Have you seen how I look at you?” you murmured in his ear “To be so intelligent you miss a lot of things.”

His breathing told you that he was laughing and then you were silent for a moment. Your hand slowly caressed his side while you traced patterns on his back, although he probably didn't feel them because of the layers of clothing he was wearing. Through it all, you thought about how nice the boy's warmth felt against you. Like it felt meant to be.

“We should go,” he said, when he finally left his room and looked at the time on the wall clock. Closing time was almost approaching. “Is it okay if I call a taxi to take you home?”

“Yeah.”

“I'll go pay the bill and be right back, okay?”

“Let me give you some money…”

"No way. No,” he stated firmly. He got up from his seat and, by the way, now he stole a kiss from you “Wait here.”

You did it obediently and while you did it you took the opportunity to observe and caress your bouquet. They were beautiful and you wondered how Remus had planned the delivery. It hadn't been something spontaneous, he already knew the purpose of the date from the beginning and that only made you feel more like a girl in love.

He showed up a few minutes later and, after thanking your red-headed cupid profusely, you waited for your taxi at a table near the exit. When it arrived you practically had to run to avoid the rain, but that didn't matter to you because while you were doing it the brunette held your hand to prevent any accident.

The elderly driver started the engine after you told him your address and silence reigned for a moment, with only the barely audible music from the radio.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” you asked, after a few blocks. No one lived with you and it seemed cruel to you to send Remus back to his apartment.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“There is enough space. And you must be tired”

You weren't trying to make a sexual innuendo in your words. You just wanted to make the moment last as long as possible.

Remus agreed without much resistance and upon arriving at your apartment, which fortunately was in order, he was respectful by telling you that he could sleep on the couch if you wanted. He seemed so decent to you that you accepted his proposal, taking charge of bringing him enough blankets and pillows to make him comfortable.

He had already taken off his shoes and jacket when you sat down next to him to wish him goodnight. You didn't think he would look much more handsome unkempt and with disheveled hair than he did at first.

"Thanks for the invitation"

“It's the least I could do after everything today,” you said, shrugging your shoulders.

“Was it a good date?”

“It was a great date” you exclaimed honestly and for the third time that night you approached him to kiss him.

This time you took the time to savor the contact, prolonging it as much as possible and causing a spark to settle between you. Remus quickly learned that your lips were soft and definitely more expert than his, with all of that making him feel a little dizzy. You reveled in the feeling of his large hands holding your waist, not knowing where else it was correct to place them. If you could have, you would have kissed him all night, but you separated only because you knew that the desire existed in you and him, afraid that if you followed your prudence wouldn’t be enough to stop you from making love to him on that sofa.

He looked completely enthralled with you as you watched him and you knew you most likely had the same expression. After all, so many months of longing between you were summed up in the pleasure of that physical contact that you were discovering.

“Go to sleep, pretty,” he suggested “I'll be here in the morning.”

“Good night, Remus. If you need anything, go to my room, okay?”

A part of you wanted him to look for you in the middle of the night, but you knew that both of you were hesitant to make any moves to go to such extremes. The boy just nodded and then, still not convinced, you headed towards your room so you could sleep.

That night Remus dreamed of you and you dreamed of him, with the sound of the rain lulling you, only a few meters away between you, and a beautiful bouquet resting on your nightstand.

You didn't know if that was happiness, but at least that's what it felt like.

[nevertheless-moving]

The Demon of Yunmeng Part Four

Part One — Part Three

“…What.”

“I want your permission to ask Wen Ning to help me at the trial — I swear if either of you doesn’t want to then I’ll figure out something else, but the only plan I can think of that might work is if I pretend to be a cutsleeve, and, ah, I think I mentioned that I’m not super popular with my old friends right now, so he’s kindof my only option."

He peeked his head up and grinned his best, most charming smile, but Wen Qing just closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

“That,” she said. “Is a terrible plan.”

“I admit it’s not my best.” he sat back on his heels, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “But bear with me! If I can just create enough doubt that maybe the stories aren’t true, then the women might confess that they’re being bribed or threatened or that now they see me up close they can’t be sure it was actually me who attacked, you know? Yu Xiang said she couldn’t see anything, so, well…there’s a chance that people will believe it, isn’t there?”

His tone started to edge on desperation the longer she looked at him with a pinched expression. “People love to believe crazy stuff about me!" he said, throwing his hands in the air. "You have to have guessed there’s all sorts of rumors about why I actually helped you, this is just — shifting those around a little."

She stared at him longer.

“Three quarters of the cultivators are just going to be there for entertainment,” he said, even more defensively, “Once people latch on to a story that's scandalous or interesting — 'The Demon of Yunmeng turns out to be a cutsleeve' — come on, it could work!”

“Wei Wuxian,” she said slowly. “Even if everyone immediately accepts that the two of you are passionately in love, there is absolutely no way on Earth that it will make you look like less of a degenerate predator. You do realize that, right?”

“Of course it would!” he argued, offended.

“My brother stutters. His cultivation is low. He is permanently disabled.”

“He could punch through a boulder with that brace I made him,” he said petulantly.

“If he didn’t care about moving the next week, sure. That’s not the point. " She made a frustrated noise, waving her arm sharply. "It’s about the image. You and I both very well know that my brother has a spine of iron. He lied to the core melting hand himself to save a stranger. He stood up to Jin Zixun, despite being in chains and half beaten to death. None of that matters — he looks like a victim. He is currently famous in the cultivation world for being a victim. He would just make you seem even worse — someone else you’d taken advantage of.”

“I…okay, but he’s still a man. No one would question that.”

“Are you serious right now? You do know people can have sex with men and women, right? There’s not a hard and fast rule that it’s only ever one or the other.”

Wei Wuxian boggled in her direction. “That… that doesn’t sound right. Are you sure? Both? I’ve never heard — no one’s ever even hinted that…”

“Ancestors be kind,” she said, pressing her palms to her eyes. “This is actually your plan. This is actually why you rode all the way here.”

“I’ve never heard of someone liking both,” he said defensively.

“And how much do you actually talk about cutsleeve sex with your friends?" Wen Qing said, condescending. "Your friends who won’t associate with you anymore?”

“…Has anyone ever told you that you can be very mean sometimes?”

“Yes. And yes I am sure. And no, it’s not a secret. I can probably find a fucking woodcutting or spring book,  if you want proof. While I’m sure some people share your… understanding, there will be plenty who will see this as extra evidence of your endless depraved lust."

He gave up on kneeling properly, sprawling out on the floor.

“If I’m not cut into pieces until I die or being hunted by thousands of cultivator this time next month then I would love to trade porn with you,” he said glumly. “That actually sounds really fun, why haven’t we done that before? I bet there’s all sorts of weird stuff written down as ‘medically recommended dual cultivation.’”

She exhaled heavily. “Maybe…maybe your plan could work if you found someone else, and claimed to exclusively want to be the receiving partner? Your face is probably thick enough for that, and it would have a similar 'why would anyone claim it if it wasn't true' justification as the accusations against you.”

He rolled over, propping his chin up on his hands to look at her.

“Receiving?” He asked. “What like, the guy who, um, takes the other guy in his mouth?” he felt his face heat a little. She was a doctor, and also Wen Qing, a woman who had already seen him more naked than most people ever physically get, but she was still a woman, and it was starting to feel a little weird to talk about this stuff with her.

He powered through. Clearly she knew things he didn’t. “Isn’t that a little unfair? Wouldn’t you, I don’t know, take turns? In the spring books between men and women it always seems unfair when there’s just one person doing all the work.”

Somehow, the look on her face grew even more condescending. “Your plan was to pretend to be a rabbit — possibly for the rest of your life — and you don’t even know how two men have sex?”

“My life has gone in unexpected directions since the last time I went shopping for pornography,” he said, sarcasm coming out with slightly more bite then he intended. He coughed. “Look, If that’s not what you mean then…”

“Anally," Wen Qing said impatiently. “I was referring to sex between men in which one party's penis goes into the other’s anus — I’m struggling to understand how you’ve never heard of this — isn’t it a common wartime joke? A sixteen year old cries after killing someone so everyone says they might as well bend over for a real man ?”

“Ooohhh…that’s what that…” A few overheard conversations clicked into place. He felt it wasn't entirely his fault he had been mostly left out of friendly fireside chats during the sunshot campaign.

“But —“ he struggled to imagine it, resisting the urge to reach into his trousers and check the size of his own asshole. “There’s no way anything like that could possibly fit. You’ve got to be messing with me, or someone was messing with you.”

“When I first started my medical cultivation training,” she said, eyes unfocusing slightly, “My Shizun sat me down and told me that being a doctor would involve a lot less finding a magical perfect herb and saving the day then you would expect, and a lot more pulling objects out of unlikely places. And if I wasn’t prepared to deal with that, I should probably quit.”

“And—“

“And she was right. It’s a muscle. It can stretch like any other muscle.” She paused. “Certain salves and oils are highly advisable. And cleaning yourself before and after is very important.”

“Wow,” Wei Wuxian said wonderingly. “You learn something new every day. I guess it’s got to feel good, right? If people are shoving…” he looked at her questioningly.

She grimaced. “Bottles and jars are popular, and also a terrible idea. I knew a doctor who actually lost someone to infection that way— they clenched down and the shards—“

“Ugh,” he winced.

“Yes. Vegetables are… generally acceptable."

"Vegetables?" Wei Wuxian said, delighted.

"—But it can be dangerous if something gets lost, so it's important to have a firm grip — I know there are certain merchants who deal in replica male genitalia specifically, with flared bases —“

 “Those I’ve seen, but I always figured they were for women!” He barked out a laugh then groaned. “Damn, I really am ignorant. I probably wouldn’t have been able to pull this off, even if it was good idea.”

“It’s not your worst plan,” she offered. 

“Thanks.”

“Really,” she said thoughtfully. “It… could work, maybe — with a different man, who could match you in terms of power.”

He didn’t bother saying that there were few men who met that description, and he lacked any other friends who would do such a thing for him anyway. Instead, he let his head fall from his hands, pressing his face to the floorboards with a groan.

Several moments of silence passed before being interrupted by a knock at the door. He didn’t bother getting up as Wen Qing sighed, then stepped past him.

He heard the door open. “Ah, Lan Er Gongzi,” she said. “Please, come in — allow me to prepare more tea.”

Wei Wuxian swore softly to himself, then shifted as casually as possible to a slightly more graceful side sprawl, propping his head up on his hands as Lan Wangji’s perfectly white robes and perfectly black boots came into view.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, lifting his gaze up the perfectly upright body to finally meet startlingly golden eyes.

Wei Wuxian's greeting smile was slightly more reserved than what he had given Wen Qing earlier. They had never spoken of the rumors while they were growing — the Lan sect of course prohibited gossip. But things had grown from gossip to outright accusation at this point…

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji replied. His expression was as hard to read as ever, but there was some emotion there. Anger, maybe?

The sour feeling returned to Wei Wuxian’s stomach. Of course, as much as it had felt like their relationship was improving, of course Lan Zhan would be all to prepared to believe the worst of a Demonic Cultivator.

He stood up. “If you’re sure to protect Wen Gongzi’s virtue,” he said bitterly. “You have nothing to fear. She could paralyze me with needles before I had a chance to do anything… unseemly.”

Lan Wanjii’s brow furrowed. “Wei Ying.” he said. “Do not speak unchastely of others.”

Wei Wuxian snorted. It was such a Lan Zhan reply. “Relax, I’m going, you won’t have to —“

“You’re not going anywhere,” Wen Qing said tersely. “Now sit down in a chair like a normal person.”

He looked at her in betrayal. “I won’t leave town,” he said. “I was just going to go visit with Popo, until your guest had departed. Unless of course he’s concerned for her as well—“

“Sit,” she ordered.

He sat down.

“Lan-er gongzi,” she said, far more politely. “If you would join us.”

Lan Wangii also sat down.

Wei Wuxian pointedly did not look in his direction.

"Wuxian," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Just ask him."

He startled. Surely she didn't mean...

"Ask him what you asked me when you came in," she ordered.

He really didn't want to. But he had to know, so he swallowed hard, forcing himself to face his greater detractor head on. Golden eyes burned as they often did. Lan Wangji couldn't do anything without doing so with one hundred percent effort — that included looking at someone.

"Do you believe it?" Wei Wuxian finally blurted out. "The rumors about me? The accusations? The... the thing they're holding a whole fucking conference about."

Lan Zhan stared at him.

"No," he finally said, after a pause that felt longer than it was.

Wei Wuxian tried to ignore the immediate sense of relief and gratitude that washed over him. He surely didn't care that much about the opinion of Lan Zhan, a man who had never offered him a hint of warmth in his life?

The relief immediately slipped into suspicion. "Why not?" he demanded. "Aren't you always calling me an irredeemably evil demonic cultivator?"

The space between Lan Wangji's eyebrow folded in. "No."

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes. "Fine, aren't you always calling me a currently evil, actively choosing not be redeemed demonic cultivator?"

"Never called you evil."

"Wha — what the fuck, are you splitting hairs right now? Wicked, unrighteous, you know what I —"

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji interrupted, definitely looking angry now. "I have not. Your path is wicked."

"I..." his eyes started burning, and anger welled up alongside. "What's the fucking —"

A cup slammed down on the table front of him.

"No yelling in my office," Wen Qing said.

"Wen Qing —"

"Drink your tea and let Hunguang-Jun say his piece. Actually, both of you drink your tea, then Lan Wangji talks, then Wei Wuxian."

Wei Wuxian looked at the other man, expecting him to protest being ordered around, or at least to silently frown and then not comply, but he just nodded, and reached for the cup, face mostly smooth again.

Wei Wuxian huffed, then drank the tea. It was annoyingly good.

When both of their cups were empty (fuck Lan Zhan is taking his time). He leaned back disrespectfully, hopefully masking the nerves thrumming through his body, staring at Lan Zhan with an expression that was probably failing to come across as bored.

Lan Wangji took a breath, then rotated slightly in his seat, such that he was at an equal partial angle to both Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing.

"I do not believe the accusations. Wei Ying would not do such things. He may use wicked tricks, he may lose sight of the righteous path. But he has always pursued justice, ultimately."

He paused, but Wei Ying didn't try to interject. His heart was thrumming too hard in his chest, and there was a rushing sound in his ears.

Lan Wangji continued. "Furthermore, the final night of the wedding feasting, there were Jin attendants, filling his cups specifically. He grew inebriated faster than I thought normal, though at the time I attributed it to the strength of the wine. I later learned the feasting wine was not particularly strong, leading me to suspect he was served something different. When he began losing consciousness, a cultivator I did not recognize made to escort him away. I did not trust this, so I intervened, escorting Wei Ying to his rooms myself. I made sure he properly warded the room from intrusion, after which he immediately collapsed. I do not believe he was in a state to commit heinous deeds, even if he had wanted to. Furthermore, when I exited his chambers there were servants lingering unnecessarily. They left without sufficient explanation when I confronted them. I suspected a plot against him, perhaps an attempt to steal the Ying Tiger Talley, but not what happened."

He paused, turning to look Wei Wuxian in the eyes. "I am sorry. I should have spoken sooner. My clan insisted I not interfere during the chaos of that morning. I will speak at the inquiry."

It was the most Wei Wuxian had heard him say at one time outside of a nighthunt or military report, and there was no question in his mind he had prepared each word as meticulously.

At some point during the speech Wei Wuxian's body had started leaning in his direction. He swallowed hard, sitting up. "You... Lan Zhan, you really are too good, you know that?"

Lan Wangji looked down. "I did not believe the rumors even before that," he said quietly. "I swear, Wei Ying, I did not."

"Well," Wen Qing said, startling Wei Wuxian, who had somewhat forgotten she was there. "This works out perfectly! You have the ideal candidate to help with your plan, one with a dedication to helping Yu Guniang get justice, who is already wholly convinced of your innocence."

"Very funny," Wei Wuxian said through gritted teeth. "So glad you're able to make jokes about this now."

"Plan?" Lan Wangji asked, because of course he would.

Wei Wuxian pressed two fingers to his forehead, unable to believe that Wen Qing had even brought up his foolish and embarrassing idea in front of the second Jade of Lan.

"Just one of my wicked tricks intended to bring about a righteous end," he said, suddenly exhausted. "Nothing you would ever involve yourself. It probably wouldn't have worked anyway."

Lan Wangji continued to stare at him.

"Really! Setting aside the lying and scandalous nature, it's a bad plan — we were talking about how stupid my idea was before you came in, I swear."

"It would be stupid to try with my brother," Wen Qing corrected. "If Hunguang-Jun took his place... it actually might have a chance of being believed."

"Yes," he snapped. "Because Hunguang-Jun is known for not lying, something the plan relies heavily on!"

"Wei Ying. What plan?"

"Forget it, Lan Zhan!"

"Wei Ying—"

"I said it's a stupid idea and you wouldn't agree to it anyway!" His voice has gotten overly sharp, but he couldn't help it. "It's not worth wasting any more words on, and if I'm the one saying that, you know it must be true!"

"If you really don't want to ask Lan er-Gongzi for help," Wen Qing cut in, interrupting Lan Zhan's extremely loud glare, "We could discuss the idea I thought you were coming to ask my assistance with."

The Demon of Yunmeng whipped his head her direction. "Qing-jie!" he cried. "Why didn't you say you had a better plan than mine!"

"Because I don't. My plan is also very bad, and I don't want any part in it, it's just what I thought you would come up with. I underestimated your creativity once again."

"Do you want me to flatter you? We both know that any ideas that come from your brain are bound to be better than what comes from my resentful-energy clouded mind!"

"Wuxian, you really won't like my idea." She was smirking. She clearly thought she had something on him.

"Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg for your help? You know I have no face to lose in front of you!" He glanced at Lan Zhan, who's face had mostly smoothed out, only missing a small wrinkle above his nose.

"You might want to leave," Wei Wuxian whispered, winking. "I wasn't joking about getting undignified." The wrinkle deepened, brow once again fully furrowed.

"Very well," Wen Qing sighed. "If you really are that unwilling to even ask Lan Wangji — possibly the only man who's reputation is good enough to cancel out your terrible one — then we can discuss the other option."

Wei Wuxian leaned toward her eagerly. "Which is..."

"Castration."

He felt the blood leave his face. "What was that?" he asked weakly. "I think I might have misheard you."

"Well, if you were missing the equipment necessary to impregnate Yu Xiang," she said, face completely serious, "Then there would hardly be much to discuss, would there now? A skilled cultivator could probably heal such a.... wound to make it seem questionable when it had occurred. All you would have to do would drop your pants at the trial and claim it had occurred when you were captured by Wen at the start of the war."

A glance over at the other man in the room revealed he looked, if not horrified by most people's measure, certainly distressed by Lan standards. His eyes were slightly wider, the brow wrinkle deeper. His hands were clenching the chair seat.

Wei Wuxian laughed nervously, resisting the urge to protectively cradle the parts being discussed. "If you would allow me a moment to get back to you, Wen-Guniang."

He didn't wait for her to answer, instead slipping to the floor to kneel beside Lan Wangji, who looked at him with what might have been bewilderment, but was probably just mild annoyance. Wei Wuxian pretended it was distress on his behalf.

"Hunguang-Jun," he pleaded, clutching at cloud-embroidered robes. "Lan Wangji. Lan Zhan. Will you please pretend to be my longtime cutsleeve cultivation partner in front of the entire Jianghu?"

"Yes."

"Lan Er-Gongzi," he begged. "At least take a moment to hear —" he blinked, brain catching up to his ears. "Wait, did you say yes?"

"Yes."

"...What."

Prev Chapter (Three) Next Chapter (Five) MDZS AU Masterlist

[maxdibert]

OMG, I also love the idea of Severus having a partner. Whenever I think about a post-war Snape, I can’t help but imagine him forming a small family. It doesn’t have to involve a child—a kitten or a parrot could be the little one of the house, or even a guinea pig. Someone small to care for.

But beyond that, what kind of partner would Severus have? I’ve always thought that if he did have a partner, it would be a Muggle. He’s tired of the magical world and wants to step away for a moment, which would lead him to start moving within Muggle society, inevitably meeting a Muggle. Although this also creates a conflict for me, since the only Muggle in his life up until then was his abusive father. But then again, he also put up with a lot of crap from many wizards. I don’t know—it’s a topic with so many layers, depending on the time period in which the story takes place and how the culture of both societies is portrayed.

Right? Like, let the man live peacefully. Let him have a quiet life with a house and a garden full of magical plants where he can research his stuff, read his books, and not be bothered by magical world nonsense or political intrigues anymore. With kids or without, it doesn’t matter—just let the man be at peace; he’s been through enough already. Honestly, I’m fully behind this idea. Because Severus wouldn’t care about being considered a war hero—he’d just want to be left alone.

As for the rest, Severus is a guy with a lot of issues, but mostly with a terrible personality. He’s got a strong temper but is also very repressed, though he can’t fully control his temper because he’s emotionally volatile. While I think a post-war Severus would be calmer due to less pressure, I also believe his emotional scars wouldn’t magically heal, so he’d still be a jerk, a git, and generally difficult to deal with.

That’s why I always picture him with a partner who also has a strong temper and enough backbone to handle his tantrums without being intimidated. Someone who’d tell him to go to hell and calm down before talking to them when he explodes. Probably someone used to dealing with emotionally and mentally unstable people, or someone who wouldn’t take his outbursts seriously and would just ignore him until he chilled out. I also see him with someone extroverted because he’s extremely introverted and would never make the first move in a million years. The other person would have to be the one to approach him and make him feel safe about the decisions he makes. Severus is incredibly insecure when it comes to emotional matters and would probably think no one could ever like him, mainly because certain people spent his entire adolescence calling him ugly and greasy, and that stigma followed him throughout his teaching years. That, and deep down, he has awful self-esteem and probably sees himself as a failure in general. So, I can’t picture him making the first move—it’s very hard for me to imagine. That super-confident, Byronic hero version of Severus in some fics doesn’t fit with how I see him. He’s insecure until someone proves there’s nothing to fear.

He’d benefit most from a confident, extroverted partner with the guts to take the initiative. Someone who understands he has a lot of baggage but doesn’t fall into a maternal/paternal role, because your partner isn’t supposed to be your parent. Your partner is your partner; they can understand and support you but aren’t your therapist. Especially for someone like Severus, who needs to work on himself, not rely on others to patch up his wounds. They can help him heal, but he has to do the work.

I actually started writing a Severus fic with a Muggle!Reader because I love the dynamic and found it really interesting. It’s fascinating to explore, especially since he grew up in a Muggle environment and clearly knows some things about that world. But I’ve always imagined that he completely distanced himself from it once his parents died, and probably didn’t have much contact with the Muggle world after becoming a Hogwarts professor, except when strictly necessary. By the early 2000s, he’d be totally out of touch with many modern advancements.

I also like that dynamic because Severus is a well-known figure—he taught nearly twenty generations of students, which is insane given how small the magical community is. Practically half the population must have had him as their Potions professor. Then there’s the whole "he killed Dumbledore" thing, being a Death Eater, and later revealed as a double agent. In a post-war AU where he survives, he’d basically be a magical-world celebrity, sparking very divided opinions. And that would give him massive anxiety. Like, on top of surviving (when we all know he wanted to die because he was so fed up with life), he’d have to deal with that nonsense? I 100% see him being much more comfortable with someone who knows nothing about him, has no preconceived notions or judgments, and gives him a chance to just be himself—or explore a side of his personality he couldn’t show due to his spy role and all the deception he had to maintain.

There’s also an interesting theme of cognitive dissonance—having prejudices against Muggles (which all wizards have, even the good ones, because they treat Muggles like idiots) and then being confronted with the reality of what Muggles are capable of. Especially given that he was a Death Eater and deeply hated everything Muggle due to his experiences with his father and the poverty he endured as a child in that world.

So yeah, 100% your headcanon because it’s mine too! 😂

[mercillery]

I know almost NO ONE in the OP fandom cares about Akainu or the marines at that, but gosh, I’ve been so hyper-fixated on the admirals for way too long I HAVE to talk about them. I know absolutely no one who loves these justice freaks as much as I do, and I’m going to die in 5 seconds and make it the world’s problem if I don’t speak up about my love for them.

This post is going to talk about Akainu because currently he’s my number one. I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but for now I mostly just want to rant about him and the actor he was based off of—call it fun facts about Akainu or whatever. Frankly, I could see why so many people hate him—for killing a beloved character, right? I think that’s why almost everyone just utterly dislikes him, and that’s completely understandable. But I wish more people could talk about him because he’s a really interesting character to me. 

Warning there is no grammar in this because I’m currently writing this on a whim.

The actor Akainu is based on is Bunta Sugawara—which probably most people aren’t familiar with. The only reason I even found out about his existence was because of this.

And Oda was right to say that those still in school likely don’t know who the hell these actors are—because they were from a long time ago. Well, kind of. Not really—I don’t know. Yusaku Matsuda was born on September 21st 1949–Kunie Tanaka on November 23rd 1932—and Bunga Sugawara on August 16th 1933–what I’m trying to say here is that they were all somewhat born in close range years—if that make sense.

And yes, Bunta actually voiced Kamari from Spirited Away—there’s actually a video on YouTube showing Bunta doing his voice lines with Hayao Miyazaki and a few other people sitting in the back as Bunta does his thing. I unfortunately can’t find that video anymore but it was cute because when Bunta does a lot of hand gestures while reading his lines—it was amusing to watch.

Did you also know that Akainu’s real name, Sakazuki, is actually the name of a film Bunta played in? I have yet to watch the movie, but it’s about a young yakuza soldier (that soldier being Bunta) torn between staying in his current life or leaving his family when his boss refuses to follow their ancient code of ethics. I can say, though, that I have watched like two or three movies that Bunta played in (in fact I’m currently watching The Viper Brothers!!!). I’ve also watched a bunch of other trailers of films he plays in—and you know what I notice every single time?

Bunta always plays this short-tempered, stern, and violent character. Like, I mean ALWAYS. And you know what else? He’s always starring in Yakuza films—like almost all his movies have something to do with the Yakuza—which is ironic considering Oda made Akainu very dogmatic about justice, and obviously anything yakuza-related is far from justice. When you compare the characters Bunta plays as and Akainu, you can literally see how perfectly Oda blended the two. Like most of the characters Bunta plays, Akainu is also firm, stern, stoic, serious, dogmatic, short-tempered, and aggressive. The only drastic difference is how Akainu is all about justice—while the characters Bunta plays mostly have to do with just getting to power and the usual yakuza stuff, you know? If you look up Bunta Sugawara, you’ll get a bunch of trailers of all the different films he plays in, and you’ll see exactly what I mean.

Did you ALSO know that Bunta was aware that Akainu was based off of him? I’m not even joking. I did the biggest 😮 of my life when I found out.

When Bunta retired, he became a farmer. His farm sold chilli pepper and the brand logo for that was literally THIS:

Oda himself drew his hot pepper brand logo—no joke. It’s amazing because now I can’t stop thinking about another universe where One Piece just takes place in a modern AU and Sakazuki is just a guy selling chili pepper. Oda said the order to draw the chili pepper logo was actually made by Bunta’s wife. And if I’m not wrong, I believe Bunta even commented as a joke that he’ll use the logo as long as One Piece is popular. It’s even better when you realize it’s confirmed that Akainu’s favorite goods are white rice and HOT PEPPER.

Ugh, just imagine Akainu selling chili pepper instead of being such a single-minded justice freak of a man…

Anyway, thank you for coming to my ted talk. If you sent in a request, I’m working on it—TRUST. 😋

[zel-zo]

Hey so you know how in the Izuru-Fuyuhiko conversation, Izuru assumes Fuyuhiko intends to use Izuru for his talents? And Fuyuhiko refutes that like right away. Based on the recent art you made, do you have any thoughts on Izuru making himself useful (as a meat shield apparently) anyway? Izuru usefulness complex vs. Fuyuhiko 'people arent tools' complex or something like that? Sorry if this is a strange ask to get out of the blue haha I am interested in the narrative.

Ok so this is a FANTASTIC question and it took all my restraint not to send back an entire essay lmao💛💛💛 (correction^ I wrote 544 words of this so, maybe a LITTLE bit of an essay)

So, here are my thoughts on Izuru and Fuyuhiko's potential relationship in DRS:US:

I feel like the reason that Izuru may in fact stay with Fuyuhiko in this scenario (I mean, he outright says that if he were told to be free without orders he would probably just disappear overseas and cut contact,) is Fuyuhuko’s resolve not to use Izuru for his talents. I think that, in one way or another, this wont sit right with Izuru, who can easily reason out the fact that he’s a passive force until acted upon, and if acted upon (or used) for the good of humanity, that would have an overall better net benefit to the world than valuing his independence and letting his talents go to waste. As little as Izuru seems to care about anything, the thought process behind letting him do whatever he wants and not like, idk, make him cure cancer, is an absolutely atrocious error in judgement and has to be the fault of some under-developed moral code of Fuyuhuko’s. I think this intrigue is part of why Izuru would want to stay with Fuyuhuko: to see how long it will take for Fuyu, given ample opportunity, to abandon his personal code and start using Izuru (weather for humanity’s benefit or his own).

Note: I also think this is why Izuru would “make himself useful” (like the meat shield incident). By showing how much he could benefit Fuyuhiko when his talents are used, he’s subtly testing his resolve to keep refraining from doing so.

On the FLIP side we have Fuyuhiko, who’s honestly got a point. He’s definitely not thinking of it in the same big moral strokes that Izuru is, but he is thinking of the basic gist of it: What should you value more, a person’s freedom or the good they can do? In his (learned) opinion, the value a person’s life has and the potential they have for good aren’t exclusive, but that person needs to do the good on their own for it to have meaning. His relationship with Peko comes to mind hard here as someone who has been given a role and carried it out perfectly, denying their own free will in the process. Fuyu doesn’t go through the same lesson in the same way as DR2, but it’s clear that he’s coming to similar conclusions about valuing Peko’s free will in their DRUS interactions. I feel like, similarly, Fuyu would just want Izuru to start giving a damn about being used by people and stop treating himself like a means to an end.

So, does this turn into a genuine friendship? Something more?... Maybe??? I see a lot of interpretations of Izuru’s character were he’s an unfeeling machine, which I personally really dislike. I mean, the man has enough emotion to be bored by being unable to be surprised by anything anymore. He does Cry, even if he doesn’t know why. In my eyes, Izuru is mentally incredibly developed, but emotionally underdeveloped because of his emphasis on learning and usefulness since his ‘creation’. So, these two’s relationship is both ambiguous and up for interpretation, but I do think it has room for Izuru to come to understand Fuyuhuko’s thinking and maybe even start caring for him eventually. Honestly it’s all up to your personal interpretation of Izuru’s character!

But yea, those are just my thoughts! Let me know Your own interpretation!! I love these characters and always wanna hear other people's thoughts on them!!! 💛

[trashnotfound]

Time for my usual run down of the season , didn’t do it how I usually do because honestly I had not very nice things to say about the first 5 episodes 💀

Dr s2 pt2 spoielrs ahead

- jay? Jay!?! JAY!? Hello what was THAT- IT Was a COP out honestly, all the hype and build up for a shit ass reveal and a boring fight between him and nya, only for him to LEAVE 5 minutes later. I wanted more of him being evil, it was so rushed and just usless. Like they could have just made nya find him or something, he didn’t have to be evil, Because they did literally NOTHING with it. I know they probably realise they need a whole season to build up to jay but maybe if they didn’t focus on Lloyd all the time they could??

-It was nice to see some old characters again, like tox and Mr pale! Finally some old rep 😭 I just wish they we’re actually utilised properly. I didn’t want just cameos I wanted actual character arcs or something. I know I’m asking for a lot and “should be greatful to even get to see them” but s4 showed all the old elemental master so well, and they all at least got a little moment to shine even if just for one fight, then they added to that with season 9. It just felt like a *here’s your old characters now shut up*

-People may think I’m being too picky with this, but the random panning to Geo and other characters with jayas fight TOOK ME OUT!? Like we just had this super emotional revels and now jay and nya gotta fight, oh okay we’re just gonna show a purple goblin mid scene ?? Like it just took me out the moment and was also so random. Like he doesn’t even know nya that well, why are we seeing his reaction more then the ninjas. Same for the audience. Like they don’t know these people WHY ARE THEY HERE

- wyldfyre and Roby! What can’t I say about them. Saved the season for me honestly. I like how wyldfyre actually got a break this season and got to be goofy and silly. We really saw more of her personality shine! Her being the comic relief was really refreshing to see. Plus her and Roby instantly hitting it off, just like Kailor did was such a cute nod to them. The fact that their just so sweet and full of puppy love, they couldn’t be more different then eachother but that isn’t mentioned ONCE (I like that) wyldfyre takes on all of Roby words, and him roaring for her to show he loves her too. I just adore how they take on eachother characteristics and embrace how their different. Plus the blatant flirting 😭🤚🏻 made giggle

- ERIN LOW KEY TURNING EVIL HELLO!? I was kinda expecting someone to turn on the ninja, honestly shocked it was Erin. Him and sora fighting broke my heart :( I can 100% understand his point of view, it’s been over a year since he met Lloyd and he’s still no closer to his parents. It does suck and I wish it was prioritised too, but Lloyd can’t help that all the danger they have been facing is world ending. Someone just needs to give him and hug. But I also think he needs to learn he can’t have everything in life. He wanted to be a ninja and he got that! I know he lots his parents but so did sora. I just think he needs a good hug and some support

- cole and zane we so pushed aside this season. I know they aren’t the main focus anymore, but for cole especially just doesn’t feel like a character anymore? He hasn’t since 13 honestly. I don’t think it helps that I’m still getting used to Andrew voicing him ( no fault of his own the writers won’t give him enough material to work with) so it genuinely feels like a new character to me. Plus his lack of interest in the ninja. Zane could have been used so much this season to analyse their opponents and help train sora, but they just cast him aside. Like hello he had an entire episode DEDICATED TO HIM BEING A DETECTIVE? Why didn’t they let him help Erin figure out the murders ( yes it was to do those flashbacks of his parents but that didn’t really add much)

- Kai coming back was so underwhelming, I honestly would have liked if they waited till next season to do that. We didn’t get a proper reunion of him and wyldfyre or nya :(

- ep 11-20 did not feel like a part 2, they felt like an entire different season. The separate parts really don’t merge well on my opinion. We’re following 2 completely different story lines and fighting 2 different villains. Their isn’t really an over arching storyline aside from Ras and his gang. Who don’t even turn out to be the main villains 💀 this part just felt like a re do of seaosn 4 but a lot more boring. I really couldn’t get into the story until at least episode 5. It was just way to repetitive with no real danger being shown.

I think that’s everything I wanna talk about for now, there’s others but they more small critiques or details I liked. Not my favourite season ( you can probably tell lol) definitely the worst of all 4 parts so far in my opinion. But I’m hoping season 3 is better since we hopefully have an actual evil ninja ( Erin) and jaya to look forward too

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A Reflection on Habits, Pain, and the Right to Heal

I’ve always found it fascinating how our childhood shapes us as adults. It’s so puzzling to me how incidents we think we’ve acknowledged and dealt with can still haunt us subconsciously.

One example is my compulsive need to poke my head out of the shower every few minutes to make sure no one has broken into the apartment. Sometimes I even have to lock the bathroom door, even though the apartment front door is locked and I live alone. Who’s coming into the bathroom while I’m showering?

Yet I know it became a habit after my seven year older brother continuously snuck into the bathroom while I was showering when we both lived with our parents to scare me. I never used to lock the bathroom door. Then he started sneaking in to scare me by punching the shower curtain out of nowhere. I thought I could stop him by locking the bathroom door. He started picking the lock to sneak in and do the same thing. So I started my habit of peeking out of the shower. That started when I was in my early teenage years. As I’m writing this, I’m 22, and I still do it.

It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I know logically that I’m safe. I know my brother isn’t about to pick the lock of an apartment he doesn’t even live in (and that is 3 hours away), just to punch my shower curtain for old times’ sake. But habits like this aren’t logical—they’re survival instincts your brain refuses to let go of. Even when the “threat” is long gone, your body remembers.

I think about this a lot: the way our minds and bodies hold on to these echoes of the past, even after we’ve told ourselves, “That was years ago. I’m fine now.” But am I fine? Sure, my brother’s antics seem harmless when I tell the story now—he’d probably laugh and call me dramatic—but at the time, it was terrifying. It was that kind of sharp, primal fear that makes your heart race and your fight-or-flight instincts kick in. And for a teenage girl, trapped behind a flimsy curtain, it felt like an invasion. Straight out of Psycho.

I wonder how many other little quirks I have that are rooted in experiences like that—things I don’t even think about anymore but that still affect how I navigate the world. Maybe the way I instinctively glance over my shoulder when I walk home at night after being harassed by a man who had an interest in violent hobbies, or how I startle when someone raises their hand towards me for a high five, because that hand looks awfully similar to the one that once hit me in my face out of nowhere.

These habits become so ingrained that they start to feel like a part of who you are, but they’re really just shadows of who you used to be. Shadows of a version of yourself who needed to stay alert, to be prepared for anything.

But how do you move past it? How do you convince your brain that it’s safe to relax now? I’m not sure I have the answer yet. Maybe it’s just a matter of time. Or maybe it’s about learning to have a conversation with those shadows, acknowledging them instead of trying to push them away. Like saying, “Hey, I see you. I know you’re here because you were trying to protect me. But we’re okay now. You don’t have to work so hard anymore.”

And maybe, one day, I’ll stand in the shower and feel like I can close my eyes without worrying. Until then, I guess I’ll keep peeking out. Old habits die hard, after all.

Perhaps habits can teach us to be more understanding. But being understanding doesn’t equate to excusing or forgiving someone. It can merely act as an explanation, and we can all have compassion for even the most horrible people. Or rather, as I’d like to think of it, we have compassion for their tragic experiences. If we understand why people are the way they are, how their experiences shape their lives, then aren’t we getting closer to understanding humanity, which is, debatably, one of the biggest questions out there.

It’s a strange paradox, isn’t it? The idea that understanding someone doesn’t mean condoning their actions. You can hold compassion in one hand and accountability in the other. I think about this a lot, especially when reflecting on my own habits and the experiences that shaped them. If I can trace my quirks and fears back to specific events, can’t others do the same? Doesn’t everyone, in some way, carry the weight of their own shadows?

But here’s where it gets tricky: where do we draw the line? At what point does understanding someone’s past stop justifying their present actions? It’s one thing to say, “I get why you’re like this,” but another entirely to say, “And it’s okay for you to keep being this way.” The balance is delicate, and I think it starts with the acknowledgment that everyone’s humanity is messy and imperfect—including our own.

I’ve tried to apply this lens to myself, too. Instead of berating myself for being overly cautious, I’ve started to look at these habits with curiosity. What are they trying to tell me? Maybe my tendency to peek out of the shower isn’t just a leftover fear—it’s a reminder that my mind and body are capable of keeping me safe. Maybe the shadows of my past don’t just haunt me; they teach me. They remind me of resilience, of boundaries I’ve learned to set, of the ways I’ve grown.

That understanding, though, doesn’t mean I want to live like this forever. I don’t want to carry these shadows into every shower, every dark street, every raised hand. I want to learn how to set them down, gently, like putting away an old coat I no longer need to wear. Maybe that’s what growth really is: not banishing our pasts, but learning how to coexist with them without letting them define us.

But that’s easier said than done, and I think I have somewhat of an unpopular opinion on this matter, because I believe we, as conscious humans, should exercise our right of feeling sorry for ourselves. And while maybe it is a “hot take,” I don’t think it’s that hard to understand. By simply experiencing and focusing on the hurt we’ve endured, we get an outlet for our emotions, which in turn can help us heal in the long term.

Saying something like that unfounded, is of course… diabolical. But it’s not unfounded. Studies have proven over and over again that letting out your feelings, whether through talking, writing, or even crying, is an essential part of processing trauma and moving forward. Bottling things up doesn’t make the shadows go away—it just pushes them deeper into the corners of your mind, where they quietly take root and grow. Acknowledging your pain, even sitting with it for a while, is not weakness. It’s human.

And let’s be real: our society doesn’t make it easy. We’re constantly told to “move on” and “stay positive,” as if emotions are hurdles to leap over instead of waves to ride. But ignoring what’s underneath doesn’t make it disappear. It’s like covering a crack in the wall with a fresh coat of paint—eventually, it’ll resurface, bigger and more complicated than before.

Feeling sorry for yourself gets a bad rap because people conflate it with self-pity. But there’s a key difference. Self-pity is wallowing without purpose, a kind of stuckness that doesn’t move you forward. Feeling sorry for yourself, on the other hand, is an acknowledgment: “I went through something hard, and it’s okay to feel hurt about that.” It’s a step toward self-compassion. It’s saying to yourself what you might say to a friend: “That really sucks. No wonder you feel this way.”

But you know what’s even more of a hot take? Sometimes, I think self-pitying is necessary too. It sounds counterproductive, doesn’t it? Like I’m advocating for a wallowing pity party. But hear me out—there’s a difference between indulging in self-pity as a means of staying stuck and using it as a stepping stone toward understanding and healing. Sometimes, you have to let yourself feel the full weight of everything before you can put it down. You can’t clean up a mess you won’t even look at.

And the reality is that by looking in disdain at self-pity, we’re denying people their right to hurt. And it is a right. Because it’s a core part of us as humans. Someone who has tripped and broken their leg, screaming in pain, is going to pity themselves, because the pain isn’t merely a physical sensation. Pain is so raw and innate that it becomes us, and sometimes when the pain gets so extreme, you pity yourself without shame because what else can you do?

But when the pain isn’t physical—when it’s emotional or psychological—society expects something different. We’re told to bottle it up, to keep it together, to be “strong” and “resilient,” as if those traits are defined by our ability to suppress our own suffering. Worse, when the source of that pain is something like assault, harassment, or trauma, shame piles onto the already unbearable weight.

For victims of sexual assault, this shame can feel like a second attack. It sneaks in quietly, whispering lies like, “You should have done something differently,” or, “This was your fault.” Society, in all its victim-blaming glory, reinforces this. Questions like, “What were you wearing?” or, “Why didn’t you fight back?” shift the blame onto the survivor, creating a feedback loop of guilt and shame that can take years—sometimes a lifetime—to untangle.

And when you’re already battling that shame, self-pity feels dangerous. It feels like giving in. You tell yourself you don’t deserve to feel sorry for yourself because, somehow, you’ve internalised the idea that what happened was your fault. But it wasn’t. It never was. And yet, that shame sits there, festering, making you believe that even feeling hurt is a kind of indulgence you’re not entitled to.

But here’s the thing: self-pity, in those moments, is not indulgence—it’s survival. It’s a small, quiet rebellion against the shame that’s trying to silence you. It’s a way of saying, “I didn’t deserve this. I was hurt, and that matters.” It’s reclaiming your right to grieve for what was taken from you, to acknowledge the weight of what you’re carrying, and to validate your own pain in a world that might try to minimize it.

I think about how this cycle of shame keeps people trapped. How it convinces them that their trauma is their own fault and that they should be strong enough to “get over it” without ever letting themselves feel the full depth of their pain. But healing doesn’t work like that. You can’t bypass the hard parts. You can’t skip over the anger, the sadness, the self-pity, and expect to come out whole on the other side. Those emotions aren’t roadblocks—they’re stepping stones.

It’s infuriating to me how deeply shame is ingrained in these experiences. It’s not enough to go through something horrific—you’re then expected to carry the weight of society’s judgments on top of it. And while I wish I could wave a magic wand and erase that shame for every survivor out there, the truth is that the work of healing is messy and personal. It’s about learning, slowly and painfully, that the shame doesn’t belong to you. It never did.

So, yes, sometimes you’ll feel sorry for yourself. Sometimes you’ll cry for the person you used to be, the innocence you lost, the trust that was shattered. And that’s okay. That’s necessary. Because every tear you shed, every moment of self-pity you allow yourself, is a step toward reclaiming your narrative. It’s a way of saying, “This happened to me, but it doesn’t define me.”

Shame wants to silence you. It wants to make you believe that your pain is a burden and that your healing isn’t worth the time or effort. But feeling sorry for yourself? That’s defiance. That’s taking back your story, one small step at a time. And if anyone tries to tell you otherwise, remind them that healing is not a straight line—and neither is being human.