#I’m genuinely suffering beyond my own comprehension

[fuckkyliejenner]

Enjoy my baby girl Lala while I rant in the tags!

[crimezi]

okay so i was thinking about how the winners of the life series get assigned a celestial body that corresponds with their personalities

grian - the sun: the origin of life, an authority or divinity, that which everything revolves, light of the server, a ever burning source of shock and awe

scott - the stars: all the light that’s too far to reach, unchanging predictable path, always reliable, infinite and unattainable, a sort of destiny

pearl - the moon: that which inspires insanity, a constantly evolving and always present force, can change the tides, she’s got range <3

martyn - mars: the symbol of war for wars sake, rather easily manipulated despite his own knack for manipulation, ancient to the point of rusting, willing to betray everyone for a leg up in the terror

so i came up with at least my reasons for the rest >:3 i did my best to mix different symbolism and a few of them are more sound in their reasoning but i’m happy

mumbo - mercury: two sides of an extreme either too hot or too cold, constantly making insane twists in logic, a follower of sorts (he’s insane constantly in an out of control, seeks out information and spreads it around)

skizz- venus: the goddess of love <3, from afar a simple bright light but upclose the most volatile mix of elements, incapable of hosting life (he just wants to see everyone together but also he loves it when he’s given a reason to go a little crazy he’s so Aphrodite coded)

scar- earth: being returned to which sustains us, something something cycles and rebirth, potential, the roots that connect us, the feeling of stability and belonging, a strength that goes unnoticed (he is the flesh maggots adore, where would we be with out him)

gem- aurora borealis: the goddess of the dawn, circle of life, a connection to the dead, power and wonder (i only have so much to work with but also she is the embodiment of a spectacle the shimmering chaotic brightness and also dawn imagery is her thing)

bdubs- eclipses: a doom or foreboding sense of darkness, something so profound that can extinguish even the brightest light, seemingly inextricably connected livable chaos (bdubs is simultaneously very dark and very bright he’s always on edge and genuinely i think we should be more terrified of his ability to flip in a dime he’s very volatile and i love him)

jimmy - meteorshowers/shooting stars: gift from heaven, mystery beyond human comprehension, forces beyond control (boy falls so much, no but his brief but beautiful existence like transience, he moves so fast he burns himself always right before or at the beginning of the unravelling chaos)

cleo- ceres : the mother <3, death and rebirth, the rhythms of the seasons, fostering and adopting, unconditional love, all the issues of devotion, attachment, separation, sacrifice, loss and grief (big sad feelings every season, they always have a deep connection that’s brutally severed)

joel- jupiter: lonely despite all his efforts, all about improvement and good karma, lots of energy spent in forming relationships, calls forth miracles and changing fates, big eye for an eye vibes (he’s the big man!!, he’s always very focused on improving his game and making good deals but still incredibly stubborn)

etho- saturn: a very divorced married divorced planet, very focused in discipline and wisdom, lots of personal responsibility but can also represent shame and suffering (he’s got this very interesting balance going on between being very civil but also very anxious, i could study him for hours)

tango: uranus: hehehe, raw genius and eccentricity, upheaval and innovation hand in hand, out of balance a little rebellious!!! (tango is oops all unconventional ideas also he’s always better off in groups but his individuality and need to discover stop consistently leads him into unexpected sudden issues)

lizzie - neptune: the mystical realm the domain of dreams and delusions, always just a little to vague with intentions, idealism to a fault, a emphasis on creativity and intuition (she is confusion incarnate, listen everything about lizzie comes back to magic fairy shit)

bigb- pluto: a new approach and new perspective, the underbelly of emotions what lies beneath the surface, an unconscious mind exploring dark domains and cycles of harm, spirt over matter (listen bigb is the physical embodiment of ‘what happens if i exculswively go with the flow and just sorta stuble upon answers to questions nobody had?’ and i love him)

impulse- the void: all things ambiguous, the gap inbetween your real self and the replacement ego, incomprehensible emptiness (impulse always has like five facades up and behind all of that is nothing knowable there’s a gnawing sense of dread in all his seasons)

ren - supernova: an explosive transformation, change itself, unleashed potential, fusion in a strange and tragic ways, the afterlife, never ending chain of destinies (he’s just got so much energy he fucking exploded that’s why he’s not in the last 2 seasons he’s crazy powerful he’s just sets things in motion so often, he’s also very pretty <333)

okay i think all of that makes sense lmao

[ichiwashername-o]

Family drama vent under the cut.

This weekend is Father’s Day.

And just the thought of going up to visit my dad is filling me with such intense anxiety.

My dad and I have a strained relationship to say the least. There’s moments where he shows me genuine love and affection, and there are times where I am legitimately scared for my life because of the things he says and does. I don’t think it’s a small exaggeration to say there’s some signs of emotional/verbal abuse. And even after all that, just . . . cutting him out of my life completely seems like something I’ll never be able to do.

My father is a hard-right conservative. He’s always been racist, dropping the n-word with hard “r”s among family and friends, always insinuating I live in a bad neighborhood/work in a dangerous city because of “all the blacks and Mexicans.” It’s only recently I’ve begun to wonder if he’s always been so angry and vicious and just so . . . cruel, or if the events over the last few years (glares hard at the clusterfuck that was the Tr*mp presidency) exacerbated the issue.

He has always told me to keep my mouth shut, always told me my thoughts and opinions are wrong, just because I disagree with him on several hot-button issues. Whenever I try to disagree with him, he’s always quick to raise his voice and shout at me about how wrong I am, how I don’t know how the real world works, how I need to keep my opinions to myself so I don’t “embarrass” him. I’m always the one who has to sit there and suffer in silence as my dad spouts heinous things about how much he hates everyone he disagrees with, be it blacks, Muslims, liberals, or whatever. This has been going on for as long as I can remember, where I am a 32 year old successful woman. I own a house, I own a car, I have a fantastic job with glowing reviews, I am independent and thriving, yet he still doesn’t treat me or respect me like my own person or values what I have to say about anything. He’ll rant and rave about how the liberals are fucking everything up, how much Biden sucks, and any disagreement is harshly shouted down and cowed into silence.

Just writing this down makes me realize that my dad doesn’t even know me. Or, at least, not really. He knows I’m a liberal, just because I disagree with him. But beyond that? I don’t think he has even a single comprehensive thought in what I believe! He’s never engaged me in any meaningful discussion. He doesn’t care what I think, he doesn’t value the opinions I have, or even respect me enough to listen to what I have to say about anything. He loves me because I am his daughter. But if I were a stranger, he would hate me. He would revile me and insult me and tell everyone who would listen how much of a terrible person I am, just because I’m a liberal.

And despite all that! Despite everything I have just written about how terrible my father is and how he treats me . . .

It’s an insurmountable, impossible feat to cut him out of my life.

Every time I think he crosses the line and that I can’t accept his actions, I find myself coming back to him, visiting him on holidays and weekends and hugging him and missing him. I love talking to him, when we talk about literally anything other than politics. He loves it when I take art classes with my mom, he loves hunting with me, he loves spending time with me. And even after everything he’s put me through, I still can’t bear the thought of going through my life without him.

Because cutting him out would mean losing my entire family. Not just him, but my aunts and uncles and cousins and all the relatives I cherish, on both sides of the family. I’d lose all the people I care about. I’d lose my siblings. I’d lose my mom, especially since we’ve grown so close after I moved out.

It really is an abusive relationship, isn’t it? He’s an awful, racist person. His way is the only right way and anyone who disagrees with him is wrong, end of discussion. Yet I can’t find the nerve to walk away.

I don’t know. I think a deep part of me knows what I have to do, but just thinking about it fills me with such dread and fear. I know what I should do, but I can’t. It seems so impossible. I’m just rambling at this point. Scared of what’s going to happen if I ever do find the spine to put my foot down.

Happy Father’s Day to all the other miserable fucks that are in my shoes. I hope you find peace.

[frontproofmedia]

Clash of Titans: Joshua vs Dubois - A Comprehensive Preview

Clash of Titans: Joshua vs Dubois - A Comprehensive Preview

In the storied annals of British boxing, few events have captured the imagination, like the upcoming heavyweight showdown between Anthony Joshua and Daniel Dubois. Set against the iconic backdrop of London's Wembley Stadium this Saturday, a fight that promises not only to determine the IBF Heavyweight Champion but to shape the very future of boxing's most prestigious division.

Setting the Stage

As the sun sets over London this weekend, Wembley Stadium will transform into a colosseum of modern-day gladiators. A staggering 96,000 fans are expected to fill the venue, potentially setting a post-war record for a boxing event in the United Kingdom. The electricity in the air will be palpable, a testament to the enduring allure of heavyweight boxing and the star power of the two men stepping into the ring.

Anthony Joshua: Seeking Redemption and Legacy

At 34 years old, Anthony Joshua (27-3, 24 KOs) stands at a crossroads in his illustrious career. Once the unified heavyweight champion of the world, Joshua has experienced both the dizzying heights of success and the bitter taste of defeat. This fight represents more than just another title shot; it's a chance for Joshua to cement his legacy and join the elite club of three-time heavyweight world champions.

Joshua's journey to this moment has been one of resilience and adaptation. After suffering back-to-back losses to Oleksandr Usyk, many questioned whether the Watford-born fighter still had what it takes to compete at the highest level. However, Joshua silenced his critics with a stunning return to form, securing three consecutive knockout victories over Robert Helenius, Otto Wallin, and Francis Ngannou.

These recent performances have showcased a more mature, tactically astute Joshua. "I'm not depending on punch power; it takes a lot more to be a great fighter," Joshua stated at the pre-fight press conference. "I'll break him down with my spirit." This evolution in his approach suggests we may see a more patient, calculated Joshua in the ring on Saturday night.

Daniel Dubois: The Young Lion's Roar

At just 26 years old, Daniel Dubois (20-2, 19 KOs) represents the new wave of heavyweight talent. Awarded the IBF title after Oleksandr Usyk vacated it in June, Dubois enters this fight not just as a champion but as a man with something to prove.

"I need to retain it and hold on to it. I need to legitimize myself by winning this fight," Dubois declared, acknowledging the circumstances of his title acquisition. "It's a resurrection story of my career. I just want the biggest challenges and make a name for myself and create history."

Dubois' path to this moment has not been without its setbacks. A 2020 loss to Joe Joyce raised questions about his durability and mental toughness. However, the young Londoner has shown remarkable resilience, bouncing back with impressive victories over Jarrell Miller and Filip Hrgovic. These wins have proven that Dubois can hang with top-tier competition, even if questions about his chin persist in some quarters.

The Battle of Styles

This fight presents a fascinating contrast in styles and experiences. Joshua, with his imposing physicality and thunderous power, has traditionally been known as a knockout artist. However, his recent comments suggest we may see a more nuanced approach, focusing on wearing down Dubois over the distance.

Dubois, while less experienced at the elite level, brings his own brand of explosive power to the ring. With 19 of his 20 wins coming by way of knockout, he poses a genuine threat to end the fight at any moment. The young champion's ability to handle the pressure of fighting in front of 96,000 fans could prove crucial to his performance.

"It's like I've done many times before, this time it's on the biggest stage so the energy is going to be higher," Dubois stated, exuding confidence beyond his years. However, the reality of walking out in front of a crowd more than twice the size of any he's faced before remains to be seen.

Recent Form and Momentum

Both fighters enter this contest riding waves of success, adding another layer of intrigue to an already compelling matchup.

Joshua's recent run of three knockout victories has rekindled memories of the destructive force that first captured the public's imagination. These wins have showcased Joshua's power and ability to adapt and overcome adversity, silencing critics who questioned his resolve after the Usyk defeats.

Dubois, while less experienced at the top level, has shown tremendous grit in recent outings. His victories over Miller and Hrgovic were hard-fought affairs that proved Dubois can dig deep when the going gets tough. These performances have gone a long way towards erasing the doubts that lingered after his loss to Joyce.

Implications for the Heavyweight Division

The Joshua-Dubois clash is more than just a fight for the IBF title; it's a pivotal moment that could reshape the landscape of the heavyweight division.

Unification Prospects

The winner of this fight will be in a prime position to pursue unification bouts. With Tyson Fury holding the WBC title and Oleksandr Usyk possessing the WBA and WBO belts, the victor's path to becoming the undisputed heavyweight champion becomes clearer.

If Joshua emerges victorious, it could reignite talks for the long-awaited all-British showdown with Fury, a fight that has been years in the making and undoubtedly one of the biggest in boxing history.

A Dubois win, on the other hand, would introduce a fresh face to the top tier of the division. It could lead to intriguing matchups with the likes of Fury or Usyk, bringing new storylines and rivalries to the heavyweight scene.

Shifting Power Dynamics

This fight could also signal a changing of the guard in the heavyweight division. If Joshua loses, it might mark the end of his tenure as one of the division's elite, potentially paving the way for newer talents to step into the spotlight.

Conversely, a Joshua victory would reaffirm his status as one of the top heavyweights of his generation, setting the stage for more super-fights in the twilight of his career.

Impact on Other Contenders

The result of this bout will have a ripple effect on other heavyweight contenders. Fighters like Martin Bakole, Andy Ruiz Jr., and Joe Joyce will watch keenly as their paths to a title shot could be significantly altered depending on the outcome.

A Dubois victory might open up fresh matchups for these contenders, while a Joshua win could see some familiar rivalries rekindled.

Global Boxing Landscape

The heavyweight division has always been boxing's glamour weight class, capable of capturing global attention. This fight, particularly given Joshua's international stardom, has the potential to boost boxing's profile worldwide.

A compelling contest could reignite interest in heavyweight boxing, potentially leading to more high-profile events and increased investment in the sport.

British Boxing's Future

With both fighters hailing from the UK, this bout is also a testament to the strength of British heavyweight boxing. The outcome will shape the division's future within the country, potentially inspiring the next generation of British heavyweights.

A Dubois victory would signal the arrival of a new star, while a Joshua win would further cement his legacy as one of Britain's greatest boxers.

Prediction and Analysis

Predicting the outcome of heavyweight boxing matches is always a perilous endeavor, and this fight is no exception. Both men possess the power to end the fight with a single punch, making any prediction a calculated risk at best.

If Joshua can stick to his game plan of breaking Dubois down over the distance, he may be able to secure a late stoppage or decisive decision victory. His experience in big fights and recent tactical improvements could prove crucial in navigating the pressure of the occasion.

However, Dubois' power and ambition make him a dangerous opponent capable of ending the fight at any moment. If he can weather the early storm and grow into the fight, his youth and hunger could overwhelm Joshua in the later rounds.

Ultimately, this bout may come down to who can impose their will early and control the pace of the fight. Joshua's recent form and big-fight experience suggest he may have a slight edge. Still, in heavyweight boxing, one punch can change everything.

Conclusion

As Joshua and Dubois prepare to step into the ring at Wembley, the stakes extend far beyond their personal ambitions. This fight stands as a crossroads moment for the heavyweight division and will set the tone for the weight class in the years to come.

The contrast between Joshua's experience and renewed focus and Dubois' youth and hunger creates a compelling narrative that has captured the imagination of boxing fans around the world. Whether we witness the resurgence of a former champion or the coronation of a new king, one thing is sure: the aftermath of this bout will be felt throughout the boxing world.

As the first bell rings this Saturday night, 96,000 fans in Wembley Stadium and millions worldwide will watch and cheer, knowing that this fight might live up to the hype. In a sport often criticized for not delivering the fights fans want to see, Joshua vs Dubois is an example of modern heavyweight boxing at its new best.

Feature Photo: Mark Robinson/Matchroom Boxing/Getty Images

[quelleknowssome]

The Holy Sacrament of Squirrels

I need to leave the topic of animals, religion, and sacrament alone. I have decided, however, not to because I simply do not want to. I find this sufficient grounds to fuck up theology because fucking up theology is fun.

“But Quelle,” you say to me just now reading this, “that’s disrespectful.”

To which I say: no.

I’m gay, theology disrespected me first.

Shut up.

Next point.

In keeping with Catholic tradition, Catholics still manage to think that the priest preforms a magic trick that turns bread into Jesus and wine also into Jesus. It isn’t metaphorical, oddly enough, and they truly believe the thing they’ve consumed genuinely is Jesus. Why the Catholic church would promote cannibalism so openly I cannot possibly imagine. Even that is beyond my comprehension. After all, I cannot know the minds of Catholics.

In keeping with Catholic tradition, the eucharist is administered to the congregation, and the leftovers are put in a little holy breadbox named after the Jewish Tabernacle, which seems odd to me because Catholicism is a far from Judaism as one can get while still participating in a religion that branches and has its history in Judaism. I digress.

The box is holy but not magic and at some point the leftover eucharist gets stale (the bread not the wine, the wine is drunk all at once and the priests get tipsy For God). In keeping with Catholic tradition, the eucharist is treated as Christ himself and is placed directly into the ground instead of thrown away. Because dirt naps are so good, they have the Christ seal of approval.

This of course prompted a thought.

This of course prompted a thought that -were I Catholic- I may be excommunicated for.

A thought regarding squirrels, the eucharist, and perhaps even going to heaven.

Suppose for a moment squirrels exist. Suppose for a moment the Catholic church is a thriving establishment in the United States today. Suppose for a moment those two things are happening at the exact same time within mere feet of each other, by some miracle of science, magic, or statistics.

Some day, some very average squirrel who happens (by some miracle of science, magic, or statistics) to live by an operating Catholic church, is burying snacks, as squirrels so often do. At some point, this squirrel must come across the burial site of the Christ in his airy, wafer form and – not being informed on Catholic lore- is likely to determine it is a passable snack. The squirrel will no doubt partake immediately, and as a result, be suddenly more virtuous. Perhaps he will reprimand himself for having been so gluttonous and resolve to be more pious and giving.

The question then becomes “what could a squirrel possibly do with all that virtue?”

I suppose the question you must be asking is more along the lines of:

“Quelle, where is this going and why should I care?”

The answer, detested reader, is that I don’t know, and you probably shouldn’t. The other question on your mind is:

“Quelle, how do you proceed without resorting to blasphemy?”

And it is a question I admire. While I find I would be rather unaffected by blaspheming, it wouldn’t feel good to be so disrespectful that it has its own separate word. Everyone (including me) has their limits, you know. I suppose, out of respect for your concern, I ought to carefully walk the line. So I will.

Where do we go? With the squirrel, of course, who out of the kindness of his tiny, rapidly beating heart has begun sharing food with squirrels who suffer from food insecurity. Perhaps, knowing the approximate location of the buried church treats, this squirrel has been kind enough to share with other squirrels and administer the eucharist to his own congregation of squirrel Catholics.

Regardless of whether it is administered properly or if the squirrel is ordained (he is not), I think the spirit of his action and genuine growth of his character would be honored. When he sadly gets hit by a car three weeks later, we stop writing this piece because deciding whether or not squirrels have souls is outside my jurisdiction.

[jesswritesthat]

you are such a good writer so i just know you’ll do justice to this. if you’d be willing, a small drabble about reader who tends to be quite standoffish w guys and just isn’t as close to them as compared to girls bc i remember being so stupid around my childhood crush and i’m pretty sure he hated me 😃 and then the guy i was friends w wouldn’t let me get too close to him bc he didn’t want people to think we’re “dating” n e ways let me shove my insecurities back down,,, but reader still loves watching romance anything bc someone unabashedly wanting to be around you like that?? can’t relate xx anyways it can be w any haikyuu guy, let the vibes come to you 🥰 thank you Jess love u 🥺

A/N: Hold up - THIS IS ME OMG! I feel you, I have terrible luck with romance but I find it so cute at the same time! I love you too, gorgeous anon, I hope I’ve done you justice 🥺

So allow me to kill some of those insecurities - or Oikawa will rather >:)

Warnings: cursing, fem reader

>>>>——————————>

Anyone could admit Oikawa Tōru was enamouring, yet you only offered a shaky sigh as your friend tugged you along to meet her team. That’s what you get for befriending the future manager of Seijoh back in Middle School.

"Aren't you from Iwa-chans’ class?" An internal shriek caused your eyes to widen, snapping your head to the local celebrity tilting his toward you rather than his fangirls. 

"I'm surprised you remember." Snarky. Nice, you'd possibly regret it if not for his all-too-gentlemanly attitude. He’d only barged in searching for Iwaizumi a couple of times, you didn’t think he’d taken notes.

"Wouldn't forget a pretty face like yours." The smile was beautiful, even so you crossed your arms with a raised brow.

"Next time, try harder~"

"So mean (L/n)-chan."

You winced, your head screaming 'I know! God I know?! Why would I say that?!' but it was natural instinct at this point, a defence mechanism if you will, especially against someone as cunning as Oikawa Tōru.

In honesty, you believed that to be the start and end of it - except your friend encouragingly dragged you to her practices and Oikawa strategically managed to catch you alone every single time. Makki or Mattsun (you think) subtlety coined your friends focus for approximately 10 minutes, leaving you laxly waiting for her to rejoin you. In fact with the consistency at which it occurred, you’d become friends with the Captain.

———

Only you’d let your guard down once, the team required managerial help meanwhile you got settled playing a romantic film on your phone. Immediately you were distracted, softness leaking to your features whilst muffled hopeless sighs of endearment were hummed in acknowledgment.

“That’s an unusual sound from you~”

“He just gave her a rose and they kissed in the rain, how could I not - shit!” It was a subconscious answer due to enthralment, the haunting voice only resonating mid-way through your justification causing you to shockingly snap around to Tōru watching from over your shoulder with a smug grin. You’d almost dropped your phone!

“Don’t stop now (Y/n)-chan, tell me how to get you to make that sound again. It’s cute.”

“No- no way! Get back to practice Oikawa - go do a jump serve or something!”

“Oh? So you do listen when I talk about Volleyball!”

———

It wasn’t until after their next practice match did you suffer his infuriating (yet admittedly appreciated) presence again. This time the brunette proudly standing by your side as he shared his views of the match with you - the burning gazes of his fans deadlocked on the two of you as if deciphering the DaVinci code.

"Maybe you should um - y'know, not be so close?"

A careful roll of your shoulder accompanied your hesitant claim, the close proximity allowing for the small movement to graze his left side. Oikawa shot you a perplexed look, leaning closer to your face out of spite - even if his inquiry was subtlety sincere.

"Why? You don't like it?"

"No - I mean yes - I just..." A sigh of defeat escapes as you run a hand through your hair before meeting his warm hues again. "People might think you care and I wouldn't want you to have to deal with rumours."

Tōru was unnervingly quiet, he would’ve took a step back if you’d asked, however this reasoning was ridiculous by his standard. Darkened irises scanned over your casual frame with fingers pressed against his chin in thought.

"What if I want people to think that? I mean it's true, isn't it~"

"Is it?"

A melodic chuckle echoes your sarcastic suspicion, the heartthrob of Seijoh nudging your arm with a charming smile that’d leave fans fainting at his feet.

"Am I not obvious enough for you (Y/n)-chan?"

"You're obvious to everyone - in fact you're probably nicer to your fans than you are to me. Hence why I'm hesitant to believe you."

It was beyond comprehension to think one of the most popular men in Miyagi be romantically interested in you, which is why taking the flirtatious antics of Oikawa was done with a pinch of salt.

“Hmm... in that case I’ll show you...” You hadn’t a moment to determine his intentions, not when he’d firmly hooked your wrist and dragged you out to the refreshing Spring showers currently hydrating Miyagis’ cherry blossoms that day.

“By getting me wet?!”

“Eventually maybe - ah, that’s not it though.” Only smirking at the death glare pointed at him due the insinuation, Tōru washed it away with the gentle caress of his palms either side of your jaw. You knew his hands were magic but this was surreal - a thumb brushed your cheekbone before his lips met with your forehead, his nose then skimmed to meet yours with a genuinely content smile ghosting his features.

“T-tōru?” Breathless surprise, that’s all you could muster with the rain trickling down your skin onto his delicate fingers. He’d never seen you so defenceless, and he’d wanted more of it.

“I actually like that sound better than your longing sighs, say it again for me, won’t you?” You’d pulled from him with that, your fingers lacing his wrists - to which the Setter fluently twisted and captured your hands in his own causing you to furrow your brows once again.

“Shut up, you’re not funny.”

A defeated sigh left him, eyes briefly closed in surrender prior to fluttering open with renewed admiration for you, mildly unwilling to admit the sentimentality underlying his actions. Sentimentality tailored to you and for only you.

“I know it’s not a passionate kiss in the rain like in the movies, the ones you like so much. But I’ll willingly, happily try - we can get to that if you want to go on a date with me?“

“Are you serious? Don’t you h-“

“I don’t want them, I want you. The person who lets her friends drag her to games she didn’t want to attend, who helps in practice despite not needing to, the girl who got to know the real me, and the one who looks really cute watching romantic movies~”

“I don’t know her but, I suppose there’s no harm in going out with you once Oikawa.” The witty response caused him to laugh along with you, expecting nothing less.

“Perfect - but my hair is gonna be ruined, can we go back inside now (Y/n)-chan?”

Rolling your eyes at his petty whining, you couldn’t hide the overflowing amusement in your laugh as you pushed him back into the gymnasium where his team (and your friend) sported expectant grins.

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[linkspooky]

There Are No True Heroes

Dabi is shown wrapped in shadow as he confronts Hawks this chapter. That is because as his foil, as both of them were abused by the hero system as basically raised as child soldiers under the name of “hero training” they are two sides of the same coin. No one is closer to Hawks than Dabi, because Dabi is his own shadow. Dabi however is not just serving as a shadow for Hawks in a Jungian sense, but as a collective shadow for hero society as a whole. Read More underneath the cut explaining Dabi’s words for how there can be no true heroes in a society that doesn’t save people like Twice or Touya Todoroki. 

1. A Society of Repression

Before getting the ball rolling I’m going to introduce some terms important to Jungian Psychology. 

Jung saw the conscious mind divided in two. This is often referred to as the “iceberg model” because for the same reason that the titanic failed to dodge the ice berg, most people don’t have a true comprehension of personality because there’s much more going on than just what can be perceived in the surface. 

The surface of personality is called the ego or the conscious mind. This is all of the thoughts you are aware of, all of the decisions you make, like your behavior, how you act, what you say, what you think, all of these things are conscious aspects of personality. They’re referred to as consicous because  we can see, look at, control them to some extent. For example people tend to behave differently depending on their environment, you don’t usually swear in front of your grandparents but you might around your friends. The fact that you are choosing how you present yourself means part of personality will always be a performance. 

The unconscious mind is specifically what you are not aware of. It’s everything else that makes up personality. Jung believed the unconscious mind existed in a form called the shadow. The shadow is cast by what the light of consciousness projects, and consists of everything that consciousness excludes. It is the unknown side. If the consciousness is the face, the shadow is the reverse face. 

It’s the difference of who you choose to be and who you are at heart. 

“We can speak of the conscious ego as the subjective personality, and of the shadow self as the objective personality.”

Because one tends to reject or remain ignorant of the least desirable aspects of one's personality, the shadow is largely negative. There are, however, positive aspects that may also remain hidden in one's shadow (especially in people with low self-esteem, anxieties, and false beliefs).

The mechanism that people use to remain unaware of these aspects of their personality is called repression. 

Repression. Repression. The unconscious suppression of psychic contents that are incompatible with the attitude of consciousness. Repression is a process that begins in early childhood under the moral influence of the environment and continues through life. [“The Personal and the Collective Unconscious,” CW 7,]

In general, people have a tendency to avoid rather than confront issues, especially if those issues are personal ones. Repression is a technique of avoidance to try to keep the mind healthy in spite of internal or external stress. Psychologically speaking it’s avoiding the problem. While of course it’s impossible to live life confronting every single problem possible, there’s still a difference between acknowledging a problem and admitting that it’s a problem and dealing with it by simply pretending that it is not there. Repression renders problems invisble by turning a blind eye to them, which is why this meta will be speaking of societal repression on a whole later one.

Jung suggests the idea that repression, having a shadow, being two-faced is not something that certain individuals do but rather something everybody is doing at the same time. In a society of people who all have this unconscious aspect of their mind Jung suggests the collective unconscious exists. 

That the shared human experience of everybody existing within a society will create a collective suboncious amongst these people. The collective unconscious is unconscious ideas of society or life that just seem to be there. The myth of the hero itself is a product of collective unconscious, Jung posits every culture comes up with myths of heroes because that idea exists in some deep layer of our minds and it’s something we all have in common beyond the bounds of personal consciousness. 

So just to summarize quickly you have three layers, personal conscious who you choose to be, the shadow who you are, and the collective unconscious what society is. 

In Jung’s terms absolutely everything has a shadow. 

"The image of God has a shadow. The supreme meaning is real and casts a shadow. For what can be actual and corporeal and have no shadow?"

All Might and All For One are literally a symbolic hero and shadow pairing. All Might is someone who attempts to influence society by being the best hero he can be, All For One tries to control society too through violent methods. All Might is conscious of how he wants to create a peaceful, controlled society but unconscious of the violence inherent in his actions. 

The shadow is something that everyone collectively ignores as well. Someone even points out that All Might���s actions are still violence whether it’s heroic or not and All Might doesn’t even address the argument he just blows it off. In a repressed society the issues that everyone wants to avoid aren’t dealt with they’re insvisible. 

So not only is there an individual repression, but there are also aspects of societal repression. If everything casts a shadow then society itself can cast a shadow. The issues that everyone is avoiding, the issues that everyone is ignorant to will manifest in some way. 

"Unfortunately there can be no doubt that man is, on the whole, less good than he imagines himself or wants to be. Everyone carries a shadow, and the less it is embodied in the individual's conscious life, the blacker and denser it is. If an inferiority is conscious, one always has a chance to correct it. Furthermore, it is constantly in contact with other interests, so that it is continually subjected to modifications. But if it is repressed and isolated from consciousness, it never gets corrected."

This is an idea that has been expressed in comics several times before. One of the most famous ones is Rorsharch’s monologue from Watchmen. 

Rorsarch’s monologue is expressing a strictly Jungian idea. If no one attempts to deal with the problems that are inherent in modern day society and effect everybody, then those problematic elements will eventually float to the surface no matter how much they’re ignored. If one person litters it’s not a big deal, but if one hundred people litter then there’s going to be trash everywhere. If people keep ignoring the trash everywhere and make no attempt to deal with it, the problem is just going to stick around until it’s impossible to ignore. 

This is what we are witnessing happening in My Hero Academia as of this arc. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will form up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout, save us! 

The League of Villains are not just characters. They are the manifestations of what has been repressed about society. They are the filth that has accumulated floating to the surface. This is an inevitability with repression. Everything that is repressed will show eventually. 

2. There Are No Real Heroes

Dabi’s statement “There are No Real Heroes” isn’t just him being an edgelord. It’s a genuine response to the trauma he’s suffered. There’s on example from another piece of media I think illustrates this perfectly. 

Dangan Ronpa: Another Episode is a story where children who were abused begin a rebellion first by killing the adults who abused them, and then against the society that ignored their abuse, but they begin taking it too far and slaughter adults who were not involved. 

There is one moment in the game where the main character, a normal girl who has never been abused by an adult confronts one of the children about this. The best argument she can come up with is “Not all adults...” 

The child’s response is to scream: “Then why didn’t anyone save me?” 

If the world is good. If people are just. If heroes exist. Then why did this little girl not get saved? Why was she abused by the people around her? Why did no one else come to help? 

Remember Jung, people are on a whole not as good as we imagine them to be. The heroes in My Hero Academia are the same. We are told that they save people. We are told that they are good and right. Yet we witness countless examples of heroes not saving people. We see heroes being used as tools of violent suppression, rather than saving people. 

There are no real heroes. In Stain’s words, heroes are phonies. That’s because heroes are not as good as we are told they are. Society is not as good as we are told. 

What’s important is that a child is screaming this. What good is a society that can’t save one little girl? How do you expect a child to understand the reasons why they weren’t saved? For Dabi, for Stain, heroes are people who we are told are good but don’t act good. This is especially prevalent for Dabi who was hurt personally and had his entire family destroyed by one of the bad heroes. How is Dabi supposed to believe that heroes are good, when not only does Endeavor who doesn’t care about saving other people only defeating strong enemies is constantly praised as a good hero, but also completely got away with what he did to his family. 

There is Endeavor the hero. 

There is Endeavor’s shadow.

How can one of his victims. Someone who was most likely killed by him really believe that heroes exist when he was killed by a hero? How can he believe society is good when his father is praised by society. This is what repression does it makes people ignorant, and therefore complicit. Endeavor is not just the problem he’s propped up by society as a whole. Even people who are good, well-intentioned people end up supporting Endeavor completely ignorant to what he’s done. 

All might literally not only openly supports a child abuser like Endeavor, but praises him as a good hero, and even reccomends other children like Bakugo and Deku study under him. How much of this is genuine igonrance, and how much is intenitonal negligence? Todoroki walks around with a scar on his face and a clear chip on his shoulder about his dad. All Might doesn’t notice because he’s never questioned hero society before. 

This is something we are shown over and over about hero society. That it thrives by intentional negligence. Shigaraki’s not being edgy once again he’s talking from experience. 

Shigaraki suffers a terrible accident and despite wandering around looking for help at five years old in one of the most densely populated places with several heroes running around not a single person comes to help him. It’s not just ignorance it’s intentional negligence, because Shigaraki’s not a good or virtuous victim, because Heroes don’t save people they beat up villains. They’re a tool for violent suppression. 

All Might acting as the symbol of peace also acted as a symbol of repression. Because there are groups of people who don’t get saved by All Might. People like Twice who will never get saved. How can they call themselves heroes if the weakest, the worst off, the most damaged are always thrown to the wolves. 

3. A Reckoning

What is repressed cannot stay repressed forever. Dabi is covered in shadow this entire chapter, because he’s acting as a stand-in for the repressed id of society. The shadow that is there and is created by the heroes. He even parallels the way Hawks was a few chapters ago.

Another unheroic hero. A hero who doesn’t save someone crying and begging for help in front of them and instead decides to stab them in the back because that’s is what is easiest and most convenient. 

Hawks. Endeavor. Heroes in general, claim to be heroic, claim to never give up. But then don’t bother to save people like twice, even when they’re crying and begging in front of them. We are being presented with heroes as they exist in the ideal, and then the way heroes actually act. Miruko says a hero never gives up, Hawks gave up on Twice and tried to murder him ridiclously fast. 

The light casts a shadow, this is a paradox we’ve seen before with Endeavor too. Hawks sees Endeavor as an ideal of someone who never gives up. 

Natsuo rightfully pointed out that Endeavor gave up all too quickly actually. He gave up fighting against All Might and instead abused his wife and children. 

For every single action there is the light and there is the shadow. However, hero society never acknowledges the shadow and chooses to repress its evils instead of confronting them. It’s not that Endeavor abused his family it’s that he got away with it, not a single person held him accountable. Hawks was taken in by the hero commission in the exact same way that Shigaraki was by AFO, and nobody held them accountable for doing that to a child.

Child abuse is still child abuse even if the “good guys” are doing it. In Jungian ideas if nothing is confronted about society then eventually something will rise up. 

"[The figure of the Trickster] is the collective shadow."

A collective shadow. A collective societal Id. Returning to Rorsharch’s quote it’s quite literally the trash that everyone threw away floating back up to the surface and brought to light. This is why people are moved by Stain’s words, because it is in a way a wake up call to confront what is wrong about society. 

Stain, Shigaraki, Dabi all three of them are manifesting of literal collective shadows of society. They are there to confront what everyone is told is good and show the darker sides to things. 

That is essentially what Dabi is talking about. Dabi himself is not just an abused child, he stands in for all of the abused children who get left behind or ignored by society. 

What Dabi is talking about is a reckoning. The confrontation with the shadow of society that will inevitably happen. The garbage floating to the surface. Dabi is embodying that shadow in his actions. Individuals don’t matter. What matters is the collective will of everybody, all of the outcasts banded together, everything which can be no longer ignored. 

Which is why in a Jungian sense, the league themselves do not matter. Dabi himself does not matter. Not even Hawks matters. What matters is the ideas they represent behind them. It’s why Dabi cannot be killed, because eventually hero society continuing on unchanged will just create another Dabi. 

Individuals and individual suffering do not matter in the face of hero society. That’s what Dabi is angrily reminding Hawks of. He may have just saved a bunch of people by killing Twice, but nobody is going to thank him, his deeds are going to go unrewarded, because in the end Hawks too is somebody as equally disposable as Dabi and Twice. What matters is the ideas they represent, and Hawks has murdered someone in the name of resisting change to the status quo while Dabi is trying to fight it. Hawks too is complicit in the same system that abused him as a child, and his actions do nothing to stop that abuse. 

A reckoning. A fall. A shadow that is not confronted or acknowledged will never change. If it is repressed it will never get corrected. My Hero Academia posits that not only is hero society falling inevitable, it is also necessary. Dabi himself is a villain, but he’s also acting as the shadow of all of the ills of society in order to force society to confront those ills rather than just continue on ignoring them. 

[himooonlight]

who are you? pt. 1 (reggie x reader)

pairing: reggie x reader word count: 3k warnings: sad stuff i guess? this is mostly fluff though plot: you dream about reggie constantly and when you see him perfoming with julie, you decide to ask her about him A/N: english is not my first language and this is my first fanfic, so please, be nice ok? hope you like this. oh, and i'm thinking maybe 5 parts? who knows

- I know this is going to sound weird, but do you know any Reginald who likes country music?

The girl in front of me looks at me as if I have just said the biggest nonsense she has ever heard. Her smile fades and she checks around us as if looking for someone who had also heard my question.

Julie is an intriguing girl. She seems very understandable and kind, but I feel like my sanity is in her hands, which makes her figure weigh too much on me. I can't look away from her worried features, feeling bad for making her feel like this. I know she had a terrible year having to deal with her mother's death and all the block to play and sing, but I can't help it.

Not knowing the truth is going to consume me.

- What did you say? - She asks.

Julie and I have never spoken before. I am a year older than her and our school schedules have never crossed, even though I’ve seen her in the halls before. Everyone knows the incredible voice she has, the artistic talent that seems to run through her fingers - it would be impossible not to know about her reputation. What made me talk to her, though, was Reginald.

Reggie.

A boy I thought didn't really exist until three days ago.

- I asked if you know any Reginald who likes country music. - I repeat in a lower tone. - Do you think we can talk?

She doesn't hesitate to agree and soon steps forward to go to the music room. I only know about the existence of that classroom because some of my friends like to go there during lunch hours to sleep a little before afternoon classes. She opens the door, lets me go through, and closes it behind me, making sure we're alone.

We sit in the back of the room, near the windows. The horizontal blinds are open and the weather looks happy. The sun shines brightly and there are no clouds to tell the story of the crazy girl who has been dreaming of someone unreal for months and had fallen in love with a non-existent being.

It's funny how the figurative tranquility makes me uneasy. The day seems peaceful, serene while chaos is established inside of me. The blue, maroon and white paintings on the wall seem to make fun of my nervousness; the delicate yet majestic instruments seem to want me to leave considering that my madness is too much for anyone to bear.

Julie looks at me not knowing that she is my hope and that also makes me anxious. Possibly even more apprehensive than comparing my problems with the calmness of the place around me.

- I'm not sure where to start or if you're going to believe me, but I need you to listen carefully. If it doesn't make sense to you, if you don't know what I'm talking about, please just ignore it, ok?

Julie nods and moves her chair closer to mine. Her eyes look worried and I can see that she is an ordinary person. As much as many people have put her on a pedestal, she looks normal and comprehensive at close range. She doesn't look like someone who would be evil and bitter of her own accord and it's comforting to know that even if she can't help me, maybe she can understand my torments in some way.

I let the air enter my lungs, my shoulders going up and down slightly. She doesn't pressure me to speak even though I can interpret by her fingers tapping on her leg that she wants me to say something soon.

Without thinking too much about word choices, I open my heart to her because some things need to be shared.

Even when it's not easy to start.

- A few months ago I started having dreams with Reggie. He looks just like the guy you sing in that band with, the bass player. A friend of mine showed me a video of you a few days ago and I know it's him, it can only be him. - Without thinking too much, my hands reach for hers, as if begging her to believe me. Julie doesn't back down or make a move to start laughing and that encourages me to continue, with as many details as possible. - Do you know who he is? My friend said they are holograms, but probably it's inspired by some real person, right?

My speech starts to get tangled up and Julie continues with the same expression as when we arrived, just listening to what I have to say. I feel pathetic because I seem to be performing a show for something that in the eyes of others may be irrelevant. I wish I could explain to her that I am usually a very rational person. I like reasonable explanations, the feeling of being in control of where I am going, of having a detailed plan on how to achieve my goals. In general I know that unforeseen events can happen, but the relief that organization and rationality bring me is too comforting and important for me to be able to accept Reggie in my life under normal circumstances.

However, he quickly became someone important to me and it's scary how just the thought of him can make me feel nice and peaceful.

Reggie brought me peace of the kind that you often seek while sleeping or resting. Peace of the kind that we look for when looking at the sky, at flowers, at children playing in a park happily. He, someone I didn't know, offered me happiness by just appearing in my dreams, smiling at my sleeping version. It was something about his adorable smile, his small teeth, his upturned nose and expressive eyebrows. It was something about the way he made me laugh, how he had genuine intentions about everything, how his beautiful eyes lit up when he talked about something he liked.

- I don't know anything about creating holograms, sorry. - Julie answers, smiling weakly and clearing her throat. She looks uncomfortable, so I let go of her hand. - But if I find anything about it, I'll let you know.

- Julie, you really don't know anything about him? He loves pizza, has a very peculiar sense of humor and likes children and animals. He likes it very much. He is not very close to his family, but he regards his two best friends as if they were brothers. He is kind, understanding and real. I guess truthful is a better choice of words, cause I don't know if he really exists.

I know she can see my distress from the way I'm letting the words flow, but I can't help it. Reggie not only brings me peace but also a feeling of belonging that seems to go beyond the moment.

It's not like I'm getting to know him, it's like I'm recognizing him.

- Look, are you sure you are not confusing him with someone else?

Julie herself doesn't seem to believe or agree with her question. I'm being too specific and I know it. I know this because Reggie asked for my help on Thursday night's dream, saying that he didn't know if he could make it. I know this because he told me the name of his band. I know this because he said he didn't recognize me, but that he felt the same way about me, about us.

- Julie, I know about Sunset Curve. I looked them up and I know they died 25 years ago. - I answer, looking at my own feet. I don't want her to think I'm a threat and that I'm going to expose her secret. I just want answers, I just want a chance to understand my connection with Reggie. - I just want to know if you know Reggie. If there is anyone I can ask why he appears in my dreams, why I…

I can't complete it out loud, but mentally I say "fell in love with him".

I know why I fell in love with him, to be honest.

Reggie is physically familiar. More than that, it's like meeting someone special who means a lot to me. He's someone whose beauty comes from his smile. The kind of person who is always trying to see the positive in things. Who never believes that he has actually lost anything or that he is in the wrong place. He's the type to believe that every thing he dropped on the floor and didn't see, every umbrella forgotten somewhere, every delay unintentionally; everything means something. An arrangement so that he could be in the place he is in right now and that this place could not be a mistake. He's the type who doesn't bother with something that broke, with something unexpected, with something he isn't planning because he is convinced that maybe he broke a plate today so he could go to the market and find money on the floor or just feel how pleasant the day is. That maybe he was late because the bus he was going to take was going to break down halfway. He is the type who thinks that regardless of the situation, he is in the right place, where he should be.

Reggie has an engaging aura, as much as I couldn't even explain what exactly it means. He is affectionate, funny and I don't think I could ever create him.

- Why you…? - She insists.

- Why I feel this way about him.

Julie seems to think about what I said and I choose not to press her. I pay attention to the room, on how the sun comes through the window and makes me think of the day I met Reggie.

My first dream with him was at a book club. It was a friendly place that I had never visited before; a two-story white house with a big backyard. The meeting took place outside and the residence looked like it was turned into a cultural center. About five people had books in their hands and were talking excitedly about the story, going on about the metaphors the author had used to explain the parents' suffering when they lost their child. Near the boundaries of the place, three boys who seemed out of place were talking quietly. At their feet, boxes of instruments looked like misunderstood foreigners while snacks and sweets on the table near them were very much welcomed. The blond boy next to Reggie was talking to another boy about something I couldn't hear and Reggie seemed to shine.

It was late afternoon and the sun was passing through the trees in the yard. The white fence he leaned against contrasted with the black clothes he wore, while the darkness of the fabric contradicted with the gentleness of his face. He had caught my attention the minute my eyes met his.

Without saying anything, Reggie came towards me, making me nervous. In the dream, however, I was a man. As much as I was living and seeing everything from my point of view, my body was masculine and taller. My hands were calloused for some reason that I did not know and my clothes were extremely large, almost sloppy.

- Hi. - Reggie said, smiling as if he knew me. His eyes were shining and I was sure mine were too. - Do you have a name or can I call you mine?

We were not too far away from his friends for them not to hear us. Soon they started laughing out loud, embarrassed by the pick up line. I couldn't help but laugh, even though in some part of my brain I knew that maybe if the situation was rationalized, I would find it weird. However, I felt the same way about him. The desire to meet him, to know his preferences, to feel what his hand would be like in mine.

- Maybe I went too far with that one. - He said, giving me no chance to answer. - I think I have the right to remain silent.

- Reggie, you have the right to remain silent. What you lack is capacity. - The blonde said, making the other friend laugh even louder. Some man behind us asked us to speak quietly and right then the sun stopped touching the man in front of me. It seemed that we finally understood that moment; seemed that the universe made sense.

Reginald was speechless, just like me. We looked at each other for a while, admiring each other's details. Because of that exact moment I would know how to point the timid freckles on your nose even with my eyes shut or on the way his eyes seemed to have at least four different shades of blue and green. At that moment I fell in love with his skin, his dimples, how well his hair was combed and how he smelled of jasmine.

- Hey. - I replied to him, holding out my hand. He looked into my eyes, then my lips and then took my hand in his. Time seemed to stop around us. - I guess you do have a name, Reggie, but can I call you mine?

Julie touches my arm, pulling me out of my memories.

- I don't know if I would have answers for you. - She says. - I'm sorry.

Julie gets up and goes to the door. I can't ignore the fact that my throat is dry and my hands are shaking slightly in anticipation of any more response that she wants to give me. Anything, any explanation that might justify how I feel about Reggie.

She suddenly stops and turns to me with wide eyes.

- You can't see, right? - She asks.

I don't know what she's talking about, so I just shake my head.

- Where's Reggie? - She talks again.

When I open my mouth to say that I don't know, he appears near the piano. His eyes are more intense than in my dreams and he does not smell of jasmine, but it's still him.

My Reggie.

I get up quickly and almost trip over the chair, making Julie look at me with even wider eyes. I look from her to him, repeating the process a few times.

He wasn't there a few seconds ago.

He appeared in the middle of nowhere.

Him.

He exists.

- What's going on here? - He asks Julie, but his body is turned towards me. I look him straight in the eye and walk slowly because I'm afraid this is a dream and I want to spend more time looking at him like that. - Julie, why does it look like she sees me?

- I see you, Reggie. - I speak softly, not diverting my attention from him. - You exist.

He opens his mouth a few times, not understanding what is happening and I feel the same thing that I felt in that book club.

Feels like I'm coming home, that I love him, that everything makes sense. I feel that there is too much of him in my heart.

- Can you see me? - He asks, walking slowly towards me. It seems the same distance from my first dream; the same strong feeling of belonging, of finding something that I had already given up looking for. - Do you really see me?

- I see you, I can really see you.

My vision starts to blur and I hear Julie talking in the background, but I can only look at him and ask myself if he knows who I am, if he feels the same. When a tear falls from my eyes, Reggie walks faster, ending our distance and extending his hand to touch my face. When I feel a shy and almost unnoticed contact, I close my eyes and throw myself into his arms, but I can't find his body.

Confused, I open my eyes again.

He's not there.

He disappeared in the middle of nowhere.

Him.

He does not exist.

- It's just a dream, isn't it? Is this my farewell to him? Will I never see him again in my dreams? - I ask Julie. I touch the piano that seemed so close to Reggie before and let my fingers roam the black top of the instrument. I just wish I could feel him the same way. - I could have swore that this is real, but I think I love Reggie so much that he made me like being asleep more than being awake. It is terrible to love him in my dreams and not have him when I wake up in the morning.

- You love me?

I hear his voice behind me and when I turn, he's there.

- Who are you? - I ask, like an idiot. I know who he is, but I need to understand a few things before I completely freak out.

Julie walks over to me and touches my wrist. She seems to be asking me not to scream or pass out. Something in Reggie's eyes is apologizing silently and I'm afraid of his answer.

- I'm Reggie. - He smiles weakly and it hurts me because it's a sad smile. - And I think you're my unfinished business.

[nightswithkookmin]

JIKOOK DYNAMICS: JIMIN'S LOVE LANGUAGE

PREFACE

In my previous post, I shared my thoughts on what I think is Jikook's love language, specifically Jungkook's; and how in my estimation Jimin is the only member within BTS that speaks it, comes close to speaking it and most importantly makes the effort to speak it.

In this post, I attempt to outline what I think is Jimin's love language and show the various ways I feel JK speaks it or comes close to speaking it more so than the others in BTS.

Now I have to state for the record that I do not know or purport to know Jimin or Jungkook or any of these members herein mentioned in any way special and personal other than through the content we all consume on them.

Nor do I intend to be malicious or disrespectful towards them with this post, to intend to strip away their individuality for the sake of shipping symmetry.

Thus, I reiterate, everything I express in here is my thoughts, my observations and my opinion and I pray you treat it as such.

Let the records show, also that, I will bug spray any fake woke wannabe edgy shipper with a Tuktukker complex that takes my words out of context, misconstrue it to suit their own agenda and then turn around to call me out for it. In the name of Jesus, I will avada kedabra your ass. Seriously.

JIMIN

I've always been fascinated by Jimin. By the person he is. And although I do not have a comprehensive understanding of this man's inner workings, he's got to be the most complex and frankly interesting character I've come across in all my shipping years.

His duality is confusing and coupled with his Libra energy, his character and personality can be and is quite often misconstrued and misinterpreted within the shipping community.

He is friendly, cute, funny, beautiful and ship compatible with anyone.

Very often, I find, most people cannot tell his personality from his idol self slash persona or even his love language from his affectionate nature; thus resulting in these bizzare fallacies and ridiculous assumptions about him such as: he is a flirt, hoe, clingy, homewrecker, attention seeker and a plethora of slurs and sobriquet that's defamatory and slanderous at best- its ridiculous.

I get that not everyone likes him and as such wouldn't hesitate to filter his words and actions through arbitrary metrics to arrive at conclusions that profits them and does nothing but help them make sense of their hate- Y'all don't love yourselves enough.

Not to say he is my bias therefore he is perfect. That would be a blunder. He has his shortcomings, he is human after all. What I'm saying is most people don't get him and as such read him wrong?

What's more discombobulating, is the stan who swears up and down they know Jimin well enough but don't see him treating JK any different from the rest of the boys in BTS therefore Jikook isn't real- insert shook pikachu face.

Then there are those stans with genuine shipping concerns about the love dynamics between the two:

Those that feel JM gives more to JK than he receives back. That he is more supportive of JK than JK is of him. Very often, these people would bring up the issue of JK not promoting Promise when it first came out as evidence of this- it's been years let it go.

JK not being as vocal and open about his feelings and interest in JM the way Jimin is and has been about JK is also another area of concern for these stans. If you try to explain to them its because JK is/was shy they will kick- your- ass. Hell, I will kick your ass too. I'll explain later.

Some people also- I know I have at one point- have described JK's interest in and descriptions of JM as a bit shallow and vain compared to how the other members speak of Jimin.

To them, the other members usually talk about how smart and intelligent JM is, how kind and nurturing he is. How much of himself he gives to them. That the way the members talk about Jimin often helps give us a glimpse into the real Park Jimin as distinct from the persona we see on the screens.

But then there is JK: JM hyung is sexy. He has pretty eyes. 'I want you.' Then he proceeds to drool over the Jibooty, squeeze them legs shut tight while struggling to sit through a Jimin solo dance without popping boners left right left around Jimin- Bless him.

I mean, dude nearly snapped his neck trying to catch a glimpse of the Ji-abs in the middle of a performance? Damn.

To be fair, the other members don't talk like this about Jimin and sexualise Jimin as often as JK does because, they don't want to screw Jimin's brains out? Cough, cough. Hashtag save Jimin from JK. Lol

If JK is sexually attracted to Jimin, how else do you expect him to express that? Never mind that he's done some of these things subconsciously at times. You know what...

Y'all need to give this man a break!

[RANT]

He was a hormonal teen- he is still relatively pretty young. It's ridiculous to expect and demand such high level of maturity from a 16/17 year old experiencing a nonplatonic love for the first time in his life and more so in an unforgiving and invasive environment such as that in which he found himself.

Jk and Jimin found each other before they found themselves and it's unreasonable to think that that didn't have a toll on their relationship dynamics. They are human.

They are each growing and maturing at different paces. Their relationship has suffered through its growing pains; Certainly, one person is going to appear lacking in one or two areas in one way shape or form and at any given point in their love journey. That doesn't make them less real.

Again, their careers and the pursuit of it haven't exactly given them the space, time or normalcy to explore what they are and who they are in a functional way, in my opinion.

Everything is moving fast in their world, everything is highly exaggerated and highly scrutinized. Kpop is not exactly a healthy space to foster a healthy relationship and it would be a miracle if any of them should come out unscathed.

Neither one of them went searching for this love thingy nor were they even experienced enough to look at their relationship beyond the convenience of it and the excitement of it- The orgasms were enough reason for them, I think.

I get uncomfortable when some Jikookers, out of good intentions, claim Jikook knew what they were doing, should have known therefore could have known the consequences of them coupling up in a group like BTS before entering into their relationship- let me stop you right there!

While this assumption may seem like a compliment to them it also perpetuates the adultification of early days Jikook which I find disturbing.

They were teens not grown adults when they fell in love. We can't expect and demand such level of maturity from them at that age as cool as that would have made them.

They don't need to be cool to be real. They don't need to be mature to be real.

Jikook is real regardless of whether they were thoughtful or not thoughtful about the consequences of them choosing to date in a group setting, or a homophobic society at the onset of their relationship.

It's ridiculous to dismiss what they are now on the grounds that S.K is a homophobic society or that dating a coworker is not inconsequential.

People date their coworkers all the time and there are gay couples in S.K.

Jikook were too young to comprehend the consequences of dating because which teen worries about all of that before popping one off for the lord? On which planet, sir/ma'am??Were they thinking with their 'ducks?' I believe so. But again, that doesn't make them any less real.

From what I can tell anyway, 2018 was the year Jikook had anything resembling a serious thoughtful contemplation of the status of their relationship- Well, 2018 and this later half of 2020 as some of you might have already noticed. More on this later.

But yes, this adultification of early days Jikook is absurd and needs to stop. And what's equally disturbing is the infantilization of the adult day Jikook- you can't expect Jikook dynamics to remain the same throughout the years. That's bizzare.

Don't expect them to be their same jeonlous, Jimlous, possessive selves. They are growing. They are evolving as individuals and as a pair.

I side eye the fuck out of these fake woke shippers and 'grown ups' who filter Jikook interactions through adult lens and tag moments like Jimlous and Jeonlous as toxic and unhealthy without taking into context where they were at in their love journey or even their age. What y'all think this is? Fiction? Get the fuck outta here.

Jikook have had to learn and grow on the Job and around their job and learn to love eachother under the scrutiny of severe cameras and weird Ahjummas. Leave them the fuck alone or I swear I will petrify your ass for an entire comeback season. Lol

[Rant over]

All that being said, I get it. The way JK talks about Jimin isn't exactly special or unique from the way the other's speak about Jimin. But it isn't exactly superficial either...

And yes, it's quite unsettling that he doesn't describe Jimin in a way that gives meaningful insight into Jimin's personality as distinct from the others', given as he has exclusive access to Jimin more so than any of the members- we have a lot to unpack today, don't we?

Then on the other hand, there are those who think the exact opposite and see JK as the one who gives more to their relationship. That JK takes their relationship more seriously than Jimin does. They see Jimin as a bit wishy-washy when it comes to his commitment to their relationship- this breaks my heart.

Often, such people will cite Jimin's flirty nature, his lack of boundaries with others amongst other things, to prove their point...

Grab a seat, this discussion is going to be a long one. Smiley face.

JIMIN'S LOVE LANGUAGE

Jimin first got on my alt-ship radar in Rookie King when he was given an opportunity to air any and all of his grievances accumulated over the years against any member or staff of BigHit but instead chose to use that opportunity to talk about JK and how JK's actions had been hurting him.

Prior to this, he was just my bias and I would casually ship him with Suga, V, RM and basically all the members- except JK. I just couldn't ship JK with anyone.

Back then, I had a vague sense of JM's personality but felt I knew enough about him to theorize on his love language and JK was the last person I thought of as capable of meeting those emotional needs of Jimin's.

Rookie King changed my mind.

Jimin wasn't just trying to squash his differences with JK, he was trying to get closer to him. To get emotionally intimate with him- this is one of the things that sparked my interest in their dynamics.

Because it wasn't as if they weren't close. They were. They had a skinship between them. Skinship, or lack of physical boundaries as I like to call it, is one of the means through which BTS achieve intimacy amongst them.

Jikook had that between them at the time, they went everywhere together, woke each other up- they were close.

Yet Jimin felt they weren't close enough. That there was a wall between them. Now, I see a lot of people misinterpret this period in the Jikook timeline as that Jimin was crushing hard on JK. He wasn't. In my opinion.

You see, Jimin was the last person to Join the band. This was bound to have an effect on his relationship dynamics with the rest of the members as he had missed out on two years worth of emotional connection and camaraderie with them.

He had had only one year to bond and get to know the others away from the cameras and in a way that could help him develop a sense of belongingness within the group.

Within this one year, he had school, voice training, and other activities that possibly got in the way of him truly building an intimate connection with the others.

He is the only member out of the seven whose intimacy journey got captured on camera. He had to foster a connection with the others with the cameras around.

But building a connection with people even in a platonic sense is quite an intimate and private process. It takes vulnerability, honesty, a willingness to submit and subject oneself to varying degrees of humiliation, a sacrifice of the self, ego and pride in a way that just strips you naked- metaphorically speaking.

And in Jimin's case, he had to go through this stage and process openly and with the cameras around- the second hand embarrassment I get from watching early days Park Jimin!

He literally had to be the clown of the group, the hufflepuff, the clingy one, the flirty one, the one with the abs, the loud and chatty one as well as all the tasteless epithets people now weaponize against him.

I believe, all he was trying to do at this stage was breach the barriers he felt existed between him and the others as the newcomer of the group so he didn't feel like an outsider.

That is his first love language- the need to belong. He has a strong desire to feel connected with people. He cares about people and connection. He's reiterated this throughout the years and even more loudly in the recent Japan interviews.

He wanted to be part of BTS both physically and emotionally. He wanted to fit in, to belong with them, to be accepted and viewed as one of the boys- BTS.

You could see this in the way he had adopted the mannerisms of the group- the skinship, the love language of the group if you will.

It is why when Suga complained about him not liking him as much, Jimin immediately drew closer to him and wrapped his hands around him, initiating skinship between them to show he liked him.

Jimin tried to speak the groups love language so he could bond with them but he also began to infuse his own love language.

If you've seen his relationship with his father you'd understand that Jimin expresses his love through giving, nurturing etc. It is how his primary care givers showed him love and so how he also shows and conveys his love.

The members have talked about how he would encourage them to talk, to open up, how he would listen to them, be there for them and give them gifts- the birthday gift exchange culture in BTS didn't exist until Jimin arrived in BTS.

What I'm trying to say is, Jimin has a distinct way of showing love that is unique from how everyone else in the group expresses their love. That, there is also an established love parlance within BTS that everyone speaks and that is skinship.

So when Jimin does skinship with any member he is not acting 'clingy' he is just speaking the love language that the group understands. But when Jimin nurtures and acts supportive and what not, he is speaking his own unique love language.

Now I have talked extensively about how Jimin expresses his in my last post so I will be focusing mainly on how he receives loves or what gestures he interprets as love.

And since there is a general consensus that VMin have an emotional connection, I will be referencing their relationship a lot for comparisons sake.

Tae is the only member Jimin got to spend the most time with around predebut without the intrusion of the cameras. This i feel allowed Tae room to strip back and be fully vulnerable with Jimin without reservation as is required of intimacy- which was not the case for Jikook hence JK shying away from interacting with JM in front of the cameras.

Jikook wasn't accorded the luxury of privacy VMin had to build their bond. Jikook had to build their bond with the camera's trailing them. How many times have we seen JK give death stares to the camera people for invading his me time with Jimin?

Not to be psychoanalytic but I feel, this is what induced the exhibitionist tendencies we see in them- or perhaps I'm wrong and this is just them being extra. Bless them.

Within the one year JM was trying to connect with JK through skinship, JK was also only coming around to understanding what skinship meant to him. They were evolving at different paces.

JK has the most walls in BTS. He wasn't just physically closed off to skinship in the early days forcing Tae to strip him naked in the bathroom, he was emotionally closed off too.

He is still pretty much emotionally closed off- he likes to put up walls. He had his own room at the dorm, does his own laundry, barely keeps in touch with the others or pick up the damn phone when they call etc.

Jk barely partakes in the group's established way of life except for perhaps the skinship. In my opinion.

It took JK a while to understand this culture of skinship though. And the members, all of them, had to push his boundaries further back in order to connect with him.

For instance, Jin pinching his nipples to wake him up, Tae doing- well, all of it. Go watch Taekook sexual tension edits, I dare you. You'll understand.

These members had three years off camera with JK to build a connection with him and even they were met with some resistance from JK.

All Jimin had was a year with JK. I feel Jimin lowkey coveted what the others had with JK and perhaps wanted to have that with him too. Why? Because of his need to belong and connect with people. Watching JK's dynamics with the others probably made him feel left out.

I also understand how this could have been overwhelming for young JK who was having both his physical boundaries and emotional boundaries breached at the same time by this person whom he he'd known for only a year.

That's just one of the major differences between Jikook and Taekook: while Tae was busy breaching the physical walls between him and JK, Jimin was attempting emotional heist on him. Bravo Jimin, Bravo.

So do I think at this point in 2013 that Jikook were falling in love or had fallen in love? NO. But what I took from that moment was that Jimin wanted and needed to feel a sense of belongingness with JK.

Mind you I said he wanted to belong, not owned. Freedom is a component of Jimin's love language. In as much as he wants to be kept he wants to be set free- To be be given the room and freedom to explore options and take risks without judgement and without sanctions.

This need is often misconstrued as him being noncommittal.

His need for freedom, I believe, stems from his being raised in a conservative home with parents that directed and dictated every facet of his life and wouldn't even allow him to pursue his passions until later. It took a while for his father to give him the go ahead to pursue his dream- which is performing on stage.

This is why I said in my last post that Jimin has a need to be in control of the decision making in a relationship. Being able to do as he pleases is important to him. Being able to control his own narrative is important to him. And the only person in BTS that permits him to have such authority over him is JK.

Now, I know you are going to say 'but JK is a bit possessive yadda yadda yadda'.

Listen, Jimin's need for freedom is inextricably linked with his fear of judgment and repercussion. What this means is, although he wants his freedom he is often afraid of what will happen if he should go for it.

As such, very often he wouldn't do anything without permission. Especially if he feels it's going to land him in trouble.

I fist noticed this in the 2014 Jikook bangtan bomb when he said he was starting to take a liking to JK but then right after he asked if JK was ok with that. Suga have also said, Jimin doesn't go out of his way to do things that makes people hate him- See this is why he needs JK. He could use some rebellion in his life.

However, this fear of sanctions often makes him complacent to and an accomplice in toxic behavioural patterns.

For instance, until recently, he would enable JK and encourage his acts of jealousy and possessiveness and even incite them at times. He would hold on to the thorns if it means keeping the rose.

But I see him asserting himself and demanding space within their relationship at times but when he does and JK withdraws he would act clingy around JK.

It is what Manila was about, what August 2019 was about and what April/May 2020 was about. I know some of y'all don't agree with my analysis on these moments, but I'm gonna have to stand by it.

Jimin is all about the balance of scales. The balance of needs and wants. The balance of fears and desires. It's just the Libra in him. Give him too much freedom and he will feel unwanted, hold on too tight and he would feel suffocated.

'I value my relationship. Spending time with my friends is gold' remember this shade?

Jimin's fear of Judgment comes from being a perfectionist and also being raised in a conservative home with a lot of expectations of him to be the model son as the elder male.

Thus, he instinctively gravitates towards people who are less judgy or have too much expectations of him.

Also, because he believes he has to work hard to achieve the things he wwants he wants to be loved, it would mean a lot to him if he didn't have to work hard to have someone love him.

It makes sense then that he would gravitate towards JK.

Jk embodies all of Jimin's wildest desires. I call this the allure of the Golden Maknae. Jk doesn't conform. He doesn't care about people's opinions of him and lives his life on his own terms- something Jimin is striving for.

No member in BTS is as free spirited, or as rebellious as JK is. When Suga told him not to get a tattoo because the fans would hate it- he's gotten it anyway hasn't he?

The best part, JK fell all on his own. And you damn right. he fell hard.

Still on the subject of fears, another fear I feel Jimin has that speaks to his love language is the fear of being a burden.

It is why he gives and gives and keeps giving. He'd rather give than receive. Which by the way, JK is the only member I have seen Jimin demand back what he gives him. Emotionally speaking.

Because he gives a lot of himself, he burns out quickly and feels emotionally drained quite often.

He has admitted himself that he used to drink by himself in his room whenever he felt drained. I assume he drank by himself because he didn't want to be a burden to others. Aka JK.

You see, JK is an empath. He feels people's pain as if they were his own. You just have to see him tear up while watching JM cry to understand what I mean by this. Jimin is a nurturer, he knows what it feels like to listen to someone's pain.

And if Tae is the one he goes to when it becomes overbearing then what does he need JK for? Glad you asked!

What JK offers Jimin is nourishment. A safe space for him to heal and reboot. JK replenishes Jimin. It is why he constantly wants to be around him.

Jk has been a canvas in their love dynamics from day one. They've both had to negotiate their needs and wants to make their relationship work. Which is something I find unique about their dynamics and why I believe they are real.

JK's lack of experience in dating, meant he had gone into their relationship without any preconceived notions of love. He's had to learn to love Jimin the way Jimin wants to be loved.

Coming from the background he's coming from, and having been denied his ambitions for such a long time, I see why Jimin would be drawn to people that are quite ambitious.

And even though, JK wasn't this person at first, Jimin has had to hype him up to the task. He pushes JK to be more ambitious.

When it comes to JK, I feel it's more about his potential to be everything Jimin wants in a partner and JK seems more than happy to comply with this.

Because of Jimin's duality and as a natural nurturer, I feel Jimin would also be attracted to someone emotionally open to recieving his love but not too emotionally dependent on him- the balance of scales I mentioned earlier.

It is why VMin wouldn't work, in my opinion. Tae is too emotionally dependent on Jimin. He ends up taking too much than he gives. On the other hand, Suga isn't emotionally dependent enough.

Again, for a man who's battled insecurity for years, it's safe to assume security, certainty and stability are an intricate part of his love language.

He seeks validation of these needs through the most random of things. In my opinion. He wants to be the one that knows JK the best. It matters to him if their clothes match, if their hair colors match, if JK meets his eyes in the middle of a serious comeback interview, if he checks all of JK's answers- hell, dude be whispering sweet empty nothings in JK's ears most times, talking about they are destined to be together and shit. You are me, I am you. Shit.

As annoying as some of these behaviors may be, JK is very considerate and tolerant of them and consideration is another one of Jimin's love language. This goes back to having been denied his dreams by his father. That denial flowed from a lack of consideration of his needs.

And as much as emotionally connected he is with Tae, Tae barely takes his feelings into consideration. And you see this in the letter Tae's written to Jimin. Or even in the dumpling incident where Tae put his want above Jimin's.

Not to mention the moments, JM have had to walk out of rooms because- Tae won't stop playing with JK's dam hair! Lol. They are cute.

People take from Jimin without reservation. But Jk is considerate as Jimin is of JK's needs.

Jk wasn't the 'exhibitionist' in that pair. He's a very private individual from what I can tell.

That PDA, that exhibitionism we see in them, that's all Park Jimin. He kinky. Dude freaky as fuck- we ain't mad at that. Bless him.

He enjoys public displays of affection. It's how he receives love. But PDA is not JK's love language, in my opinion. Yet he goes out of his way to show his affections for JM openly.

The best example I can give of this is Rosebowl.

JK understands that in order to be intimate with JM he has to allow himself to be influenced by him.

And Jimin understands that, as much as he wants to be close to JK that he doesn't have to rush him or force him into giving him the things he need from their relationship.

They are both very considerate of each other's needs, as random and ridiculous as those needs may be and cater to them in a way that is uniquely them.

Take the New Jersey live 2019 for example. Jimin seemed exhausted. Didn't want to be on another Live that night but JK clearly wanted to be seen on a Live together with him so he was there.

Another instance is the rock bison incident, where JM exchanged his toy for JK's just to make JK happy.

CONCLUSION

Listen, Jimin is in love with Jk no matter how imperfect you think he is.

No matter how much you think JK sucks at expressing his feelings for JM, Jimin loves him. No matter how close JM is with the other members, aka VMin, Yoonmin, Minimoni and the others; no matter the lack of emotional and physical boundaries between him and the others he will always fall back on Jk because none of those relationships fulfill him as much as JK does.

Jimin's constant need to be around JK could only mean there is some he gets from JK, a sense of fulfillment he gets that he doesn't get from any other member.

Keep supporting Jikook.

Signed,

GOLDY

[watarigarasu]

Hunger

Pairing: Count Lucio x Reader

Word count: 1,232

Warnings: None

Synopsis: Count Lucio discovers that the appetite comes with eating.

Author’s note: It’s the first time I’ve written anything for The Arcana so please, don’t yell at me, I’m s o f t.

The longer he thought about it, the hungrier he grew.

The taste of fine wine lingering deep in his memory and at the tip of his tongue, the elusive smell of fresh baking almost impossible to recall, the joy of stroking his dogs’ fur and the delightful feeling of the sunrays kissing his skin like a devoted lover gone. Despite his untamed greed and thirst, Count Lucio knew the true value of longing, of craving so ardently that the desired first bite brought him the real ecstasy, the sweetest poison staining his lips like a golden caramel he so adored. Still, no matter how much he wished to finally wake up from the endless nightmare he was stuck in, he could not open his eyes.

Count Lucio was truly damned, condemned to suffer alone for all the eternity, trapped in between life and death and looming in the palace corridors’ as nothing more but a cold whisper of the past. His memories, however, were as vivid as never before, as if somehow it was the death which permanently engraved them in his mind. He could not tell whether it was hours, days or weeks he spent on constant imagining, dreaming about the taste of freshly roasted meat with honey sauce and red, dry wine, the smell of expensive oils on his skin and the velvet touch of fabric upon his shoulders. He longed for the weight of the sword in his hand, for the thrill of emotion during hunting, for the music vibrating in his head and chest, and for the genuine, loud laughing when the pride and happiness was filling his whole body and soul.

He used to have everything, that’s why it was hard to believe that now he truly had nothing.

The blissful awakening did not come until he has almost lost the last strand of hope and to his utter awe, it had a lovely face worth perpetuating on the canvas and hanging in the gallery. How he adored it, the look in your eyes, the magic thrilling in your fingers and the power to set him free, to grant him what he needed and deserved the most. You were going to be his salvation, his redemption, giving him yet another chance to make things right.

Right now, however, when he stood ankles deep in the white sand, chill breeze tangled in his hair and the tiny droplets of the ocean waves hitting his face, all the glorious plans of regaining his power seemed small and insignificant. Surprisingly, as if the endless waters in front of him could wash off the whole determination and calm his previous fervor.

Or, perhaps, it was your soothing presence by his side.

“Can you believe it?” he chuckled, the question directed rather at himself than expecting any kind of answer from you.

Lucio peeked at you from over his shoulder and only then you could spot the wide, cheerful smile playing on his lips. It did not fade since you left the palace, leading the count to the beach so he could see all the changes that occurred during his absence. The lack of still worn mourning clothing on the back of the crowd upset him for a little while but the overwhelming sensations coming at him from every direction were enough to quickly distract him from his inconvenience. There were people chatting, street food prepared, vibrant colours of the fabrics for sale, warm air in his lungs, crystal clear sky above his head and—most importantly—your cautious gaze observing his every move, the one which managed to send shivers down his spine.

He has never thought that being seen could be so delightful.

“You must have missed it,” you noticed and vaguely gestured to the surroundings in front of you both. “Being trapped for so long in a fleshless form.”

“Indeed,” Lucio nodded, one of the sharp eyebrows moving slightly up his forehead. “But there are things way more interesting than the simple view.”

He was charming—he was perfectly aware that he could be and straight up decided to use it on you. Broad shoulders, strong arms, lean silhouette and high cheekbones, aquiline nose, golden hair. It was beyond comprehension how could someone so picturesque had hands permanently stained with dark blood.

You had to remember about it, you promised Asra to.

“Look,” he stated hesitantly and closed the distance between you two. “I know this is just a temporary solution for the whole lack of the real body thing but you have to know that it’s really impressive already. Whatever your so called master said to you, there’s nothing to worry about, dove. You did the right thing, the one nobody else before you had a courage to do. You’re beyond talented and I sincerely believe that there’s nothing you couldn’t achieve if you only wanted to.”

You could feel the slight sensation upon your fingers when he cupped your hands in his—the prosthetic cold against your skin but the touch featherlike. Lucio continued, now realizing that you were not going to back off nor push him away and slowly brought your palms up to his face, all while caressing them with his thumbs.

“I can recognize the true power and potential from miles away, just like I can sense the real beauty. I can’t even imagine how must it feel to be constantly repressed and neglected, denied the raw force you carry but I can assure you that I, contrary to the others, appreciate you just the way you are. How could I not, now, that you’ve showed me what are you capable of? I’d be a fool and I’m convinced that everyone who thinks of you as lesser than perfect is one.”

Lucio’s breath ghosted over your knuckles before he placed a delicate, tender kiss upon them, his long eyelashes casting shadows upon the bloody red eyes focused completely on your face. He loved it, the smell of your skin, the touch upon his lips and suddenly, he wanted more.

He wanted everything.

“Why won’t you break free, my beloved magician?” he whispered against your fingers, kissing each one of them in between the sentences spoken. “Wouldn’t you want to prove them all that you’re strong enough to take care of yourself? That you’re independent and allowed to make your own decisions, instead of pitifully waiting for your master to come back home and tell you what to do, like an obedient pet? Just imagine the look on his face once you show him that you don’t have to be supervised in any circumstances anymore. I’m sure he would be proud of you, too, maybe a little surprised at first but definitely proud that he had such a skilled and brave apprentice.”

There was an invisible venom on his tongue, the lethal visions of glory blinding his senses and the ecstasy burning fiercely in his heart again. Once he laid his eyes upon you when you crossed the threshold of his chambers, Lucio knew that you were going to change his life forever—that you were the key to freedom and not even for a while did he hesitate to reach for it.

“Well then, dove?” he murmured teasingly. “What will you say? All you have to do is ask and I’ll be both your faithful company and the willing, undeniable example of your greatness.”

[millennialdemon]

Coming off of true trainwrecks the likes of Mars of Destruction and Skelter Heaven, I actually came out of Dark Cat with a sense of respect and gratitude for its competence. 

For the uninitiated, Dark Cat is a notoriously bad OVA from 1991 that you will see listed in many Worst Anime Ever countdowns. It follows 2 brothers, “dark cats” Hyoi and Rui, who investigate supernatural happenings and purify evil with their somewhat undefined powers of shapeshifting and increased strength/agility. The majority of the story in the OVA is about a school girl named Aimi, who is pining after her childhood friend Koizumi, who since the rejection and sudden death of his crush, has been suffering a depressive episode and ignoring her. Hyoi and Rui sense dark forces are manifesting at the school, and they keep an eye on Aimi while fighting off the increasingly brazen appearances of demonic enemies.

A monstrous ex-dark cat named Jukokubo is revealed to be manipulating Aimi with his dark powers, and Hyoi and Rui fight him, but not before Aimi succumbs to the evil magic -- as well as her own violent jealousy and overprotectiveness of Koizumi -- and transforms into a horrific tentacle monster that kills seemingly everyone in the school.

In the end, Koizumi realizes that Aimi was in love with him the entire time, and doesn’t fight her when she engulfs him completely. Apparently this act of selfless love was enough to purify them both, and although they do indeed die, their souls are “light” and able to ascend. This throws a wrench in Jukokubo’s plan to prove that humans are The Worst, so he turns tail and leaves his boss fight against Hyoi, threatening to return again. In the epilogue, Hyoi and Rui reflect on the mission and wax poetic about the nature of humanity while crossing a busy street.

… Ehm… happy ending, yes?

Now then: there are actually quite a few things I enjoyed about Dark Cat, and they are all very simple things that I had come to miss after days of watching other entries from the Bottom of the Barrel.

It had a narrative, and was -- mostly -- comprehensible in its storytelling, as rushed as it may have been. There was an undeniable presence of an art director, something I’m not convinced was present in a few of the other similarly rated titles I have seen. Some of the shots were noticeably well composed and even clever, and required an artistic vision and some decent effort to create. The animation wasn’t awful, the designs ranged from serviceable to genuinely charming (I like the subtlety of Hyoi and Rui’s cat-like features!), and I liked that the characters actually emoted. It wasn’t as generic as I expected and took some risks, even if they didn’t pay off and left it with a reputation of being “too grotesque to be enjoyable”.

I can understand the common criticisms of the gore and body horror being poorly animated, but I won’t decry it for existing and “being ugly”... of course it’s ugly, it’s body horror reminiscent of The Thing from The Thing. (Now would be a good time to warn people not to look this OVA up, unless they are sure they are okay with body horror and gore of this calibre. Tentacles with teeth and spines rip out of people’s skin from the inside and deform their hosts, it is quite awful! I would also include a warning for trypophobia -- there are shots where the mutations form clusters of holes on the skin.) The body horror in Dark Cat being disgusting and making my skin crawl isn’t a fault -- I think it’s the intended purpose. Though I will concede that:

The phallic imagery of the horrific flesh mutations, particularly that of the teacher who attacked Rui, was… bizarre, considering that otherwise the OVA isn’t particularly dark in tone or otherwise sexually graphic.

Perhaps having grotesque body horror is completely unexpected in a story about two bishounen teens (?) who can turn into cats and fight ghosts. 

Yes, Dark Cat, the OVA put on Worst Anime Ever lists for being a grotesque spectacle, is just as commonly placed on those lists for being a dumb anime about guys that can transform into house cats and who fight supernatural entities with not so amazing powers. This is a gripe I’ve seen in a few popular reviews, but there was no point during my watching experience that I thought, “Man, these teens are pansies, they don’t even turn into big scary lions or anything! What’s the point, it’s practically a power-down! cinemasins ding” because I don’t go into anime expecting every single male character I see to be Big & Strong & Cool, because I uh… don’t have brain worms I guess? I don’t know what to say about this criticism really, other than people who watch a lot of shounen have very strange hang ups about super powers. 

Otherwise, it seems the biggest reason Dark Cat is lauded as One of the Worst -- perhaps even ahead of the silly concept and nauseating gore -- is actually because of the abysmal english dub. It’s my honour to say that I didn’t watch the dub, so it doesn’t factor in at all into my impressions! 

So in the end, perhaps my only true gripes with Dark Cat are:

Despite having no particular issue with body horror and gore existing, the extent of destruction and graphic death gave the OVA a bit of a snuff film vibe.

The conclusion to the story was quite bad. 

It could be surmised by the brief plot outline I wrote earlier that Dark Cat isn’t a very complicated story. Demons and ghosts exist and wreak havoc on emotionally vulnerable humans, and supernatural soldiers try to mediate between the realms by purifying tortured ghosts and saving those dragged into darkness by evil entities. These beats are common in the supernatural genre of anime, but Dark Cat’s handling of its tragic morality tale left me more confused than anything.

Koizumi didn’t do anything wrong -- he shouldn’t have had to die for the sin of not reciprocating Aimi’s feelings, nor for developing depression after the rejection and death of his classmate and crush. Aimi… did things wrong, but was nevertheless the most compelling character in the OVA. Throughout Aimi was kind, patient, and forgiving when it came to being treated badly by Koizumi. In the finale however, it is revealed that Aimi was the one responsible for Koizumi’s crush’s death, assumedly having murdered her out of jealousy or out of revenge on Koizumi’s behalf for hurting his feelings. Prior to this, the first students to be killed by the tentacle monsters just happened to be the ones that had bullied Koizumi in class earlier that day -- implying that Aimi was getting revenge on them, as well.

It was with these revelations that I started to wonder: Why not just let the flesh monster manifest as a direct result of Aimi’s negative feelings? Aimi confessed to murdering Koizumi’s crush before the events of the OVA -- would she have done so if she wasn’t being influenced by the malignant force set on her by Jukokubo? I feel that her arc would have been much more interesting without the introduction of a non-compelling and badly designed villain like Jukokubo, because then we would know it was all her. Even if she was influenced by forces exacerbating her pre-existing jealousy and rage, that is a more satisfying option than having a big dumb green cat of a villain to trace everything back to so neatly. 

And really, what did Jukokubo do in the story beyond take the spotlight, and the blame, from Aimi? He had some previous relation to Hyoi and Rui, but it’s not developed at all, and his ideological rivalry with Hyoi was trivial. Hyoi could have come to the same conclusions about holding out hope for humanity without Jukokubo there to insist he be a guest to debate on his political podcast.  

The lack of accountability regarding Aimi is a part of why the resolution to her conflict with Koizumi feels so wrong -- he succumbs to her feelings because he realizes the evil was born from her suffering, and he feels that he has to sacrifice himself to make up for unknowingly hurting her so much that she turned into a monster from hell. In the end she is absolved via being purified and getting to die with her spirit entwined with Koizumi’s, and he apologizes for having not recognized how he was hurting her. 

Aimi kills his crush, kills his bullies, and ends up -- inadvertently, at least -- killing almost all of their classmates, because she was tilted about her childhood friend not realizing she had romantic feelings for him. And when Koizumi learns all of this, he apologizes and dies with her, and this is proof of humanity’s goodness? The dark clouds part and the rain stops and Aimi and Koizumi ascend in a heavenly ray of light, because he decided, while she was devouring him, that he was wrong to ignore his murderous best friend’s love for him?

I guess it’s fine -- it was probably mostly Jukokubo’s fault anyway, and everyone was just an unfortunate victim of his meddling… 😒

Other than the bad writing, the string of deaths that happen in the finale when the monster lets loose in the school are quite uncomfortable to behold. Deformed student bodies are splayed and strewn around classrooms, and the bullies are rendered into unrecognizable mounds of pulsating flesh in their homes. The violence of a fight against a monster like this, I can handle, but the graphic images of helpless death were difficult to stomach. And in this OVA, there is no miraculous reversal of the demon’s damage once it is purified -- there is no implication whatsoever that everyone who died isn’t still just as dead as Aimi and Koizumi in the end. 

The main thing I was actually worried about when I watched Dark Cat was that there would be sexual assault, thanks to reviewers griping it for “generic hentai tentacles”. I am relieved to say that there is none, at least not insofar as deserving a comparison to actual porn. There is sexual content scattered throughout the horror scenes: The occasionally phallic appearance of the tentacles, shots of the tentacles coming down from under skirts, and there is one shot of nudity when Aimi’s shirt is ripped open as she transforms, though I would say it’s too horrific and ugly to be sexualized or otherwise considered “fanservice”.

What is the point of the hits of sex imagery in Dark Cat? I have no idea. This isn’t Alien, it isn’t about the horror of sexual assault or the violence of creation -- though the main horror of the scene where Rui is ambushed by the teacher seems to be that she uses magic to seduce him, only to reveal a very phallic tentacle from her mouth that she means to kill (or infect…?) him with, which can have multiple, potentially offensive readings… it is a one off, however -- and there doesn’t seem to be any moral posturing about it as is often seen in slashers. I couldn’t parse any sort of consistent STI allegory regarding the plague of tentacles upon the student body, despite how many summaries I have read that describe the tentacles as that, a “plague”. 

… I realize I am probably the only person on earth to give any aspect of Dark Cat’s production this much thought. To sum up: It seems to just exist for the shock value. Considering the extent of disgusting imagery already present a la The Gore and Deformation of Human Bodies, I don’t think this OVA benefitted from featuring some explicit looking tendrils, beyond cementing its abhorrent reputation.

Is this all to say that I think Dark Cat is a good OVA? No, of course not. It’s tone deaf, and tasteless, and has awkward pacing and bad writing. But compared to the utterly soulless and artistically devoid works the likes of Skelter Heaven and Mars of Destruction, I would say the fact I was able to write this much about Dark Cat is testament to that fact that it at the very least, contains content -- and some of that content was like, decent! Skelter+Heaven was such a mess it was all I could do to understand the sequence of events, and Mars of Destruction was so bland I literally have no posts about it on the blog despite watching it more than once. Psychic Wars was a snoozefest I barely finished that similarly has no mention on the blog, and Hanoka’s production gimmick couldn’t save it from being a totally forgettable romance story. 

Therefore, Dark Cat is the best worst title I have seen thus far, by virtue of being executed with an average amount of competency for an OVA from the early 90s, and for having a balance of good and bad elements that gave me something to hold onto and mull over after viewing. 

3/10.

Oh, and I loved the bad 80s insert songs.  

[piccolina-mina]

The Art of Reciprocity

A/N: For @shadowandbones, the only person who could ever get me to write kysobel/kybel.💙 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She pressed a manicured nail hard on the doorbell, not bothering to let up.

She couldn’t tell if the buzzer was working or not, so she knocked on the door for good measure, until she heard a muffled thump and swearing. Then a series of locks were unlatched and the door was wrenched open.

She smiled, syrupy sweet at a disheveled looking Kyle, stepping across the threshold and pushing past his lame attempt to block the entrance.

“No, by all means, come in, Isobel,” he mumbled, shutting the door and shuffling, barefoot back to a makeshift cocoon of blankets on the couch.

“No worries, I already did,” she tossed back, taking in her surroundings, her nose crinkling at Kyle’s questionable taste in decor. 

She could work a miracle there. It screamed “bachelor pad,” and while he was neater than she would’ve imagined, it could have used a bit of a feminine touch.

God knew the Sheriff didn’t count. She was pretty certain the only time Sheriff Valenti would’ve witnessed the full spectrum of the rainbow is if she actually showed the woman her pleasure treasure trove.

“I was being polite. I could’ve come in on my own.”

“You being polite? Never!” Kyle snorted as he burrowed into a pile of blankets.

He stiffened when she plopped down next to him and kicked her feet up on the coffee table as if he still hadn’t gotten used to how she encroached on space without warning.

“You mind?” He nodded pointedly at her feet on his table, and she rolled her eyes, but took them off and kicked her shoes off too. She looked smug.

For a brief moment, she wondered if he would say something else, but a forced smile was frozen on his face.

She shrugged, her eyes landing on a pathetic looking sandwich on a saucer. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of it, so she snatched a half and took a bite, blanching at how utterly tasteless it was with its sad, wilted lettuce and boring multigrain bread.

“Kyle, this is – this is sad, man,” she said around a mouthful of sandwich that she unceremoniously spit back out on the saucer.

“I was going to eat that,” he stared, disgusted at the chewed up bits that landed on top of the other half.

“You shouldn’t, though,” she took a swig of his Gatorade, ignoring his dissent and smacking his hand away.

She choked back the pungent beverage that reminded her of melted popsicles on hot summer days in the desert. “You should have better standards.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said tiredly, snatching the bottle back from her and placing the cap on it. He sighed, collapsing back into his mountain of blankets as if the mere act tuckered him out.

She took in his appearance for the first time since she got there. His normally well-styled hair was damn near plastered to his forehead. His face had a sunken pallor unlike its usual tan, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.

His t-shirt had patches of sweat, and his skin glistened with sweat even though he shivered on occasion. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he had some killer stubble action going on.

“You look like sh!t,” she mused out loud. “Yet still doable,” her tongue darted out to lick her lips because the stubble was definitely hot. “It’s unfair, really.

“I don’t get sick, Doc, so I’ll be fine.”

“Isobel,” he blinked slowly, unamused as tired eyes met hers. “Not that this hasn’t been fun, but what exactly are you doing here?”

“Can a girl just drop by and chat with a friend?” She quipped. She batted her eyes playfully.

“We’re friends?” He deadpanned.

It came off both lighthearted and honest, the latter causing her to recoil a bit. Her lips turned downward as she refrained from a snappy comeback because … were they?

And in his defense, she did come over there with an ulterior motive, so was he wrong?

His expression softened, picking up on her shift in mood despite her best attempt to hide it, put that mask of hers back up, the one she had perfected for the better part of two decades.

He opened his mouth intending to walk back his comment, except before he could say more he was overcome with a coughing fit. 

His whole body convulsed with each cough, and he groaned when he was through.

A small part of her was amused that even physicians suffered from a man cold.

He feebly reached for his meds, and she used her powers to pop the lid off and place a couple of pills in his hand. She telekinetically pushed the Gatorade in his other palm too.

“Thanks,” he said, out of breath. He threw back the meds and rested his head on the back of the couch for a moment.

“How about I make you something to eat?” She swiped her palms across her jeans and stood, making her way to his kitchen and rummaging through his cabinets without so much as waiting for a response.

“You’re going to cook?” Kyle sputtered, dumbfounded. “For me?”

“Why is it so hard to believe I can be nice?”

“Isobel-” Kyle started.

“Don’t answer that. Yeah, I’m going to cook for you,” she slammed a few cabinets and arranged a bunch of on ingredients on the counter.

“Southwestern Chicken Soup,” she frowned. “Well, a variation of it, you know, you have a surprisingly well-stocked fridge. Last time I was at Michael’s, all I found was boxed mac ‘n cheese and Twinkies.”

“Isobel-” Kyle began again, watching the blond studiously ignore him while getting down to work. “I just-”

“Why don’t you do us both a favor and go shower,” she pointed the edge of a knife in his direction, nose upturned at his sweaty state. “Take your time, if we’re lucky, and you do it right, everything will be done once you’re out.”

She couldn’t resist the potshots, but his brow arched, more amused than offended. So much for hitting him where it hurt in retaliation.

She angrily chopped vegetables, the action serving as a release for her pent-up frustration. She busied herself assembling the soup, then searched high and low for any alcohol beyond the unappealing drafts in the back of the refrigerator.

She followed the sound of running water toward Kyle’s bedroom, dark colors, and sports paraphernalia abounded, and not only didn’t she bother knocking on the bathroom door, but she yanked back the shower curtain too.

“Kyle – stop shrieking,” she snorted at his surprised yelp. “It’s just me. Hey, do you have any wine?”

She never clocked him for the modest type, but it still surprised her when he stood stark naked, soap and suds pooling at his feet, and stared at her more exasperated than anything else.

“Isobel, do you have any comprehension of privacy?”

“Relax,” she gave him a slow once-over, biting her lip against her own volition. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. You saw mine, and I most certainly got to see yours,” her eyes roamed downward with appreciation before returning to his face. “Consider us even. Wine?”

“No, just beer. What can I say? I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Cute,” she yanked the shower curtain closed.

“So you keep saying,” Kyle chuckled beneath the rushing water.

She turned the cold water up with her mind, and he yelped as she slammed the door.

He didn’t say much when he was done. He smelled amazing, like himself, and it brought some color back into his face. He seemed revitalized but also more relaxed, as he sat on the stool across the island from her.

 She could feel his eyes on her as she slid a heaping bowl of soup in front of him while leaning against the island and finishing off a half-empty bottle of beer.

He ate in silence, enthusiastically, she noted, and she secretly applauded herself for impressing him, even if he didn’t admit it.

“This is amazing, Isobel. Thank you,” he shoveled the last spoonful in his mouth.

Go figure; Kyle wasn’t spiteful or petty. He wasn’t – he wasn’t like her.

“Thank you,” he said again. His voice was soft – his eyes earnest and genuine. He reached across and rubbed her arm, and the intimate gesture sent warmth throughout her.

He knew she was attracted to him, and she propositioned him often, but it wasn’t just that he looked like a deity carved from stone. Kyle was a good guy, warm and cool at once, and he was so easy to be around. With Kyle, she could just … be.

With Kyle, she felt like the only thing that mattered was the present, not her past and who she was then, not her future and who she could be.

For Kyle, the present was enough, and since that’s all she could figure out, day by day, minute by minute, she appreciated the comfort in that, in him.

“So, Isobel,” Kyle flashed her that warm, disarming smile that cut through to the core of her. “Are you going to tell me why you really came over here?”

In hindsight, the only reason she was so agitated with his earlier response was because of how right he was, how right everyone was.

She did only come over for selfish reasons, and she didn’t know how to not be so self-absorbed, but she was trying. She wanted to be better.

“How did you do it, Kyle?” She attempted to sound lighthearted, but her voice cracked at the end. It hadn’t gone unnoticed based on the way his eyes widened infinitesimally. “How did you figure out how to be a better person?

She half shrugged, threw in a crooked smile too, and hoped he didn’t see the vulnerability in her eyes, hear it in her voice. Smell the loneliness on her skin.

She felt unsteady, constantly, endlessly unsettled. She felt like, at 28 years old, she didn’t know shit about herself, and she was starting from scratch.

She didn’t know who the hell she was, and if she didn’t know, how could she expect anyone else to?

“In high school, you were –”

“Kind of a dick?” He offered sheepishly. “Yeah, I know. Not my finest time.”

“And apparently, I’ve always been a bit of a bitch,” she mused.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he contested, his head canted to the 

“You would be one of the few who didn’t.”

“Isobel, you’re human,” he frowned. “Well, close enough. You’re not perfect; no one is.”

“You are,” she joked.

“Not even close,” he argued with a scoff.

“Everything in my life is a lie, and everyone important in my life is stuck with me, they never chose me. My own husband didn’t even lo–” a lump caught in her throat as her eyes misted over.

“I distinctly remember a certain bartender choosing you, only you, out of a bar full of women. That wasn’t a fluke, Isobel.”

“Yeah, because she didn’t know me,” she argued, picking a carrot out of his soup bowl and popping it into her mouth to give her something else to do.

“No, because she did know you because you allowed yourself to be known. No rudeness, or snottiness, no snarky comments, or a prickly exterior, just you, letting go, being … you.”

She wanted to argue, but he shook his head. “You want to know how I became a better person? I’m not. I work every day to be better than I was the day before with the understanding that there’s no end to it." 

"You care to give me something I can work with, Yoda?” She snarked.

“Alright,” he sat back. “For starters, being aware of the other people around me certainly helps.”

“Like at the very least noticing that someone is sick after you’ve bogarted your way into their house?”

“Something like that, yeah,” he replied coolly. “Look, I had to face who I was and the things that I had done, work through my own shit, and the rest just fell into place.

"Life happened. It has a way of beating you down and teaching you lessons. My world expanded beyond this small town and my small thinking or that of those around me.

I forged my own path, focused on me instead of what others thought of me. By doing that, I became better for myself and everyone else. I grew up; every day I’m growing up, and so are you, if you allow yourself to. You stop fighting the process, and it all goes smoothly.”

“And as for others, Isobel, you can’t have real friends until you actually learn how to be one. It’s not always about someone choosing you. It’s about you choosing them, and then putting in the work to show why it’s worth it, why they’re worth it, why you’re worth it.  And you are. Worth it.

He ducked his head, made eye contact with her even though she attempted to look away blinking back tears she refused to let fall.

"All you have to do is get out of your own head, get out of your own way, and show up.”

He gave her that full smile that let her know he wasn’t being a dick. 

“You’re so busy wondering why you don’t have friends that you can’t see that you do. You know who your friends are?

They’re the ones who show up for you, the ones who will make you a priority. You know how you become a better friend? Return the favor. It’s as simple as that.”

His voice drifted off on the last line, and he stifled another cough. 

He patted the counter, gave her a tight-lipped smile, and hoisted himself off the stool. He was giving her space after saying his piece.

He shuffled to the couch and slumped down, kicking his own feet up on the coffee table and toyed with the remote. 

For the first time since she waltzed in, she was unsure of her presence. She cleaned up the kitchen, put things away, and placed the leftovers into the refrigerator.

She meandered in the kitchen, not really wanting to leave but unsure if she should stay.

“Can you bring me another Gatorade when you come back in here?" 

It was as if Kyle read her uneasiness, her reluctance, and she released a relieved titter as she brought him another drink, looming over him as she held it out.

He grabbed it, not releasing it for a bit, dark eyes boring into hers as if he was searching.

For what? She didn’t know, but he had a way of stripping her bare with one glance, it rattled her but also thrilled her, comforted her being looked at and seen.

But still, "You gonna stop batting those browns at me? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were the one trying to undress me with your eyes,” she joked.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Isobel. Saw it all before, remember?” The slight smirk took the sting out of it. “I was just wondering if you were a Wendy or a Ruth." 

"What?”

“How do you feel about drug cartels?” He ignored her confusion, queuing up his Netflix. 

“Is that a trick question? Are you part of some criminal enterprise in between surgeries and alien research, Valenti?”

“Haha, I’m being nice, I’m willing to sit through the first two episodes of Ozark again to catch you up, but if we ever plan on making it through the first season today, we gotta start now.”

“I’m…” she squinted at the screen. “That’s… isn’t that like ten hours?”

He waved at his bundle of blankets, sweats, and Kleenex boxes. “I don’t have any other plans today, do you?”

“Me? You want to binge a show about drug dealers  … with me?”

“My house, my choice. And I’m sorry, I’m not watching Outlander or whatever,” he continued, burrowing into the covers again.

“Yeah, no, but–”

“It’s always more fun bingeing with a friend,” he shrugged casually. 

The obnoxious gong of Netflix played at the same time she plopped on the couch next to him. 

But she couldn’t take her eyed off of him, his profile, relaxed, and unbothered by her, by her company. High cheekbones, strong jawline, and long eyelashes. 

Warmth flooded her chest. 

“It starts off hot, if you keep glaring at me, you’re going to miss stuff, and I’m not starting it over again,” he murmured. 

She leaned in close, tilted his head toward her with a manicured finger beneath his chin, her face impossibly close.

“Kyle,” her voice dropped an octave, as their faces were centimeters apart, she could smell the body wash still clinging to his skin, the spices from her soup on his lips. “Thank you.”

“For what,” he whispered, barely moving his lips, meeting her hooded eyes with his own.

She pressed her lips against his, a searing hot kiss, sucking his bottom lip between her own, nibbling, then soothing it with her tongue. Her fingers playing with his hair at the base of his neck.

She pulled away, leaving his lips swollen, his mouth slightly ajar, eyes a bit unfocused. She knew he was constantly thrown off by her temerity, but he never seemed to hold it against her.

“For being my friend,” her voice cracked at the end, and he was back to looking at her like he could see her soul.  She averted her eyes, settled in resting her head on his shoulder as she pulled her feet up on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” she broke their comfortable silence halfway in.“How do I remind you of Wendy and Ruthie? Wendy’s bitchy, and Ruthie is obnoxious!"  Kyle shrugged, with a wicked grin.

"You’re an ass,” she hissed, punching him in the shoulder.

“Oh, but you like it,” he teased.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I’d also ride it,” she sighed. 

“Isobel,” he choked on his drink, and she held her chin up triumphant and unapologetic. 

“Hey, do you have any… dude, hold your arms up over your head,” she whacked him on the back as he sputtered and coughed.

“Anyway, do you have any popcorn?” She stared at the screen with rapt attention, unaware of him glaring at her with watery, red-rimmed eyes.

“Screw you,” he replied with no heat.

“Hey, I keep offering. You’re the one who says no. Now, are we watching this, or are you going to keep talking about your feelings, Valenti?”

She didn’t give him time to respond. Instead, she turned the volume up and stretched out on the couch half sprawled on him, ignoring his protest.

It felt good having a friend.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

[onlytaylor]

To Be Held by Draco Malfoy (Drarry)

Draco Malfoy couldn’t remember a time when he was held. As a child, he found more emotional reprieve from the house elves than his own parents. His tears would provoke no more than a frustrated growl from his father and an exasperated “not now, darling,” from his mother. And presently, with everything that had attributed to the absolute hell that was his sixth year, not much had changed.

He’d found himself sobbing alone in the abandoned lavoratory on multiple occasions, arms wrapped around his knees, praying that he could somehow hold himself together. It was a rotting feeling, facing everything alone. To be honest, he wasn’t sure he could much longer.

It came as genuine surprise the day he opened the bathroom door to find none other than Potter in his usual spot, a heap of robes and muffled sobs on the floor. He froze, unsure of what the fuck to do. Would it be smarter to leave unnoticed? Or ready his wand for a defensive brawl? He didn’t quite have the energy for the latter, and when Potter’s green stare snapped upward, he knew he’d be caught. Red-rimmed and desperate, Draco had never witnessed such a vulnerable state from the boy in front of him.

He should’ve been angry at Potter for interrupting his own bout of self-loathing, or perhaps glad that his enemy was suffering. But all he felt was an awkward pull toward his defeated figure, like he finally wasn’t alone.

Potter snapped him from his reverie: “Fuck.”

The word sounded tired, as if he was inconvenienced by his presence but unwilling to fight it. And in that moment, Draco Malfoy sensed something he’d never felt before resonating through the air between them: a truce. He decided to test this boundary, stepping forward and cautiously closing the distance between them.

Potter didn’t hex him. He didn’t even reach for his wand. His brow creased, curious, but never narrowed. And that’s when Draco Malfoy decided to try something new, perhaps from his own desperate grasp for sanity. He gulped once, a testament to the spike of nervousness that rang his mouth bone dry. And without further ado, Malfoy took a seat next to Potter.

He said nothing, evaluating the change of routine skeptically before leaning his head back against the wall. “Is this the part where you insult me?”

Draco held his stare for a moment. He’d never noticed how soft those eyes were albeit their vibrancy. Sharp but honest. Pure.

“Nah. I’m not quite in the mood.”

Harry’s brow relaxed, and he allowed his eyes to fall shut. Draco didn’t move. His gaze was somehow involuntarily locked on Potter’s face, admiring subtle details that he’d never been so close to notice. He watched as Potter gave in, shoulders slumping with the conscious decision to believe that Draco wasn’t there to terrorize him. Slowly, he let his guard down.

They didn’t speak for a while, but Draco knew that something between them would never be the same. Potter’s tears resurfaced, gliding seamlessly down his cheeks as Malfoy wondered why the fuck this caused his stomach to deflate, as if Potter’s sadness had created some kind of irreparable hole in it.

“It’s your Godfather, isn’t it,” Draco gently pried, examining the waters while trying to make himself feel whole again. He’d been privy to the events at the Department of Mysteries last term; it was his father after all who had led the ambush.

Harry didn’t answer, but the way his head fell, eyes scrunching shut as if to block out the pain... it was all the confirmation Draco needed. His throat croaked as another round of sobs escaped, and it was evident that Potter was no longer holding back. Draco paused, unable to think straight, his head swimming in everything that was Potter, so raw and open before him. His stomach swooped, the remains of the unhealed wound throbbing as Potter cried.

Suddenly, Draco had an idea.

It was stupid, and reckless, and foolish, but so was sitting in a loo alone with Harry fucking Potter. Sometimes you just have to take chances.

Draco raised an arm, resting it around Potter’s shoulder. It was an awkward gesture, but when the boy continued to cry harder, Draco knew it hadn’t been in vain. His thoughts floated to his own experiences, and he came to realize quickly that he and Potter were not far unlike each other. Had Harry ever been held? Without parents, who had been there to comfort him? His friends were nowhere to be found at the moment, and that let Draco know that he was battling far more on his own than he’d let on.

And, damn, if the pain in his stomach didn’t soften at the touch.

Draco’s fingers sparked as they gripped Potter’s bicep. They tingled as he gently traced the lines of his arm, grazing up and down in the way he’d always imagined someone doing for him.

And then, the unthinkable occurred: Potter shivered. He shivered, and then he leaned against Draco, resting his head against his chest. His breath cought, frozen in his lungs at the sudden contact. It felt good, so fucking good, and Draco realized he’d never felt so whole before.

This didn’t make any goddamn sense. None of it did. His body was reactionary, and he swore he didn’t tell himself to rest his cheek against Potter’s messy mop, to breathe in the scent of his hair and revel in how unexpectedly clean it was.

Potter continued to sob, and for once Draco didn’t care that his robes would probably leave stained with snot and the like. This feeling, this completeness; it sent Draco reeling. Was this what he’d been missing all these years?

His other arm instinctively crept forward, wrapping around Potter to rest by his other hand. His stomach lurched, but this time it was expanding, a balloon that had been patched. It swelled and sent waves of something- he couldn’t quite identify the feeling- along every inch of his being. His heart began to race, and it only continued to rapidly pulsate as Potter responded by gently rubbing his head against his chest.

Draco’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. This felt so right, so perfect, and as the butterflies swept through his veins he came to the sudden unsettling conclusion that this was far different than being held by your parents or close friends.

Because even in their minimal contact, Blaise and Pansy’s touch had never felt like this.

“Fuck,” was Draco’s thought on the matter, and although he was puzzled beyond comprehension he didn’t dare move. Because Harry felt so right- oh my god- Harry...

The Boy Who Lived himself chose that very moment to lift his head, meeting Draco’s nervous gaze. Their faces were only inches from each other, and Draco could feel the soft puff of his breath against his lips...

Goddamnit, he couldn’t think, couldn’t process, couldn’t function...

He didn’t know what he was doing. He could blame it on the intoxicating feeling that was holding someone who needed to be held. Except that person was Potter, who’d somehow inevitably became Harry...

Their eyes held a hypnotizing trance, and Draco felt his whole body go numb as he leaned forward. So whole, so right...

His eyes shut. Harry’s did too. And in the next second Draco’s lips were pressed against his. The moment was short, but infinite in its own right.

Draco felt every fiber of his being simultaneously rip apart and then weave back together. It was a metamorphosis, an insanity that grounded him into another world entirely. An existence in which he wasn’t alone. In which kissing Harry Fucking Potter was everything he’d never knew he needed. A world where he could be happy. A world where-

Reality came crashing down on him, and in one sudden motion he’d ripped himself away.

“Fuck, Harry, I’m so sorry.” His words were a whisper, an apology that echoed in the silence. Harry was heaving, trying to catch his breath, and Draco couldn’t help but notice how attractive it was... how fucking beautiful he was...

And how wrong it was. This wasn’t fucking normal. He’d gone from comforting him to wanting him and it had all happened so fast that Draco hadn’t even had time to properly convince himself of his own insanity.

“You called me Harry.” The air was thick, and his words hung in the few inches that still remained heavily vacant between them.

Draco couldn’t speak; he couldn’t fucking think. His heart hammered against his ribs, an intense counterpart to the elation that still filled his belly whole. He settled on a nod, a quick jerk of his head born of nerves and necessity.

Harry’s gaze was gentle, green eyes boring into him, past his insanity, straight through to his goddamn soul. He’d never felt so open, so vulnerable. It was fucking terrifying, but somewhere in the corner of his mind, he felt exhilarated. That was the part of him, the small section that held onto the feeling of wholeness, that kept him from bolting out the door.

Draco watched as the space between Harry’s eyebrows softened. He then tilted his head, eyes searching every piece of Draco’s face, and raised his hands to cup his cheeks.

An involuntary shudder traveled down his spine. His hands were so smooth, perfectly molded to the curvature of his face.

Harry’s stare flickered down to his lips, a foreshadowing that stole Draco’s breath. He felt it hitch somewhere in the back of his throat as Harry suddenly lurched forward, slicing the air and destroying any and all separation between them. His lips crashed into Draco’s, a tidal wave that swept him under and ironically left him feeling like he could finally breathe.

This kiss was urgent, and heated, and it wasn’t long before Harry’s lips separated and invited him inside. Draco’s head swum. This couldn’t be real, couldn’t be fucking happening. He’d never been kissed like this before, wasn’t even sure if he was doing it right, but fuck it.

Harry’s sharp inspiration tickled his nose as Draco allowed his tongue to sweep forward. It tangled with Harry’s, a chaotic dance that broke his skin into the most exciting form of goose flesh. Harry grasped him for dear life, sliding his hand back to knot within strands of his hair, and, Merlin, it felt so right...

Draco felt a part of him stir, a raveled mess of hormones and desire and fucking passion from down under. He’d never felt this, never fucking dreamed he could experience this. What a twisted fucking sense of humor someone had, for Harry Potter to pull this from him.

The greatest part was, he didn’t care.

When they did separate, panting and worked up from a knotted mess of passion and adrenaline, Draco didn’t mind that it was Harry across from him.

He wasn’t bothered one bit by the way Harry eventually settled into his arms, wrapped snug into an embrace that patched him unbroken. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been happier.

It was nice to hold, and to be held in return. But what was even better was to experience both of these things with Harry.

<3 End.

[animebw]

Binge-Watching: Hanayamata, Episodes 4-6

In which the adults prove a critical component to this show’s success, perspective makes the drama land, and everyone is a big gay mess.

Voice of Reason

It was around the moment that Sally was wearily accompanying the yosakoi girls on a field trip in episode 5 that I came to a curious realization: I think the adults in Hanayamata are my favorite characters. In fact, I think they’re kind of essential for this show to work as well as it does. As varied as the girls of the main cast are, they all tend toward the same tooth-rotting adorableness in their comedy and personalities. They all have very high-pitched, breathy voices, they all descend into gay panic the moment one of their clubmates so much as smiles at them (”You’re good at looking after others.” “N-no I’m not!” slkdjskldjfsl fuck’s sake Yaya), and none of them would look much out of place in a million different cute girls shows. Tami in particular is so much like Mugi from K-On it’s almost uncanny (upon thinking she’d like to hang out with friends after school: ”I feel like I’m doing something unspeakably bad!”) They’re all cute beyond comprehension, but I feel like if I was only spending my time with them, the lack of variety would start wearing on me. There’s only so many times in a row I can watch Hana fail to control her gay before the joke risks wearing thin (not that I’m complaining too hard: “The napes of their necks!”)

Thankfully, just when I feel my attention start slipping, the show’s got a cast full of hilarious adult characters it can direct my attention toward instead. The yakuza-esque manager, Sally-chan Sensei, and Naru’s dad are all utterly ridiculous in their own right, but they’re a more grounded, lived-in kind of ridiculous. And that adds some critical variety to the comedy, letting the show pull off different laughs than it could with just the girls. The image of buff, burly Masaru in a bunny suit tickles a very specific funny bone, Sally’s weary resignation is a hoot- I love how her attempt to anime-inspiration the girls into getting better test scores backfires- and Naru’s poor confused father is fucking hilarious. His daughter’s so bad at communicating that he’s concerned about her getting up to all sorts of trouble, when really she’s just being shy about her lesbian awakening, and I cannot stop cackling at his distressed reactions (”Age: 39 (17)”). Also, yet another strong detail on the show’s part: this anime protagonist actually has both parents around and available. There’s something you don’t see every day.

Absolute Disaster Children

Still, Naru herself is no slouch in the character department. One of the things I love most about her is that not only are we seeing her break free of her introverted shell more and more as time goes on, we’re seeing her genuinely push herself further and embrace her growth. Hana set her free, and she’s decided to take advantage of everything that freedom offers. Which leads to some really lovely scenes, like when she talks Tami out of her self-destructive spiral and encourages her to break free from dedicating everything to her father. She sees the same pain in Tami’s eyes that she used to have herself; isolated, shutting herself off from what she wants to do, hating herself for being so scared but thinking she has no way of changing it. And just like Hana set her free, now Naru can set Tami free in turn, paying that kindness forward so her cherished friend doesn’t have to suffer like she is. She’s just so joyful in embracing her growing confidence, and it gives me so much joy in turn. Especially whenever she goes on some really fantastic Friendship Speech and gets embarrassed immediately afterward when she realized how utterly cheesy she just was being. Holy shit, I hope that running gag never dies, because it is golden. Especially when Hana loves it so much that she immediately runs off to embarrass her girlfriend in front of everyone else by recounting it, because oh my god she’s such a disaster.

Actually, strike that; everyone in this show is a disaster. And despite the impression I might’ve given off in that first paragraph, I’m still enjoying the everloving hell out of their ridiculous antics. Yaya’s jealously flaring up whenever Naru gushes over another girl (”Don’t you have anything to say about me too?”) Priceless. Naru being unable to accept a compliment without dissolved into a puddle of flustered deflection? Adorable. Yaya being unable to resist anyone treating her sweetly (”So much feminine charm”)? Iconic. Tami all but admitting she seduced the student council president to ensure they had a club room? Ye gods, that one laid me on the floor. Naru freaking out when her dad walks in on her holding narukos in her room like he just caught her texting her boyfriend girlfriend? She’s so pure, Jesus Christ. Rest assured, Hanayamata is still an absolute blast, and I’m eager to see just how damn pretty these dances are gonna be when our girls finally whip their production into show.

Odds and Ends

-Naru and Hana are gonna add Tami to their OT3 and nothing’s gonna stop them.

-”Don’t say anything, Tami Onee-chan.” dskfhsdfh just curl up into a ball

-”No backing out now, Naru!” ahahahaha her face

-”Why aren’t you responding to that?!” Hello, police, I just witnessed a murder.

-”I want to sweep everyone away!” oh my fucking god this lighting THIS IS SO GAY GUYS

-”Umibozu.” When suddenly, Gintama.

-”I just haven’t seen live yosakoi for a while, and I got a little emotional.” Aaaaaw.

-”Or let’s go goth!” dskhfskdjfsd

-did she just spin back into her room on wings of inspiration Naru I swear to god

-”The classics are sheer witchcraft.” Mood, Hana.

-Ah shit, they lost the audition? I’ve been there, it sucks.

Aaaaaah, this show is great. See you next time!

[sir-severance]

connective tissue - mlandersen0

this is my piece for the fantastic Slenderverse Zine (2019). this was a pleasure to write, and i am honoured to have been a part of such a wonderful project. you can check out the zine here, and read this fic on AO3 here. 

a quick disclaimer - i hope it's quite clear that i do not support the views which the character Shaun Andersen expresses in this fic. this is an exploration into mental health stigma, the entitlement of neurotypicality and the damage which can come about from both sides of any relationship within which someone is suffering because of mental illness. i am not interested in any discourse. please take this fic for what it is, and if you disagree, feel free to write your own. likewise, please heed the content warnings.

thanks, and i hope you enjoy <3

cws: mental health, mental illness, ableism, sickness, anxiety, depression, blood, twins, abuse, therapy, gore, terror, horror

Shaun’s parents often address him in the same breath as talking about Michael, as if the two are immutably connected, their meaning solely defined by virtue of each not being the other. But the parental Andersens could not always retain this facade of equality in front of their youngest child. No, Shaun found the documents when he was ten, long after Michael’s departure.

At the time, the words he found staggered him with polysyllabic ambiguity:

Monochorionic.

Parasitic.

Anemic.

But one phrase unfurled its roots and lodged itself into the squishy whorls of his brain.

The night of the discovery, little Shaun Andersen ran screaming into his parents’ bedroom, tears and terror marring his face the way fresh understanding of horror always does. When his mother hushed Shaun, held him close and begged him to explain what was wrong, the boy’s answer made the colour flood from her face.

All too soon, Shaun found himself confronted with yet more walls: walls so staggeringly bleached that, to Shaun, the paint served not as a reminder of cleanliness, but of spores and fungi and bacteria, swelling into turgid contaminants ready to burrow through his skin and pick his bones clean.

“Twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome,” the therapist reads from her notes. She smiles at Shaun, with too many teeth. “Where did we hear such big words, hm?”

Shaun keeps quiet. In the time since Michael left, the value of silence impressed its qualities upon him. The art of disquiet is something everyone knows about, but few possess the gall to produce. Shaun maintains fixed eye contact with the therapist, while revelling in the security offered by his glasses. There’s a plastic quality to her dimples: an artificial construction of pleasantry that only a child could see through.

She doesn’t care about you.

Shaun believes there’s relief for both of them when the light goes out of her eyes.

“It’s okay, Shaun,” the therapist says. Her voice quavers noticeably. “I think you’re a very smart boy. You’d like me to tell you the truth, wouldn’t you?”

I think you want to tell me the truth and not have to deal with me, Shaun thinks. The therapist continues on regardless:

“Sometimes, when people have babies, things can go wrong. The baby might come out sick, or a bit different.”

The therapist watches him for a response. Shaun tries his best not to blink. Her mouth twitches.

“When a mom has a baby inside, the baby gets their food from an organ called the placenta. It’s kind of like a phone charger — it gets plugged in to the wall of the mommy’s tummy, and when she eats, nutrients from the food are transferred to the baby. These nutrients are transferred by blood. Do you understand?”

You’re talking to me like I’m an idiot. This doesn’t feel professional at all, is what Shaun  Andersen understands. How old does she think I am?

“With twins, sometimes they share one placenta, instead of having one each. And sometimes, blood gets passed between the twins.” Her face creases, like she’s recalling something unpleasant. “This can mean that one twin doesn’t get enough blood — they’re called the ‘donor’ twin — and the other gets too much blood, making them the ‘recipient’ twin.”

The therapist actually looks away before going on, and Shaun is sure it has more to do with practiced decency than genuine upset.

“Michael received the blood your other brother didn’t get.”

It sounds like she’s reading from a script. Maybe she prepared this. Wanted to scare me and  take me off guard so she can get into my head. I’m not going to say a damn thing. Fuck her.

“I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did, Shaun.” The therapist’s mouth twists in a grim approximation of sympathy. “But it’s just a fact of life.”

A fact of life that Michael devoured his twin in the womb.

It’s only now that he’s in some lightless attic, face-down on the floor with his skin prickled against the cold, that this wash of memories coats Shaun with their accusatory foam. There’s a peculiar, pickling scent prodding at his gag reflex; this room reeks of mold and misery. It’s as if the air itself is frothing from an unseen mouth. For Shaun, this triggers a memory encased in nausea. A taste identical to the sour pills the therapist gave him that day spills onto his palate: anti-anxiety medication.

Shaun vomited the first batch he took, so he ceased taking them all together. Instead, he replaced each pill in his medication box with chalky, pastel candy, and made a big show of swallowing one in the morning and one in the evening.

He’s just like Michael, really. As long as there are witnesses, he’ll put on a show.

Splinters impale the meat of Shaun’s mouth, and sawdust cakes his tongue. He hacks and coughs, and writhes on the floor. His knees manage to find purchase in the gloom, but his muscles tremble and quiver with the effort of kneeling. He’s been bashed and bruised, dragged carelessly and tossed aside like a used rag. Tenderised meat before the slaughter.

And Michael’s going to be the same.

Shaun’s breath pulses out in panicked bursts. He can just about see his exhalations curling away in the freezing cold. No, he can’t be this weak — he must shove it back, quash the feeling. He’s worth more than this. If he goes back on the things he said to Michael now — horrible, hateful things — then he’ll never be able to live with himself.

So Shaun breathes steadily, working his way around the anxiety attack the way his therapist never showed him. As his heart rate steadies and adrenaline drops, all that energy and fear circumvents his guts, and heads a frontal assault on his brain. This leads to a conclusion burning through his mind with perfect clarity

This is all Michael’s fault.

Shaun never knew the name for whatever disease ravaged his brother’s mind. Not that he ever asked. The less he knew about Michael’s... abnormalities, the better. He remembers phrasing it that way to his parents, when he finally said no to another trip to see the remains of their estranged son.

Each week flowed the same way: stilted conversation between siblings, and pained platitudes from their parents. All meaningless little words of encouragement deliberately skipping over the elephant in the room — or, rather, the room containing the elephant, with its queasy walls and claustrophobic bars on the windows. No one in there ever used words like crazy or sick — in fact, they gave you a sheet of words to refrain from using when in the presence of the patients. All the relatives and guests of the inmates were expected to behave in this fashion.

This nauseated Shaun. He knew his brother was still in there. And he knew better than anyone how Michael liked to play his little games.

Regardless, Shaun tried his best to make Michael talk, and find something recognisable in the muddy depths of his eyes. But every visit, the dark deepened. No matter how many toys he tried to share, no matter how many stories he’d try to tell, and no matter how many times he affirmed to Michael that they were best friends and one day he’d get out of the hospital so they could play again... he stayed the same.

The final straw comes one dismal, rainy Friday afternoon. Shaun and his dad sit next to each other, opposite Michael with a table acting as barrier between them, saying nothing.

An aide took them both aside before they entered the main facility, and explained that Michael is being trialed on another type of medication. The visit is going as miserably as the weather foretold.

Michael looks barely human. Something is altered in the familiar shape of his body, like a bent coat hanger hastily reformed into an approximation of its original structure. The older Andersen brother slumps back in his chair, his skin several shades whiter than the wall behind him. His mouth is cracked with dehydration, and his hair is tangled with sleeplessness and grease. But worst of all are his eyes. They sit listless and devoid of comprehension, with blank pupils gazing aimlessly at his family, through them, and beyond them. A candle snuffed out before shrinkage of the wick.

Shaun remembers the emptiness of his therapist’s eyes. The glee in outwitting her. The pleasure of looking into those sad, brown depths.

There is no joy in peering into Michael’s skull.

Without warning, Shaun’s temper seizes him with all the ferocity a young boy’s hormones could. He slams his clenched fist down on the table, rattling metal. All conversation in the room ceases, a veil of corpselike silence.

Michael, however, doesn’t react. He doesn’t even acknowledge the sound.

The words jump from Shaun’s mouth like oil from a sizzling pan, murderous in their venom.

“You’re such a freak.”

Before the aides can reach him, Shaun’s dad grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him out of the room, into the hallway. Shaun can tell he’s furious, but there’s so much anger pumping through his blood that he just doesn’t care. He needs to do something, anything, to puncture the film over Michael’s eyes. Anything to make him so much as flinch.

But Michael remains unaffected.

As expected, the facility removes them both immediately, and Shaun is given a one-month visitation ban. This doesn’t bother Shaun in the slightest — in fact, he feels victorious, and righteous in his fury. There’s no way he’s coming back. Not this time. Michael squandered his last chance.

Even so, he’ll never forget his last view of that room, before his father pulls him away.

Tears spilling freely down Michael’s stony face.

From then on, the pre-trip talk with his parents is a minefield to navigate. They try so hard to make everything light and cheery, to speak about Michael like he’s still a part of their family, but Shaun overhears them speaking about their visits when they think he’s not listening. Now, more often than not, Michael’s arms are bound throughout their visits. Other times, they’re only able to converse with their son from behind a pane of tough glass.

Sometimes, they came home early.

‘Oh, Mikey’s feeling a touch under the weather today,’ their mother chirps. ‘But he says he misses you lots and lots!’

Her happy tone belies the true quality of their visit. It doesn’t matter. Shaun never asks for further details. Eventually, Shaun is old enough that his moods are ascribed to the terrors of puberty, and he is left to his own devices.

In retrospect, the seven years between Shaun’s Michael-detox and their first meeting as adults seems superfluous. The difference the years wrought upon Michael shocked Shaun.

Where once there existed a timid, chubby little kid with the brightest of smiles, now stood a gangly, hollow-looking man, with eyes like pits of coal. Though the corners of Michael’s mouth upturn upon seeing him, Shaun doesn’t register any warmth.

Somehow, this infuriates Shaun more than his brother’s tears ever could. He’d always assumed that even though his brother is older, Michael would remain the same size — adulthood somehow being barred for the mentally ill. Resentment boils away in Shaun’s stomach seeing how much taller his brother is, how clean-cut his features are. But this isn’t the thing which incenses Shaun the most.

It’s that, in those eyes, those chasmic clefts gouged out in his pale flesh, Shaun saw quiet patience.

Intelligence.

Forgiveness.

Just the mere hint of any kind of pity from his brother makes Shaun’s thoughts curdle with rage. How dare he be okay? He’s supposed to be sick! Isn’t that the whole reason why he got  locked up in the first place?

Shaun knows these are irrational and angry thoughts, but would rather cut out his own tongue than internalise them as ‘unfair’. He slaved away the better part of his life playing second fiddle to his parents’ worry and concern, always visiting Michael, paying more attention to Michael... all while their favourite son plays the part of a theatre dummy.

So Shaun makes the decision there and then. He is under no obligation to take care of this man forced upon him by blood — but he will. He will be the most selfless, compassionate human being his brother has ever seen.

Then they’ll see who has the right to forgive.

The walls of the attic Shaun can’t see feel like they’re closing in on his aching body, dragging themselves closer with hidden, noiseless claws. If you hadn’t lied about seeing the  Tall Man, he wouldn’t be as sick as he is, his thoughts hiss, and he thinks that the walls are growing mouths and speaking to him, indicting him, readying to pluck his head from his shoulders and smack it on a pike.

Yet, as his fear increases, tiny increments of light make themselves known in Shaun’s vision. Eventually, he’s able to zero in on a shape just out of each — something large and mostly crimson, with a long curved blade extending from its middle. Sickly, distended panic courses through Shaun like a white-hot fever when he recognises the shape.

It’s a fucking chainsaw.

The enormity of the situation crashes into his nervous system. He’s being laid out, prepped and ready for consumption. Oh God, he drugged me to tie me down and cut me open, and then he’s gonna go find Michael and do the same thing-

Keep it together! Express some reticence, for fuck’s sake. You’re not going to break down. You’re not going to give in. Michael’s the one who hurt you, kept hurting you, all this time. Without him, you would have a real family. A home. A future. Not biting the dust spilled on some dank  basement.

The attic betrays nothing but the acrid stench of death. People have died here. People have been tied up and carved open like autopsy specimens, all for the gain of their sadistic owner. Shaun, despite his terror, continues to squint at the weapon.

You’re about to bite the dust anyway...

When Shaun sees the blood staining the steel, he screams.

Another flashbulb memory comes searing into his head: his brother’s wafer-thin form keeling over in the snow. That chokehold of panic throws Shaun into immediate action, forcing him to run and cradle the body of his brother. He’s so desperate and terrified, not knowing if this is really Michael, what this body could be capable of...

And yet Shaun grabs hold anyway, all grudges suddenly forgotten, and oh fuck it must be Patrick, because his nose is bleeding and his limbs are as heavy and wet as the white beneath their boots. Shaun hauls him the best he can, inwardly cursing his lack of strength, and as he drags Patrick over to the frozen table he can only pray his mental fortitude is made of stronger stuff.

“I came here to apologise.”

“Really.”

The sarcasm pours out of Shaun without a second thought, so heated it almost scorches the icy air. But there’s no way he could ever dam this wave of fury.

‘There’s still a lot you don’t know...’

It takes everything Shaun has to not to let his poker face flicker, but the rage beneath makes him want to seize Patrick by his lapels and bash him against a wall. How dare he. This freakshow of a bodysnatcher can’t even keep his brother’s body alive and well long enough to stand up while having a conversation, and yet has the nerve to patronise him?

Shaun hears, ‘I’m sorry for Stormy,’ as if from the other end of a tunnel. All that’s brewing in his head is the conundrum sitting in front of him. Two personalities, one body. They’re interchangeable now, one and the same. Twice the twin, half the skeleton. Michael, playing patient zero to a contagion which wrecks and wrings until bloodied flesh is all that’s left behind. Patrick, a disease forged in the womb and soaked into the being of a boy who could have been something different.

Should have been.

Never will be.

No one could reconcile the two but Shaun.

So it must be a sickness, an illness, a disease. And everything bad that ever comes from sweet Michael’s mouth is a result of his condition.

If that’s the case, is it so awful to want to be as far away from them — from him — as possible,  whoever — and whatever — he is?

Patrick is only sharing the broken-down condo which remains of his brother’s body.

Taking back his stolen property.

And where does that leave Shaun?

As the unspoken martyr, of course.

There’s only so much room in my head for bullshit, Shaun seethes. I’m not going to live my  life cleaning up after him — not for Michael or Patrick.

And that’s it - that’s the one thing that people never let him have. The realisation which hits upon their return to the motel, where Michael cowers beneath the words spat from Shaun’s molten mouth. He always possessed a thought process blessed by rapidity, but a tongue cursed to be silver. Shaun is nothing but a host to a panoply of pain as essential to him as his own veins.

As essential as the blood flowing between Michael, and the brother he never met.

When Shaun storms out into the cold, determined to be somewhere, anywhere that puts great distance between him and the entity Michael/Patrick Andersen, he feels the full force of the Virus, nesting, breeding, multiplying beneath his skin. There’s no room for guilt and worry and pain — just the cure.

To never be near his brother again.

When Shaun saw Patrick’s nose bleeding, he had to swallow back bile. He knew in an instant that their brother never left, not really. Once, connective tissue held the bonds of their brotherhood fast. The transfusion continues. The real question is — who is the donor, and who is the recipient?

Even his own family emphasised the importance of their blood-bond, unable to comprehend Shaun’s behaviour.

“He’s your brother, Shaun, and he needs your help,” his mom tells him one night, barely holding back the tears. “I know he can be difficult to deal with, but this isn’t his fault. He didn’t ask to be sick.”

And Patrick didn’t ask to die, Shaun wants to scream. No one blames Michael for  cannibalism, do they?

Now he’s facedown in the wood, sawdust clinging to the hot streaks his tears leave behind, and that mortifying image which plagues his nightmares comes looming large from the recesses of his mind; two twin boys, floating without care in a shared amniotic sac, their umbilical cords respectively attached to the same fleshy hunk in lieu of a beating heart.

Shaun feels like his foetal never-brother. Severed. Shrink-wrapped in his own sac, the very thing keeping him alive. And then eventually swallowed whole.

It’s time for Shaun to cut the cord for good.

Why couldn’t you just be normal? The tears start for real now, fat and salty and rolling down Shaun’s face in a tempest. His internal monologue is louder now, drowning out the background noise of his softer (yet much more insidious) conscience.

Stormy would still be here if you weren’t so fucked up... I could have had a normal life if it  weren’t for you...

There’s no time left for forgiveness. Because of Michael... Patrick... because Shaun willingly exposed himself to this pathogen again and again, he is going to die here, in this glacial attic, with no one around to know or care.

But, as the lights are turned off, and a dark, unfamiliar laughter fills his every sense, a set of horrid thoughts riot in the screeching crowd of his brain; the thoughts that could never quite be buried.

Michael didn’t know what he was doing... Michael didn’t know what he consumed…

Shaun once made the mistake of asking his mom what his other brother was going to be called.

No-one ever asks to be infected.

Shaun’s eyes shut against the darkness for the last time.

“I always liked the name Patrick.”

[imherebecauseyourehere]

★★—ᖇE: ISSUED TO : @causeborn​ VERSE NOTES : K PROJECT CROSSOVER

🚀—“Jｏｉｎ ｗｉｔｈ ｙｅｓｔｅｒｄａｙ'ｓ ｆｏｅ ｔｏ ｓｍａｓｈ ｆａｔｅ,

                                                   💫 — ａｎｄ ｇｒａｂ ｔｏｍｏｒｒｏｗ'ｓ ｐａｔｈ

                                                                            ｗｉｔｈ ｏｕｒ ｏｗｎ ｈａｎｄｓ!

  Ah, he was such an elegant fellow. Graciousness and poise saturated his speech and mannerisms. His kingship seemed such a natural mantle, designed surely and specifically for this man of such profound composure. Viral was comfortable in his company - if a little entranced by the charisma that Munakata exuded in finest degree. He shook his head once, towards the dismissal suggested initially,   

  ❝Unnecessary?

      Hardly, Munakata-san. It’s imperative. A great focus of my stay here is sheer dedication to learning as much as I can about the denizens of this region. The abilities you possess, the way you live your lives, and yes - especially the customs and celebrations of your culture. You included. So long as I’m not outright imposing, please elect any information that would enhance our understanding.❞

   Those were the nuances of fact. He certainly did want to achieve a comprehension of the Dresden Slates, the Kings and their Auras, and the mysteries therein, before he returned to the Chouginga....

  Yet also, he was grateful to Munakata’s care, and swift assistance following the turbulent arrival he’d suffered. There were personal feelings of appreciation and genuine affinity within his intentions. Was it forward to cite them, in his desires to be closer to Munakata’s personal life? ....probably. And thus, he left those sentiments unspoken. 

                               ...then there was the inquiry as to his own birth....

  The Beastman was quiet for a moment, as his expression sobered. “Birth” was not a term that applied to him - not in the way that Humans were gifted. He liked the way that Humans perpetuated their race; a tender union and the anticipation of a child. It was such a foreign concept, when compared to the soulless, impartial processes of genetic engineering, and the  cloning of soldiers. Cold tubes and glass chambers, metallic floors, and the low hum of artificial heat... He was grateful that his memories of his earliest hours were sparse...

   ❝There was no functionality to recognizing when we soldiers came to term. We weren’t born to parents. And we certainly weren’t invited to consider our existences as independent lives. We didn’t acknowledge the date or time beyond the initial annotation - and even then, it was vague and largely overlooked. My race didn’t utilize a calendar method like yours until rather recently - and that was at Humanity’s behest.

    Keh, even the Humans have but rough estimation of their own ages, if they were born below the surface. 

      ...but if I was approximate it, based on our hindered methods, I’d say I was deemed viable towards what would be the end of your autumnal cycle. The end of your tenth month. ...and that’s only my efforts to decide upon a date to comply with your request out of respect, Munakata-shitsuchou, because there exists not a shred of information to support or refute that date.

   You could honestly assign any other day of your year, if you like.❞

                                     🐾—ɪ'ᴍ ʜᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ ,                                          ‘ǝɹǝɥ ǝɹ'noʎ ǝsnɐɔǝb ǝɹǝɥ ɯ'I

                                            ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍ ɴᴏᴡ!”                                             “!ʍon ɯǝןboɹd ɐ ʇoƃ ǝʌ'noʎ