#If you bring your theories to me I tend to explain what my intentions were 😂

[amethystina]

Hi! I was re-reading Gravitational Pull and a strange line of thought crossed my mind. And for some reason I feel the need to share it with you.

So, I don't know why, but at the part where Yohan says "I'll set you free" my mind made the connection of "free" = "bird" = "Gaon" (cus his tattoo, yeah I know it's a Fenix but still) and that made me go back to the scene where we're shown Yohan's past in the drama for the first time, when he killed the bird. By cutting it off. And now that scene took another meaning in my head, because somehow, probably totally subconsciously, Yohan had set free the bird, free from the chaos that had been caused in the classroom since its arrival. And I feel like that's what Yohan was trying to do, maybe not so subconsciously now, with Gaon in that part of the fic. Setting him free by fully cutting him off from Yohan's world, which is, at the lightest, totally dangerous and chaotic.

Anyway, this probably doesn't make much sense and I'm just reading too much into it (and making it a lot more dramatic lol). Also English isn't my native language and that might make my point a bit lost.

However, I still wanted to share it with you! Thanks for your amazing work and I hope you're doing better <3

Hi there! I'm happy to hear that you're enjoying your re-read! And that it can spark new ideas and thoughts! 😄

As for Yo Han's intentions with Ga On in that fic, I can say that yes, he was trying to set Ga On free — but not from himself. Yo Han was trying to set Ga On free from the restraints that have been put on him by Soo Hyun and Professor Min. That's not to say that Yo Han lied about allowing Ga On to leave if he wanted to. Yo Han would have kept his word and never mentioned the kiss again if that had been Ga On's choice. But more so out of pride than consideration for Ga On. Yo Han would have been too offended by the rejection to mention it again 😆

But Yo Han doesn't actually want to let Ga On go at this point and he's not expecting Ga On to leave. So when Yo Han says "I'll set you free" he does so mainly because he's convinced that Ga On won't actually take him up on the offer. Yo Han might make it sound like he's uncertain, resigned to the fact that Ga On will choose Soo Hyun again, but he's lying.

You have to remember that Yo Han is a manipulative bastard and he was just handed extra ammunition given how affected Ga On was by that kiss. It may seem like Yo Han is being considerate, but he's not. He's acting, carefully nudging Ga On in the direction he wants him to go. The emotions underneath are honest, though. He would let Ga On go if that's what he chose. Because Yo Han is telling the truth when he says that he only wants affection that is freely given. And it would make him sad if Ga On left. But does he expect Ga On to do so?

No, he doesn't.

So, as always with Yo Han, there's an additional layer to what he's saying and doing. He's saying "I'll set you free," but he doesn't specify from what. And there are two ways to interpret that sentence. If Ga On chooses to leave, he'll be set free from Yo Han's influence — that one is simple and straightforward. But if Ga On chooses to stay, he'll be set free from the constraints and expectations of Soo Hyun, Professor Min, and society. Not immediately, obviously — it's a little more symbolic at this initial moment but it can't be denied that choosing to stay with Yo Han is to rebel quite dramatically. In more ways than one.

Yo Han will make sure of that.

So yes, it's about setting Ga On free, but Yo Han has no intention of letting Ga On go. That's not what he wants to set Ga On free from.

Yo Han wants to change Ga On — wants him to become something new and better.

(according to Yo Han's standards — which aren't the same as everyone else's, I should point out 🤣 )

And that's why I think Ga On's tattoo is pretty apt, since the journey he goes through during the drama is very much a rebirth. The Ga On of the first episode is so different from the Ga On of the last episode that they're practically different people — and not only because he's had his beliefs challenged and his world turned upside-down. And, in some ways, that can probably be viewed as him being set free.

I bet Yo Han sees it that way.

Anyhow!

Maybe I should stop dropping bombs like these about Yo Han's characterisation x'D Mainly because a lot of things are supposed to be left for interpretation and my intentions — and how I imagine Yo Han's thought process — aren't supposed to override my readers' theories. I don't want anyone to feel like they're reading my fics wrong or that they're not getting the "right" version of the story.

I always have a plan when I write — especially for Yo Han because that fucker needs to be several steps ahead of everyone else at all times — but I'm well aware that my plan doesn't always come across in my writing. It's not supposed to. Because Yo Han is an unreliable, manipulative bastard and, because of that, his underlying thoughts should remain hidden — which is why I so rarely choose to write his POV. And I imagine that can sometimes be frustrating when I then go ahead and explain what he's actually doing and it wasn't obvious in the text.

So, uh, idk. Sorry for not making Yo Han easier to read? 😅 But he's not supposed to be?

But, long story short: You're not wrong! Yo Han definitely wants to set Ga On free! But rather than sending him off into the light, Yo Han wants to cut off the shackles anchoring Ga On to it and drag him down into the darkest, deepest depths instead.

Because the Abyss is selfish, ruthless, and hungry.

[asmogorna]

Okay so there’s this ww artist on ig called like tooth lilys or something and he’s always causing drama in the ww fandom and he mouthed off about your art and now heaps of insta ww fans are like talking about you :| free publicity?

ahhhh so thats whats happening .. lmao thats crazy

i checked out their story, and i sure doooo love how they leave some things out when talking about both situations that they mentioned to make me look worse ..

ok so

warning, yap session incoming

the "will wood in a (miku) binder" thing happened back in fall 2023 when i was still semi new to the fandom and didnt know a lot of things. so tho i to this day i dont think it was that big of a deal, i wouldnt do it today

it was an artwork made for shits and giggles, the context of which i have explained here before. i never meant to imply that will wood is trans and i certainly dont "headcanon" him as that. my curse is that even when joking around i tend to try and make my art look good, so i get why people thought it was unironic. and i know that it sounds like a lame ass excuse, but it legit didnt cross my mind that people would think i drew will wood as a trans guy or smth. legit my only thought process was "funny haha internet thing" + "my favorite thing" = "good idea"

now the usage of his real name is something i am genuinely sorry for, but it was an accident and a genuine mistake on my part. i remember seeing someone mention it casually in some comment section, and assuming that it was ok, since i didnt know he was in any way against it. (i also thought that it was the same name that he used in "the real will wood" in that one section cus it sounded a bit similar).

when i was informed about the fact that he doesnt want it spread around i deleted the post right away and apologized, so bringing it up like something i did on purpose and out of malicious intent is a tad bit .. misfitting, if you can use that word

now the hot topic of the day: my waywood art

i have said this before and i will say this again, how i feel about rpf is solely based off how the people involved feel about it

to clarify: i never drew anything inappropriate or even suggestive with them, the "worst" thing is 2 simple sketches of them smoochin. or. this.

idk if this is what they were referring to when talking about me drawing will wood and gerard way "making out" (specifically. because i think "making out" implies to be more sexual stuff than small kisses). and if so, then it once again feels like blowing things out of proportion

and now the point i want you to get: will wood wouldnt give a flying fuck

like i said earlier, i never drew anything inappropriate, because that would actually cross will's existent and real boundaries. you know, the ones that he stated

im not making some conspiracy theories about him being gay, like some people seem to imply in their inbox messages to me

im not sending a whole ass smut fanfiction to litwtc gmail or something, i dont bother him in instagram dms asking if he wants to fuck gerard way, im not shipping him with people who he actually knows personally and has to look in the eyes of from time to time

im not doing anything that he would actually care about

him and chris have joked about him being attracted to gerard before, and though im not saying that you can joke about everything theyve ever joked about, i feel like in our case its clear that will clearly doesnt care about the implications ? (i generally believe that ww fans would get their panties twisted about less things if more of them listened to what these 2 talk about so calmly on litwtc but i digress)

if he saw that some random teenager on tumblr is drawing him and gerard way (gasp of horror) holding hands, he'd laugh at it max and then move on with his day

people are treating the whole situation like i posted pictures of him from when he was a kid or leaked patreon content or drew him fully naked or anything else that, you know, would actually affect him in one way or another

what im doing is innocent fun which isnt even likely to reach either of them. will wood very rarely checks tumblr and, once again, i genuinely dont believe he would care. and gerard way aint got no internet + he doesnt care x 2

it is weird but rn this is what brings me the most joy, even if its silly to say. both will wood and gerard way mean a lot to me and putting them in situations together makes me happy. i am but a child full of fun whimsy

i wont be posting any more explicitly romantic art to avoid more drama, and i also wont be responding to all the anon messages i received because there are like .. too many of them. an overwhelming amount i'd say. sorry about that

i really didnt mean to cause such a fuss, and i understand why some people might be uncomfortable with what i do

i fully understand why you would dislike my waywood hyperfixation shenanigans, and i dont have a problem w you over that, but treating me like pure evil because of a thing so insignificant is just.. overdoing it

once again, i will be toning it down, but it really isnt the end of the world if i dare to draw will wood and gerard way being a tad bit gay (which is, i apparently need to mention, not me actually saying that will wood the alternative musician is a homosexual gay who is in a genuine for real actual real gay homosexual relationship with gerard fucking way the lead singer of my chemical romance. i think speculating on other people's sexuality and gender identity is boooo tomato tomato tomato)

sorry for the rant and sorry to all who were disappointed by my lack of remorse. come back in a couple years when i turn 18 and stop having fun and artistic freedom

thank you for your attention and i hope i at least cleared some things up to those who werent w me throughout every event where i get involved in fandom drama

bye bye

[kenkamishiro]

Lost in Translation: Choujin X chapter 1

Fun fact, I was planning to do fan translations for Choujin X with a scan group until it could get a simulpub release, though I didn’t expect it to get one from the very first chapter lol. I’m happy though since it means everyone can read it right away and it doesn’t mess up my schedule.

So instead I’ll be making comparison notes between the EN and JP text to supplement the official translation. I’m not doing this because the official TL is bad (I actually think it’s pretty solid and I hope it will maintain this quality) but because it’s inevitable for something to be lost in translation, and it’s nice to have that additional context for theory crafting and whatnot.

If you want to read it on Twitter instead, the original thread is here, but this is the proofread and way more detailed version 😄

This translation isn’t wrong, but there’s an emphasis on それ (which is TLed as ‘it’) that connotes a stronger, “other, that thing” feeling that isn’t present here. The general idea behind this sentence is: That [becoming a Choujin] resembles more of a disease [than a transformation].

Ely talks like a tomboy, she uses rougher speech patterns and the pronoun オラ (ora), a derivative of the masculine 'ore'. But it's a bit old-fashioned (eg. すまなんだ) which makes sense considering her upbringing with her grandfather on a farm. Hence her country bumpkin speech pattern in English.

Not sure if I should use Ellie or Ely? Ellie makes more sense based on the kana, but Ishida explicitly called her Ely so I might stick with Ely for now... (also istg that blond guy with the huge chin is a reference, I've seen him somewhere)

Tokio, I know your teacher is annoying, but it's rude to call her that lol. This is basically the oppai equivalent of paisen (senpai backwards, it’s slangier). Similar thing actually happened with Ely describing her dream hubby as Goldilocks instead of blond; ‘kinpatsu’ (blond hair) was inverted to become ‘patsukin’, hence the translation as Goldilocks.

Kurohara Tokio (黒原トキオ) and Higashi Azuma (東アヅマ). Kurohara is a common surname, means 'black fields'. Tokio is in katakana, so it’s hard to say what kanji it could be. 'Toki' could be 時 (time) or 外喜 (outside + delight). The 'o' can be the common male name suffix 男 (boy).

But when I think of Tokio, I think of TK's song called 'tokio'. You can read the translated lyrics here. If these lyrics end up being relevant to Tokio's character development I will eat my shoe lol.

Higashi means 'east'. Azuma (which can also be romanized as Aduma, it’s a softer ‘zu’ sound which is why Tokio called Azuma ‘Aju’ earlier in the chapter before correcting himself) is an archaic form of ‘east’. So...this guy is literally East East. The Choujin X equivalent of Moon Moon 😂

Someone also informed me that Higashi Azuma is a station in Tokyo, though the kana are slightly different (アヅマ／あづま vs. あずま). They effectively sound the same though nowadays, if I have to be honest. It’s like comparing the difference between 애 and 에 in Korean.

Tbh this is minor, but worth mentioning just cause it changes the meaning a bit. Tokio is saying something more like, “Why are we even talking about this [the roly-polies] again?”

I think I heard people talking about how the official TL doesn’t match the original text, but personally I really like how this was translated! Sis is using the expression  「爪の垢を煎じて飲む」, which literally means “boiling the dirt under someone’s fingernails and drinking it”. By taking the dirt/grime under the fingernails of someone that you admire, and boiling it and drinking it like a tea, you can become more like them.

But because idioms don’t tend to directly translate well between languages, translators often have to adapt it so that the meaning still remains the same. In English the closest idiom we have to this is “rubbing off on someone.” The “holding hands” bit was added to replace the physical aspect of “taking the dirt from someone’s fingernails” and also contribute to Sis’s sassy and very informal way of speaking.

So Sis is saying in JP (ignoring her personal speech style for now):

You should take the dirt from under [Azuma's] fingernails and boil it so you can be more like him.

And now in ENG it becomes:

You guys should hold hands or something, then maybe he’ll rub off on you.

It now sounds natural in English, still carries the same meaning as the original text, and also suits the character’s speech pattern.

Moving on, in that same panel the literal TL of Tokio’s dialogue is, “Policeman Azuma got dispatched again today,” emphasizing Azuma’s heroic deeds along with his family connections to the police. Another thing I want to note is that this is the second time Azuma has been called 偉い (erai) so far - noble, and now great guy. I’ll just dump the general English definition of 偉い from Jisho here so you get the general idea:

Great; excellent; admirable; remarkable; distinguished; important; celebrated; famous; eminent

But you can tell from how people describe Azuma as 偉い that others look up to him, think he’s a great person and Mr. Perfect. Always being placed on a pedestal by others. (What are the odds this will affect his mentality after the Choujin serum?)

The meaning is still pretty much the same, but I’ll offer a slightly different perspective. Sis mentions that if she were Tokio, she’d burst from the [Azuma] complex. (Clearly Tokio and Azuma's relationship is gonna crack at some point)

Tokio mentions an idiom about hawks (taka) before recalling his childhood memory about vultures. Vultures are called 'hagewashi', but in the chapter it mentions they can also be called 'hagetaka' (buzzard/condor, literally bald hawk).

The kids call him names like "Hagetaka Tokio" and "Hageo". But Hagetaka Tokio only really works in JP cause Hagetaka kinda mimics his last name (Buzzard Tokio doesn't give the same vibe). Same with Hageo. Hage-o = Bald-o = Baldy.

I also think Buzzard was chosen over another name for a vulture like Condor because Buzzard can pass off as an insult.

I would have translated this as, “I wanted to be a lion too...” but this is just personal preference.

A continuation of the 「爪の垢を煎じて飲む」 expression Sis used earlier. Without the adapted idiom the exchange goes something like this:

Tokio: My sister said I should bring home the dirt from under your nails. Can I have some?

Azuma: ...huh? What for, that’s scary. No way.

Tokio: I have to boil it and drink it, apparently.

Azuma: Don’t even think about boiling or drinking it.

But since the 「爪の垢を煎じて飲む」 expression was modified to make it sound natural in English, it means this conversation has to be modified too.

JP: My sister said I should bring home the dirt from under your nails. Can I have some?

EN: My sister says we should hold hands...so I can be more like you. What do you think?

The “dirt from under your nails” part got adapted to “holding hands”, hence how the 1st line from Tokio becomes, “My sister says we should hold hands...so I can be more like you.” “Can I have some?” makes no sense now in this context now, so it was changed to “What do you think?” as a question to Azuma to keep the similar conversation flow going.

JP: ...huh? What for, that’s scary. No way.

EN: Huh? What’re you talking about? No thanks.

Azuma’s next line is similar enough to the JP text except for the removal of “scary”. I think the reason it was most likely removed is because leaving it as it is could be constituted as homophobic (2 boys holding hands, absolutely nothing scary about it as bible thumpers would like people to believe).

JP: I have to boil it and drink it, apparently.

EN: She said to hold hands so you’ll rub off on me.

Tokio’s response to that is explaining what he meant by his proposal. In the original text he lays out the latter half of the idiom (he doesn’t even realize it’s an expression, poor boy), and in English he does something similar by going into why his sister said they should hold hands (so Azuma can rub off on Tokio).

JP: Don’t even think about boiling or drinking it.

EN: C’mon. That’s not how things work.

Azuma’s then rebuts Tokio’s proposal as ridiculous. In the original text he drops a typical straight man response (don’t do *insert whatever ridiculous thing the idiot suggested*). But since Tokio’s proposal in English isn’t as preposterous, his rebuttal is toned down in response by telling him not to take it literally.

Ultimately, even though a lot of this dialogue was changed, I still think it was successful in maintaining the original’s intent. Tokio takes his sister’s sarcastic suggestion literally and brings it up to Azuma, who dismisses it as silly. It would be nice if we could keep the expression as it was in Japanese, but in instances like this where it’s played off of in multiple lines, that’s easier said than done.

軟体 isn’t an actual word, it’s made up of the kanji soft + body. So kinda like Elastigirl, but Flexi was chosen instead. It doesn’t sound 100% right, but I don’t think I could come up with anything better.

Replacing the しい in 楽しい with the C plus that elongated pronunciation makes Johnny sound even more like a stereotypical Yankee, which is why he sounds like that in English 😂

Random but I found it interesting how Azuma called Johnny a youkai (妖怪) instead of something like bakemono (化け物) or obake (お化け) since they’re shapeshifting monsters.

Tokio is worried that if he doesn't do something right now, he's going to lose his friendship with Azuma. The sentence is fine as it is though.

Azuma’s line can also be worded as, "No hard feelings, okay?"

Bestial = 獣化 (juuka) = beast+change = beast transformation

That’s it from me, if you have questions about the TL feel free to send an ask or reply to this post, I promise I’ll check my inbox more often this time 😂

[kanmom51]

JM JK timeline.- my observations how they grew over the years

Disclaimer: these are my own opinions and conclusions.  Feel free to disagree, but hate or aggression will be unacceptable.

2017 - Part 3

Ooh, we have reached a major event here.  Serendipity. 4 September 2017, or is it 1 September 2017 (??), as I will explain bellow. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BEMaH9Sm3lQ&t=16s .  

Or what I like to call:  JM’s love ode to JK.

Now tell me this: If Jimin’s song Serendipity was released 4th September 2017, and uploaded to BangtanTv on 5th September 2017, why is the date stamped on the MV 1 Sep 2017? 

 Does that date mean something? Let me think for a second….oh, it does, doesn’t it?  It’s someone’s birthday !!!

JM tells us himself: “All of this isn’t just a coincidence”.

Serendipity is a beautiful love song, and I honestly believe it is JM’s love ode to JK, a birthday present to his love.  

I am aware that Jimin is not the one who wrote the lyrics for the song.  RM did though.  RM, that at this point was very much aware of the relationship and JM’s great love for JK. RM that had written JK’s Begin, a song that everyone agrees is a very personal song of JK’s.  

The “I am you, you are me” line actually originated from a song released by Zico in early 2016.  There are theories that Jikook used a reference from that songs MV (the band aids on their fingers) during a Puma fan sign on April 2nd 2016.  So, if this is true and the line had special meaning for them to start with, and it found it’s way into the song lyrics... feel free to make your conclusions...

And although we have no way of knowing just how involved JM was in the process of writing this song (did he ask for a love song? Did he give ideas to insert into the song, like destiny, not being a coincidence, the cat?), but at the end of the day, JM ‘owns’ the song, believes in what he is singing.  When he talks about the song you can feel the emotional personal connection he has with the song.  This is his song,  and he sings it for JK.  And JK knows this is Jimin’s gift to him.  

Serendipity related, check out the 18th September Dance with DNA Vlive -  https://www.vlive.tv/video/42069 .

JK’s reaction when JM says Serendipity is his favourite song.  So cute. The thing with this one is that you could easily overlook it or not read too much into it. Only Suga’s reaction here is the tell all.  

At the point that JK is acting all shy and smiley to himself, Suga moves closer to him, whispering “Jungkookah”, something that brings on a change to JK’s entire facial expression.  There’s even a slight head nod from Suga when JK wipes the smile off his face.  

Suga hinting to JK not to be so obvious, only made it more obvious.  I also noticed that just before JM starts singing Serendipity, just after he was asked what his favourite song from the album is, JK looks sideways to Suga, as if he knows he isn’t supposed to react too obviously – looks a bit like little JK might have been scolded or reigned in prior to the live broadcast.    Remember that this is really quite a short time after the song’s release, so JK’s excitement, happiness, is still really fresh.  The song is for him, and it’s JM’s favourite...

I am not going to analyse the MV, but there are many who have done so before me.  Was JM involved in the planning and did he have any input to the choices made?  Idk.  There is a similarity to the motif of the DNA MV. Is it a coincidence that the dominant colour used is JK’s favourite colour? Who knows. But doesn’t the song say “all of this is not a coincidence”?

Add to that JM starting to use the paw print emoji by JK’s name on Twitter?  A coincidence? Mmm… interesting.

From this point on it is clear that “you are me, I am you” is a JM and JK thing. 

21 September 2017 BTS comeback show.  JK was in charge of putting together each of the members DNA.  Very enjoyable.  But why did JM have to mention again that JK comes to their room to sleep?  Also, how does JK know that JM doesn’t wake up Hobi when he is playing games late at night?  JM telling us how he now learnt how to play games – then what games was JM good last year (re: Vlive 22 April 2017)?

22 September 2017 Love Yourself fan sign– JM singing Serendipity, JK joining in.  How happy JM looks when JK sings “just let me love you” with him all while making eye contact with each other at that point. The way JM looks at JK while singing the song.  Singing to him.  

Still think Serendipity is not JK and JM’s song?

They have a way of looking at one another that sometimes make me feel like I’m intruding on a very intimate moment.

24 September 2017 SBS Inkigayo Super concert – found it!!!  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fb-_jkdxgh4 start watching at 3.36min.

This is the one I remembered, where JM, saw the need to grab JK’s butt, run his hand up and down his back side, right through the crack, repeatedly. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v7fv0CaQT9M start watching 11:30min , JM walks to his place past JK, lightly brushing his hand against JK.  

When I mention the brushes or light touches – this is what I mean (see attached photos).   Obviously, there will be those who say it wasn’t intentional, that he was walking by him and didn’t mean to touch him.  I say bollox to that (excuse the language).  

First, there was plenty of room not to walk so close to JK.  Second, if you notice, he circles JK only to make it back to the same actual side he was on to begin with.  All he had to do was back up, just like JK did, and not circle JK to make it to his place on stage.  Third, to me it looks as if he was aiming to touch JK’s hand, only it was too high up.

26 September SBS MTV The Show.  Happy happy boys.  

30 September 2017  Love Yourself fan sign Sinchon –  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SMIdoK9rfAI .  

Another one I was looking for.  I have seen this moment and wasn’t sure where or when it was from.  This is one of those clips Jikook’s use to show Jimin being jealous, and to be honest, first time I saw it it made me wonder too.  But watching it again and again, I have come to the conclusion that that wasn’t the issue.  

To me this is more JM being protective than JM being Jealous.  Setting the boundaries for V when it comes to JK, and it is something we see with JM more than once.  

JM wasn’t happy.  V wasn’t happy.  Boundaries were set.  

I actually wrote a separate post about this moment.  

1 October 2017 BTS live – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qwU-NOMLvqQ 

Tipsy JK must be a Jikooker. His guard is down, inhibitions are gone and he becomes really chatty and tends to say and do things that he most likely regrets later on.  We didn’t see the members drink what seemed to be alcohol, but the vibe I got from JK’s talkativeness and behaviour during the live was that he was tipsy.  Not outright drunk, but tipsy.

To the fan’s request to show his abs, JK starts checking himself out, looking under his T-shirt, only to be scolded by JM to keep it to himself.  This is also the first time we hear him Jikooking, talking about eating with Jin and JM, referring to them as Jin-jikook, and then turning to JM, while the others try to call them by another name (I wonder why…).  Did I not say tipsy JK is a Jikooker???

3 October 2017 Run BTS episode 22.  https://www.vlive.tv/video/43438 start 7.00min.

JM turns to JK asking him to vote for him.  The softness in JM’s voice when he asks him acting all coquettish.  The way JM approached JK and the way he spoke to him, that’s not the way someone talks to his mate, or to his ‘brother’.

There was a softness in the approach to JK.  coquettish is the only way I can describe it.

 Love hearts were added by the show’s editors, not me !!!! 

12 October 2017 BTS countdown. Can be found on Dailymotion. 

All JM had to say was one word – Jungkookah and JK, surprisingly (not) chose him.  The look of joy on their faces at that point.  And again the editors with the heart emoji effects.  Uhm… 

JM and JK’s team was the team chosen by the fans, and guess what song they both choose to sing, as JM piggy backed JK? Their song obviously… Serendipity.  

And yet again, JM gets to tell us JK comes to his room to sleep.  We hear you JM.  We hear you.

Jimin birthday surprise (BangtanTV 1 November 2017) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6aAhNAl53ZY.

JM gets flowers sent from his father.  J-Hope and Suga pretend JM’s dad has arrived to surprise JM, Suga pointing and saying he saw him.  JK slowly backs up, shocked and alarmed smile on his face, trying to move behind RM.  Then the boys start laughing.  

Now, why do I think this is a moment worthy of my timeline?  Well, when the boys start laughing, revealing it was a joke, the one Suga points at, laughingly, is JK.  

The whole thing feels like a joke on JK, not JM.  JK is the one being teased.   Why would JK be so stressed out from JM’s dad being there?  And why would the boys be teasing him like that? Hm…

The funny thing is that the camera is on JK and Suga, not on JM, who was supposedly just told his father was there. That feels slightly strange to me. Wouldn’t they want to catch JM’s reaction? Not JK’s?

28-30 October 2017 JK and JM Tokyo trip together.  This trip was long anticipated by JM.  He had been looking forward for his trip with JK for a long time.  It was a private trip planned and paid for by JK as a gift for JM.  What we know about the trip is mostly what they tell us in retrospect.  

Saying that, this was truly a memorable trip for them both, and they both can’t seem to shut up about it, talking about it at any possible moment.  JK telling us how JM stayed up (only JM?) until 5 am, so they both woke up at 12pm and missed out on plans they had for the morning, JM tells how they went shopping in Harajuku, how during their trip was the longest walk they took, referring to their trip during interviews.  As I mentioned – a memorable trip.  

31 October 2017 - When returning from the trip JM posts a selca/selfie.  I know I said I won’t be doing this, but rules are sometimes meant to be broken, and this specific selca is gorgeous, so…

BTS Wings tour Japan documentary - filmed October 2017, published 12 November 2017 - https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x7sz5rq .  

Both acting cute together. For some reason, they are the only ones that are paired for the one on one interviews, when Suga, Jin and Hobi were all interviewed by themselves. 

 Felt like JM and inhibitions were strangers during the group interview.  

Not really sure what JM was searching for in JK’s thigh during the group interview (when V was talking) – tupping, fingering and squeezing JK’s thigh.  And yet again RM and J-Hope’s reactions to die for.  Hobi eyes on the action throughout the whole episode, and RM when he notices, I would pay a lot of money to know what was going through his head at that point.  My educated guess is: “God, please get me out of here, why did I agree to be the leader????” LOL.

Then when asked what their impressions were when coming to the dome, JM tells how JK was crying, all while caressing JK’s ear.  JK tells how he was emotional, and they look at each other.  All the while, RM’s face when JM touches JK’s ear, only to continue to place his hands on their shoulders respectively.

JM continues to surprise, telling viewers to anticipate for JK’s sweat.  The minute he says that, RM turns to look towards Suga, the vibe I get is: “god, please help me here…”.  

Then JM goes on to tell us how in his opinion JK’s sweat is beautiful, Holy water.  What???? J-hope repeats JM’s Holy water, then glances for just a second towards RM and looks down nervously – great save Hobi.

The group interview was shot on JM’s birthday.  Maybe that had something to do with his good un-inhibited mood.

8 November 2017 – GCF in Tokyo - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XrTNLkqGrlc  .

While the Tokyo trip was JK’s birthday gift or JM.  GCF Tokyo is JK’s love ode to JM.  

One of JK’s grand gestures.  Up there with RB, as far as I am concerned.

This is not an analysis of GCFT, but I do have a few words to say on the matter. Explain why in my eyes this is a JK’s love ode to JM.  

This video was filmed and edited by JK, and JK alone.  It supposedly documents their trip together.  It was his choice and his alone to edit and publish this video and did so to JM’s surprise.  

In the video to start with, he lets us know that it’s the two of them, but from there on, other than seeing JK through the mirrors in the elevator while he is filming JM, the one we mostly see is JM.  JM smiling, JM goofing around, JM eating, JM enjoying himself on the Tea Cup ride at Disneyland, JM walking, JM dancing, and as a whole just JM having the time of his life. For a video that is documenting a trip to Tokyo, there is not too much of Tokyo we get to see.  

The end credits name JK as the photographer, director and editor, while naming JM as the actor.  

There is a strong romantic vibe to the video.  

JK’s editing choices, including his music choice for the video are well thought out.  His choice to edit to the beat of the song.  All cleverly thought out to accentuate both the footage and the lyrics of the song he chose:  ‘There for you’ by Troye Sivan and Martin Garrix.  

JM told us already: “this is not a coincidence”.  

The level of preparation from JK, acquiring the rights to use the song, the amount of time it took to go over the footage and edit the video, all while managing to do that will a full working schedule (working throughout the night). This was clearly something big for him.  His joy and pride when it was uploaded to Youtube, clearly showed, him smiley and dancing.

2 days prior to GCFT, on 6 November 2017, JM published his short clip of the trip.  JM too took the time to edit a cute footage of the trip, documenting both of them having fun. Putting them both side by side only emphasizes the difference and showcases just how much GCFT was all about JM, being JK’s love ode to JM.

To be continued...

[lizaloveslevihan]

Hii!!! Many people are feeling kinda mixed meh about the latest chapter, especially due to the way Levi-Zeke rivalry thing ended. Did you read the official version? What do you think?

Hi! Thank you for bringing this up because I was meaning to post my thoughts on this regardless. I’ve seen a lot of discourse regarding this matter, especially when it came to Levi’s character. I’ve done my best looking at it in an unbiased way because the truth is, who you ship him with tends to cloud your mind from his real intentions as a character. I’ll also do my best to talk a little more about Zeke, even though I honestly still have a hard time figuring out him out . 

Levi’s promise to Erwin has undoubtedly become a large part of his character and has been what was driving him for years. But to say that it’s all he has, to reduce him to this mindless, revenge-seeking machine for me is just so wrong on so many levels. 

My take? That his intentions have always been about doing what was best for humanity. That along with these intentions is his sense of duty to carry the hopes and dreams of his dead comrades. These things have always been the embodiment of his promise to Erwin, which is to kill Zeke. 

When he made that promise to Erwin, they were under attack — the Beast Titan was throwing rocks and they would have failed in their mission to secure Shiganshina. By killing the Beast Titan, Levi would be able to secure their front and make sure that the sacrifices all those Survey Corps members made were not in vain. This was for the sake of both humanity and his comrades. When he wasn’t able to do so, this created a sense of guilt inside of him. And of course, we can’t deny his bond with Erwin. We can’t deny that he cares deeply about him, that he was about to choose him over Armin. But he chose the latter, and so the only way he can pay tribute to his fallen comrade, to the person whom he respected deeply and introduced him to his life in the Survey Corps — was to fulfill this promise.

But then we enter the final arc. If Levi was really a mindless, revenge-seeking machine people ought him to be, if killing Zeke was just all in the name of revenge, then he would have had no hesitation to kill him back in the forest. Let me remind you, Zeke had turned all of his subordinates into titans and forced him to slaughter every single one of them. But despite that, despite feeling incredible loss and hatred, Levi still didn’t kill him. Why? Because he believed in the secret plan he had. Why? Because they all believed that was what was best for Eldia and because it was what was seemingly going to help free their race. He didn’t kill Zeke yet because that was what he believed to be best for humanity. In the end, no matter how you look at it, he was looking at the bigger picture. Yes, he still wanted to kill Zeke to satisfy his promise, but he was willing to see to it that his death would be through him getting eaten by a titan of their own. 

And then we come to the Alliance. His objective is to still kill Zeke, yes, but killing Zeke aligns with the interest of the Marleyans and is potentially the key to stopping the rumbling. And of course, he had just lost his subordinates. He has to give their deaths meaning as well, on top of all the others. But then Hange died too, and more than anything their final wish was to stop the rumbling. So I’m going to reiterate this for the nth time: the promise has always been about saving humanity and giving meaning to his comrades’ deaths. Chapter 136 also confirms this. 

If keeping Zeke alive was the key to stopping the rumbling, however, then I’m sure Levi wouldn’t have killed him. 

Now we have the actual part where he does what he’s been wishing for so long. Personally, I need more context for this and I hope we get some insight into his thoughts next chapter, but you can tell that killing Zeke didn’t give him the fulfillment he ought to have. He’s pained and distressed the entire time. Did he recognize Zeke's sacrifice? I can’t tell. But I think that this all points to the fact that he’s just tired.

The entire time we see him in his crippled state — from Chapter 126 till now — he’s just, to put it quite plainly, dead inside. 

Yelena pointed this out to him in Chapter 128, and you can just tell how tired he is. All his life has been about violence. He’s thrown into every single conflict, over and over again, and honestly, I’m having a hard time right now expressing my thoughts over this because my heart just hurts revisiting these chapters and thinking about it. He’s disassociated so much after Hange died and went as far as to say he’ll see them later. He’s just so done. 

And I think that’s what he was thinking when he finally did it. He gave Zeke as much of a quick and painless death, despite all those years of wanting to savor his demise. Perhaps he didn’t realize how easy it would be. (Damn okay I thought it would be easier now to talk about this but I guess not, I’m just incredibly attached to Levi if you can’t tell.) 

Regarding Zeke, well, I thought his last statement to be rather beautiful. How for so long he’s always thought of things somewhat in a black or white perspective. I love how Armin made him realize that life was all about those little moments, about those small things that give us joy in our everyday lives. He rose up and finally appreciated the beauty and simplicity of the day. And his interaction with Levi, saying how he wanted to meet him but he couldn’t say the same? How he just openly goes “Hey! I’m right here! You can kill me now, buddy!” like two old friends seeing each other again? I wouldn’t go as far as saying they were friends, but the light and comedic moments they always share amid their difficult and brutal relationship is something I truly appreciate and will miss. 

I really would love, however, if the situation with paths would be explained more. That whole dimension is so tricky and difficult to understand, and as much as I love reading other people’s theories, it sets me up for disappointment should my expectations not be met. And if I’m being completely honest, I also would have liked to see more of Zeke. He was out of commission for almost, what? A year? But then again, the manga timeline itself isn’t that long so I suppose it makes sense. 

To wrap it up, Levi isn’t just a mindless tool for revenge. His promise to Erwin perfectly embodies his consistent intentions and principles as a character -- to help humanity and give meaning to his comrades’ deaths. His bond with Erwin is also something we can’t deny being there, and though it heavily influences him, it’s not what makes up his entire character. He’s incredibly tired of violence, which may be the reason why he looks the way he does in this chapter. Zeke is such an interesting and well-developed character and though I would have loved to have seen more of him, his epiphany and death were beautiful for me. Wouldn’t it be interesting if this was Levi’s last act of violence? Hopefully, the next chapter would give us more insight into his thoughts and explain things in regards to the bigger picture. 

[lloydskywalkers]

this is probably like...150 percent nOT what you were looking for when you asked this, but i can only write so much Garmadad Angst per month, and i’m saving the rest for angst week :’( also two paragraphs into this i remembered Bragi mentioning that Garmadon is able to shapeshift into about anything he wants, and my brain seized on that and ran a little too wild, so the result is!! probably crack, but i had fun with it :’D

Garmadon means to leave the boy in peace. Truly, he does, because leaving the boy in peace means that Garmadon gets peace, as he won’t have anyone to go hurling accusations at him with pathetically teary eyes at any given moment. It also means he doesn’t have to deal with the infuriating mess of…feelings…that always seem to go hand in hand with the boy. If Garmadon had any sense, he’d head as far from the boy as he possibly can and forget about him entirely, and everyone’s life would be vastly improved on the whole.

If Garmadon had any sense. And if those infuriating, truly hellish feelings ever stopped making an appearance whenever Garmadon’s thoughts drifted to the boy, which was unfortunately…often.

Infuriating, truly.

Perhaps Garmadon isn’t as sensible as he’d like to think he is, but he’s not selfless, either. So instead of sparing the boy’s peace any thought, perhaps he directs his efforts to tracking the boy down. And perhaps, instead of trying to banish the boy from his brain, he mentally marks where the boy tends to show up outside his brother’s ugly monastery. Perhaps he begins to use his Oni-given shifting abilities to blend in rather than stand out, for the sole purpose of tailing the boy. It’s only for Garmadon’s selfish reasons.

Because — because this is a selfish errand, of course. If Garmadon can’t have any peace, then the boy doesn’t get any either. It’s clean-cut reasoning, no sentiment behind it.

He doesn’t want to be caught, however, under any circumstances. The idea of having to explain himself — or worse, endure the boy’s annoying yelling again — is almost enough to turn Garmadon away entirely. But the pathetic, disgusting need to figure out what the boy’s supposed to be to him has taken control now, so Garmadon throws caution to the wind.

Well, not entirely. He’s not a shapeshifter for nothing. He simply…needs to figure out how to use that to his advantage, first. He’s been using his favored form — a hulking, dark wolf with teeth that could tear a human in half. Garmadon’s been quite satisfied with it, as any tiny human he’s run into flees screaming at the sight, but he’s beginning to think the form is not, perhaps, the best one for tailing the boy. He’s trying to be inconspicuous, and that’s rather difficult when the red ninja charges him with his hands on fire in a misguided attempt to keep him from tearing the Green Ninja’s throat out.

Which is not Garmadon’s intent, obviously, but the fire ninja doesn’t know that, and it’s not as if Garmadon wants to admit what his real intent is. Tearing the boy’s throat out is at least a less humiliating endeavor to pretend he’s on.

Instead of snapping the red ninja up like a pint-sized snack, then, Garmadon begins to study the boy. After carefully observing him, and evading several more of the red ninja’s attempts to charbroil his demonic werewolf form, Garmadon comes to a conclusion. There is, undoubtedly, one form he can take that will not only throw off any suspicion, but ensnare the boy entirely to his whims.

To his dismay, the issue with this is that the boy has terrible taste.

**************

He tests his theory somewhere in the middle of his fourth week of observing stalking his boy. His new form is irritating, to say the least, as he’s only able to reach up to the humans’ kneecaps in it, but it does come in handy for slipping in and out of small spaces. He’s able to get much closer to the boy than he ever has before, practically trailing his heels through the open marketplace in the small village he’s in today.

What a fool, Garmadon thinks to himself, as the boy leans over with his hands braced on his knees, putting him eye level with the bright-eyed child who’s rambling at him. It’d be so easy to kill him right now, Garmadon could manage it in his sleep. He’s practically in danger of falling asleep as it is, listening to the boy blabber on to the child.

Blah blah blah, I bet you’d make an amazing ninja, blah blah blah, what utter sentimental garbage, Garmadon thinks haughtily. The boy is clearly lying through his teeth. This child would make a sub-par ninja at best, if he survived that long. Or perhaps his boy is looking to recruit cannon fodder, Garmadon muses. At any rate—

“Oh hey, a kitty!”

Garmadon’s eyes snap up to find the child’s stubby finger pointed directly at him. Before he can flee, the boy turns around as well, bright green eyes widening as they fix on him. For a moment, Garmadon fears the boy’s seen straight through him—

Then his lips curve into a smile, and he crouches down lower to offer a hand.  “Hey, kitty,” the boy’s voice is disgustingly soft and gentle as he addresses him. “What are you doing out here all alone?”

Of course, Garmadon laughs to himself. The boy’s ensnared immediately, just as he’d thought. Ever the fool, his boy.

“You don’t have a collar or anything…are you homeless? I wonder if…”

What an idiot. Garmadon would be smirking if he could, relishing in how utterly oblivious the boy is. Honestly, what a—

“—and it’s been getting pretty cold out at night lately, so I think I can get away with bringing you home.”

—wait.

That’s all the warning Garmadon gets before the boy’s hands close around his middle, neatly scooping him up and trapping him firmly in his arms. Garmadon has a moment or two of sheer disbelief — of sheer fury, that this boy’s dared to handle him as such—

Before Garmadon remembers that he’s taken the form of a fluffy, scruffy cat, designed perfectly to capture his boy’s pathetic heart, and realizes he probably has no one to blame for this but himself.

**************

The boy is so revoltingly cheerful as he kidnaps Garmadon, he almost debates shifting into a bug and letting the boy step on him, just to put him out of his misery. It’d be more tolerable if the boy would talk about anything useful, but instead he’s just chattering away happily, like yanking some mangy cat off the street is the best thing that’s ever happened in his poor, miserable existence. On one hand, it’s a drastic change from the surly, angry way the boy normally glares at Garmadon, so at least there’s variety. On the other hand, Garmadon would almost rather the boy shout what a terrible person he is than deal with his infuriatingly sunny disposition.

He puts up with it until the boy gets him halfway up the steps of the monastery, at which point Garmadon finally remembers he’s got claws in this form — but by then it’s too late. The boy’s already gotten him this far, and Garmadon resigns himself to his fate as he’s taken inside his brother’s monastery, and immediately greeted by the rest of his irritating little ninja minions.

“Took you long enough, green machine, we almost ate without y— tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

“Um…it’s not what you think it is?” The boy seems entirely unapologetic as he ducks beneath the black ninja’s arm, darting behind the others.

The black ninja groans, and the water ninja speaks up instead. “What is this, the third time this month? Lloyd, you know what Sensei’s said.”

For a moment, Garmadon has a brief burst of hope that his brother has, in a roundabout way, done him a favor for once.

“Aw, c’mon,” the boy says, and Garmadon resists the urge to yowl as he clutches him tighter against his chest. It’s a tempting position, admittedly, as the boy’s neck is right there, nice and exposed. But Garmadon can also see the red ninja eyeing him from across the room, and he does prefer to be un-cooked.

“It’s cold out, and he was wandering all alone by himself!” the boy continues, his eyes plaintive. “I couldn’t just leave him.”

“You could’ve taken it to the shelter,” the blue ninja points out. The boy glares at him.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Jay.”

“You should be so lucky as to get my opinion.”

“I suppose a night wouldn’t hurt,” the white ninja finally speaks up, rubbing his temple. Garmadon spots the silver-haired nindroid girl behind him, utterly unconcerned with the situation as she taps at her phone. Garmadon decides he likes her best.

“I dunno, Lloyd,” the red ninja mutters, stalking over and glaring at the boy’s hands. “I mean, look, it basically tore your fingers to shreds! And you want to keep it?”

“I’m sure it was just scared,” the boy huffs, casually dabbing at one of the weeping cuts Garmadon managed to score along his hand with the edge of his gi. Garmadon wishes he could snort in this form. Scared. As if his boy is even remotely frightening.

“It’ll just be one night,” the boy continues, fixing the red ninja with his eyes. “Just one little night. Please?”

The red ninja’s expression contorts, and he heaves a sigh. “Yeah, sure. ‘One night’. Haven’t heard that one eighty times before.”

“I mean it this time,” the boy says, patting the red ninja on the shoulder as he triumphantly hauls Garmadon deeper into the monastery with him. To Garmadon’s despair, he catches the look on the red ninja’s face as he goes, that clearly says the boy is lying.

Well, this is a predicament, Garmadon muses. Looking at things pragmatically, though, he did want to get closer to the boy. And this way, he’ll at least have an excellent view into the ongoings of his brothers’ students’ lives. Not that he’s particularly interested, as all they’ve done so far is overcook two separate pots of rice and accidentally set a dishtowel on fire, but there could be…something, of use, for him to spy on eventually.

Or maybe not, Garmadon thinks in despair, as the blue ninja mistakenly zaps the toaster into oblivion, the black one yelping at him as the white one wearily puts out the ensuing fire.  

With a tiny sigh, Garmadon instead watches as his boy sticks brightly-colored bandaids across the half-healing cuts on his hands, without the slightest damper to his sunny expression. He curls up on himself in disappointment. The boy is tougher to crack than he’d expected. Perhaps he should simply resign himself to enduring the next day or so. It can’t be that difficult to tolerate the boy until he’s free.

“I think I’m gonna call him Marbles, for now.”

Never mind. Garmadon’s going to kill him within the night.

**************

The boy survives the night, but only by the slimmest margin of Garmadon’s mercy. Most of this generosity is due to the passable bed the boy makes up for him, as opposed to dragging him into the ninja’s shared room. Had that been the case, Garmadon would have murdered all of them, but fate stayed her hand this time.

This doesn’t answer why Garmadon stays the next two nights as well, however. He tells himself it’s simply because he’s gathering what information he can about the ninja, observing their moves and uncovering their weaknesses. This excuse would probably hold more weight if Garmadon hadn’t napped straight through their practices, and if the only weakness he’s uncovered is that half the ninja can’t cook to save their lives. His boy can, as the food he sneaks Garmadon at least isn’t toxic. Of course, Garmadon’s also currently a cat, which could explain a thing or two, but he isn’t complaining. Yet.

All things considered, though, there’s really no excuse for why Garmadon hasn’t made his escape yet. He ponders this as he slips out the monastery doors late that night, shrugging off his cat form with a grimace, stretching his arms in mild discomfort. Holding a form this long isn’t painful, exactly — and holding the form of a cat is child’s play — but it does get uncomfortable after a while. Garmadon’s just stretching his lower right arm out, scowling as he does, when he hears a quiet intake of breath from behind him.

“Oh.”

Garmadon whirls around, only to come face to face with the nindroid girl, her green eyes wide and glowing in the darkness.

Ah, Garmadon thinks. This could pose a problem.

He stares back at her, momentarily lost. He’s taken a liking to the girl — Pixie, or something, he hasn’t cares much for their names. She’s quieter than the others, and a good deal more perceptive. She also knows how to keep to her own business, a valued trait Garmadon finds painfully lacking in this realm. Unfortunately, she also appears to be quite smart, given the way her eyes narrow on him.

He finally clears his throat, scrambling for anything that will free him from this mess. “Good evening,” he manages. “I was just — leaving, that’s all. Yes, leaving.”

The girl’s silvery hair glints in the moonlight as she tilts her head. “You know, I should tell Lloyd about you.”

Garmadon freezes, panic clouding his brain. A pang of regret sparks in him. Perhaps he’ll have to kill her after all.

“But,” she continues, her eyes gleaming. “Then I would have to deal with the fallout.”

Garmadon feels a flicker of hope.

“Also, by my calculations, it will be vastly more amusing to watch it all unfold,” the girl nods. “Very well. I will keep your secret.”

Well. That went better than he expected. He knew he liked the girl for a reason. Garmadon gives a sharp nod of thanks, and makes to hastily flee the scene before the girl’s voice stops him.

“Oh, and Lord Garmadon?”

There’s a flicker of some odd emotion at the title she’s given him, but Garmadon brushes it off, turning to meet her gaze.

“Hurt them and I’ll end you, of course.” Her voice grows glacial in the span of seconds, and Garmadon, warlord of infinite power and destruction, begins to think he might fear for his life.

“Duly noted,” he swallows.

The girl nods to herself, seemingly satisfied. She pauses, as if considering something, then speaks up again. “Not that I’ve said anything to you,” she says, carefully. “But Lloyd likes to sit out by the pond in the evenings, with the fish.”

Garmadon has no idea where the sudden rush of heat to his face comes from, but he most certainly does not appreciate it. He scowls at her. “Who’s Lloyd?” he snaps.

The girl gives a tiny, quiet sigh. “Someday,” she mutters to herself. “Someday, one of you will see sense.”

**************

Garmadon has no intention of taking the nindroid girl’s advice. He tells himself this, even as he snakes around the boy’s legs near the monastery pond that evening, eyeing him shrewdly. The boy appears a good deal more unguarded than he’s been, dangling his bare feet off the little bridge’s edge as he watches the fish swim. He brightens when he catches sight of Garmadon, making an odd clicking sound with his tongue as he gently pets the back of his head.

Garmadon forces himself to remember that he’s brought this on himself.  

“Sneaking around again, huh?” the boy murmurs. Garmadon stiffens, caught off-guard. The boy’s expression is still relaxed and unguarded, though, so he must be rambling for the sake of talking again.

His boy is an odd one, Garmadon thinks, watching as he tosses tiny food flakes to the goldfish swimming lazily below them.

“I don’t blame you,” the boy continues. “It’s a nice evening to be out. Nothing’s on fire, this time.”

Garmadon doesn’t even want to know.

“I know you probably think I’m hiding again,” the boy sighs. “That’s what Kai’s been saying. But I’m not, really. I just — needed some space, you know? Last mission wasn’t…it wasn’t great.”

Garmadon’s head perks up in interest, his eyes gleaming. So the boy wants to spill information about their missions, does he? This is turning out better than he’d hoped.

Yes, Garmadon thinks gleefully, as the boy rambles on. Tell me all your secrets, you stupid boy. Tell me how I can finally defeat you entirely.

“I mean, it definitely could’ve been worse, like that one time with all the gasoline cans, but still…”

By the end of the hour, all Garmadon’s gathered is that the boy talks entirely too much. He’s apparently self-conscious of the way his eyes change color, but what is Garmadon supposed to do with that one? Make fun of him until his soul is crushed? Unlikely. The boy’s like an elusive bug, attempting to crush him doesn’t end well.

He also learns that the boy cares a good deal about his team, which Garmadon already knows. Everything else is just meaningless chatter, as Garmadon could care less about whatever girl’s left him with residual trauma this time. He does, however, also learn that the boy loves the little goldfish, which he can work with.

“—and I don’t want it to sound like I’m complaining! I’m not, really, but…but it’d just be nice to get a break every once in a while, you know?” The boy trails off with a sigh, scratching absently at one of his ears. Garmadon ignores him, eyeing the fish the boy’s just tossed an extra flake to and preparing to strike the blow.

The boy hums contently. “You know, you’re really not such a bad c— Marbles no, not the goldfish!”

It’s a close battle, but the boy manages to snatch him up before his jaws can close around the fish. Garmadon ends up dragged soaking wet from the koi pond by an equally soaking boy, his blond hair plastered all over his forehead as he scowls, wringing the edge of his gi out with one hand and firmly hauling Garmadon inside with the other. It’s a humiliating picture, he’s sure, but the satisfaction of hearing the boy yelp when Garmadon snatches his towel and runs helps slightly.

**************

Garmadon plans on leaving that night. He does, truly — all he’s gotten for his trouble so far is vague amusement from how idiotic his brother’s students can be, which, while entertaining, is far from useful. There’s nothing keeping him here but the infuriating mess of emotions he feels toward to the boy, like there’s some cursed connection between them, and Garmadon’s not supposed to be acknowledging the existence of that in the first place. So he makes a promise to himself to leave the monastery tonight and never look back. And he’s preparing to do just that, except he makes the fatal mistake of checking on the boy one last time.

He only means to sneer in his direction once more — or as best a cat can sneer — but instead he freezes, watching the boy sniffle quietly in his sleep.

Ah. He’s crying again. Garmadon frowns at the scene. The boy does seem to cry in his sleep quite often, doesn’t he. What does he even have to be crying about, anyways? Except perhaps the time Garmadon put him in a coma, but that was so long ago, surely the boy must’ve gotten over it by now. And granted, there was that time the boy seemed to die for a moment, but he’s clearly still alive, isn’t he?

It could, of course, just be that the boy’s crying about his friends — Garmadon doesn’t understand it, but like he’s seen, the boy cares an awful lot for them. And from what he remembers, the boy’s supposedly lost a few of them…twice now, was it? It’s not like Garmadon keeps up with them, but he knows the boy got them back. Really, he’s got nothing to be crying about at all, Garmadon thinks, haughtily.

The boy’s expression scrunches up in distress, looking the picture of misery where he’s half-tangled in blankets. This sparks an entirely foreign emotion in Garmadon’s cold soul, which he decides must be another level of disappointment in the boy. That doesn’t sound right, of course, because Garmadon is familiar with disappointment, and this emotion isn’t it,  but—

Well, he’s not going to try and figure out what else it could be.

The boy sniffles miserably again, and Garmadon huffs in irritation. Digging his claws into the boy’s bedding, he hauls his cursedly tiny body onto the bed and gingerly picks his way across the tangled blankets, pausing to stare at the boy. Hm. Still crying. He ought to wake up sometime soon, Garmadon thinks, expression furrowing in concern. What if the boy’s so hopelessly pathetic that he cries enough to drown himself in his sleep? Garmadon can’t have that. They’ve still got unfinished business, and the boy can’t be killed by tears when Garmadon’s the only one with the right to that honor.  

Deciding he has no other option, Garmadon pads his way onto the boy’s chest, leans over his face, and licks him on the nose.

The boy’s eyes snap open wide in alarm. He gives a muffled shriek, vaulting backwards as he flails wildly in panic. Garmadon is sent flying, but he’s awarded a perfect view of the way the boy accidentally slams into his own bedpost and goes sprawling to the floor.

Oh, but he wishes he could cackle properly in this form.

It takes the better part of an hour for the boy to convince his friends that he’s not being murdered in his sleep. It takes another half hour to convince them that he’s not in any overwhelming distress, and an additional quarter hour to convince the red ninja that he’s not lying. By the time the boy manages to get them back asleep enough for him to sneak out to the monastery rooftop, Garmadon is fully regretting not having left when he could. At least the open road would have been quiet enough to sleep on.

“Sorry about all that,” the boy apologizes, as he gently sets Garmadon down next to him on the roof. Garmadon sniffs haughtily. As if he’d accept any apology from the boy.

“I don’t normally react like that,” the boy continues, his voice soft and rasping. “Tonight was just — I mean, I don’t normally have nightmares like that.”

Garmadon may not know how the boy’s mind functions, but he knows when the boy is lying. The boy seems to realize it too, pulling his knees to his chest and crossing his arms over them, propping his chin up dejectedly. He’s quiet for a moment, and Garmadon yawns, tail drifting lazily over the rooftop where he sits beside the boy.

After a while, the boy shifts, sitting cross-legged instead as his hands play anxiously with the edge of his nightshirt.

“I guess I just—” The boy cuts off, taking a sharp breath before starting back up again.

“I thought they’d stop, you know?” he mumbles. “Once I got far enough. I mean, I can’t — I can’t have nightmares about it forever, right?”

The boy’s voice cracks in desperation, and he swallows thickly. “If it was — if it was just her, I could maybe — but it’s him, too, and I—”

The boy buries his face in his hands, his shoulders shuddering. Despite his better judgement, Garmadon pads quietly up to him, carefully placing his head atop the boy’s knee. The boy gives a shuddery exhale, pulling his hands from his face. He gives Garmadon a watery smile, reaching a gentle hand toward him again.

“Anyways, I’m sorry I knocked you off the bed. You’re a good listener, for a cat,” the boy says quietly, stroking behind his ear. Garmadon resists making a face.

Stupid boy. Stupid boy and his pathetic emotions, making Garmadon feel like he should stay. He really ought to make sure the boy hasn’t taken up witchcraft as a part time hobby. That would explain things, at least. It would certainly make more sense than Garmadon caring for his boy, or some ridiculous nonsense like that.

…the boy. Not his boy, that would be—

Well, actually, Garmadon muses. That doesn’t sound entirely off. Perhaps, in time, he might—

No, no, no. Before Garmadon can lose his mind entirely, he straightens up, opens his jaws, and snaps down tightly on the boy’s finger.

The boy barely even flinches, giving a weary sigh as he tugs Garmadon away instead, pressing his finger against the edge of his nightshirt. Oh, Garmadon despises him.

**************

“I do, odd robot girl, I truly despise him,” Garmadon gestures furiously, when he’s back in his normal form again. The nindroid girl watches him with blank, unblinking green eyes. “I don’t understand the slightest thing about him. How did I lose to this boy?”

“He’s a decent fighter, when he tries,” the girl shrugs.

Garmadon glares at her. “That isn’t my problem!” he hisses. “I don’t know why I’m still here.”

The girl eyes him, carefully. “Then leave.”

Garmadon opens his mouth, then shuts it tightly. He crosses all four arms, trying to find a response that won’t make him sound foolish. The girl snorts, rolling her eyes.

“Here’s an idea,” she says. “How about, instead of stalking your estranged son in the form of a domestic house pet, you have a normal conversation with him instead. As yourself.”

Garmadon scoffs. “That’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard,” he sneers. “If he sees me walking up with a sword he’ll attack me immediately.”

The nindroid rolls her eyes again, which Garmadon would take severe offense to if she wasn’t in a position to blow his cover at any moment. “Then don’t bring a sword?”

“You make no sense,” Garmadon frowns. “What am I supposed to fight him with, then?”

The girl blinks at him, long and slow, then pinches the bridge of her nose. “FSM, help me,” she murmurs.

“And even if I get past that, what am I supposed to say to him, anyways?” Garmadon demands. “I put him in a coma once, should I just gloss over that?”

“Perhaps avoid bringing it up quite as much, if you know what’s good for you,” she clips tightly. She sighs, seemingly steadying herself. “I’ve heard they make cards.”

Garmadon tilts his head. “For putting someone in a coma?”

The girl looks as if she’d like to put herself in a coma. Or him, Garmadon can’t quite tell.

“…maybe a cake, instead?”

Perhaps they’d both be better off in a coma, Garmadon thinks despairingly.

“I can’t go on like this,” he finally says. “I can’t live the rest of my life as the boy’s cat. I’d sooner end myself. If I’m going to…confront him, I have to abandon this form."

“You can’t just disappear,” the nindroid girl tells him, sternly. “You’ll break Lloyd’s heart.”

“If I continue to remain in this form, I’m going to break a lot more than that,” Garmadon retorts.

The girl sighs, rubbing her temples briefly. “Aright, fine. I am going to have a friend,” she says. “That suddenly is in desperate, longing need of a cat. This request will coincidentally come right as Sensei Wu sends the ninja out on a week-long mission. Lloyd will be disappointed, but common sense should ensure that he does not break his heart over the loss.”

She pauses, her eyebrows furrowing. “I hope.”

“Very well, then,” Garmadon nods. “I will conveniently disappear, and decide the best course of action for exchanging words with the boy. And I will…consider leaving my sword behind.”

“FSM help me,” the girl mutters again. Garmadon takes that as distinct approval for his plan, and begins to make his escape, basking in the relief of leaving his ridiculous cat form behind.

Hm. He pauses. His boy will be quite disappointed to find his cat vanished. He’ll probably shed more useless tears over it, actually. Not that Garmadon feels any guilt over that, but he does feel an uncomfortable kind of twist in his gut, that might vaguely resemble regret.

He turns back to the girl, hesitating. She looks at him curiously. “Make sure the boy doesn’t drown himself in his sleep,” Garmadon tells her. “He tends to cry a lot.”

The girl’s mouth falls open, and she blinks rapidly. “I — alright.”

Garmadon nods to himself, satisfied. Now, he can take his leave in peace. He has a conversation to plan.

**************

In the end, Garmadon has no earthly idea why he’s taking some nindroid’s advice. It’s terrible advice, really, and yet here he is, on his brother’s monastery doorstep, without even an apology cake in hand.

So he didn’t take her advice entirely, perhaps. He’s not in his cat form, at least. No, this time he’s determined to confront the boy face to face, and no longer being shorter than the boy will greatly improve matters.

Steeling himself, Garmadon knocks gingerly on the monastery door, feeling rather foolish. Smashing the doors in with a blast of purple power would be much more to his liking, but he suspects that might not be the best way to approach the boy. Not unless he’s looking to get yelled at, again.

The quiet sound of footsteps echoes from beyond the walls, and the doors finally swing open. Garmadon is met with the familiar features of his boy, now properly half his height, where he belongs. Excellent, Garmadon thinks. This will make things much simpler.

“Ah, good,” he greets him. “It’s you.”

The boy looks as if he's been frozen on the spot. He stares at Garmadon with his mouth half-open, his hand paused on the door handle. Garmadon frowns at him.

“Is something wrong with your face?” Come to think of it, the boy’s eyes do look terribly wide. Perhaps he’s been poisoned? Garmadon wouldn’t doubt it, with how careless the boy can be.

The boy makes a strangled sound, and his hand falls limply from the doorknob. “I-I-you—” He cuts off, shaking his head and blinking, as if Garmadon is a mirage. “You’re…here. You’re here?”

“Yes,” Garmadon’s frown deepens. “Obviously.”

The boy stares at him for another beat, before jerking himself back into motion. “Oh, r-right,” he stammers, knitting his hands together anxiously. He looks half as if he wants to run for his sword, and half as if he wants to run himself through with his sword. “You, uh, can I…was there something? You needed? Is something wrong?”

The boy’s expression suddenly dissolves into panic. “Wait, they’re not back, are they?” he asks frantically. “The Oni? Because I thought we—”

“What? No, the Oni aren’t back, don’t be ridiculous,” Garmadon rolls his eyes. “You’re as dramatic as your uncle.”

“I, um, okay.” The boy looks frustrated with himself. Garmadon figures he has reason to, with how his mouth seems to be malfunctioning. Normally the boy is much better at stringing words together. Garmadon dismisses the concern, speaking up again.

“You’re also very annoying,” he tells him, bluntly.

The boy blinks, looking taken aback. Garmadon continues before he can form a retort. “See, I should’ve just killed you, and then you wouldn’t be so annoying, but the thing is, I don’t really want to kill you.”

The boy gives an odd, choking cough. Garmadon hopes he hasn’t actually been poisoned, as it’s looking more likely by the second. He decides to hurry on with his point, just in case.

“Yes, it’s quite irritating. Do you have any idea why that might be?”

“Why you — why you don’t…want to kill me?”

“No, weren’t you listening?” Garmadon snaps. He pauses, considering. “Well, yes, that too. But what I meant was if you knew why I feel like I’m connected to you.”

“Con-connected,” the boy repeats, slowly. Something painfully hopeful bursts across his expression, before he violently wrestles it back to careful caution. “You…feel connected, to me?”

“That’s what I just said,” Garmadon huffs. “Are you sure you’re listening? It seems like you aren’t.”

“No, I am, I just—” The boy rubs a hand across his face, looking slightly dizzy. “I, um. Okay,  connected. Well, I mean,” the boy swallows, staring intently at the ground. “I wa—am, kind of, your son.” The last bit comes out in a whisper, and Garmadon barely catches it. He pauses, mulling that over.

“Yes, you’re right,” Garmadon admits. “I do suppose that could have something to do with it.”

The boy makes another strangled sound, as if his brain has broken. Perhaps it’s not poison, and he’s taken too many hits to the head again? If that’s the case, Garmadon should probably come back later, when the boy can think straight. Or at least form a full sentence.

“Well, this has been very enlightening,” he remarks, brusquely. “I’ll be leaving now.”

“O-oh,” the boy’s expression falls.

“Yes, I’ve had a long week,” Garmadon continues. “We will have to continue our conversation another time.”

The boy’s eyes go wide, his mouth falling open. It’s becoming a common expression on him, Garmadon observes. “W-we will?”

Garmadon nods. “Within the next week or two, at latest.”

The boy’s making that strangled sound again. Garmadon really should be on his way, so the boy can fix whatever’s gone wrong with him. “Goodbye, then,” he says shortly, before stalking away. He gets about three steps down before that odd feeling hits him again, and Garmadon hesitates, warring with himself. He finally sighs, turning back around.

“Oh, and boy,” he calls. “Go to bed earlier. Or at least stop waiting until you’re asleep to cry. It can be dangerous, you know.”

The boy makes a wheezing sound, like he’s been punched, and his eyes all but leave his head with how wide they are. Garmadon returns to making his way down the steps, confident in the knowledge that he has, at least, imparted some wisdom.

He does glance back one last time at the boy, and immediately has to bite back a laugh. The boy opens his mouth once, fails to make any sound, then slumps back against the door frame, sinking to the doorstep with his head in his hands, staring blankly at the ground like it’s hit him in the face with a shovel.

“Hey Lloyd, did you find out who was at the do — woah, Lloyd, are you okay?!”

Garmadon doesn’t restrain the laugh this time, shaking his head. Ah, he might be a soft-hearted fool, but his boy is quite the amusing one.

[bonsai62]

Part 1: The Compatibility between Pisces and Capricorn

Hello everyone! Today, since I am hella bored and have nothing to do this fine evening, I am going to talk about the relationship between our two boys; Yuji and Megumi and how much they represent their signs so much.

Before I get started, I am not going to talk about their sex life even though it’s kinda important if you are into astrology, however, for this case I won’t because both of them are minors. But if you want to read more about their comparability then be my guess and look at the underline links. I will provide links in the discussion so you can have a better understanding on how the signs are and use manga pages for you to visually see it.

Also, excuse my English. I am very bad at it! Even though it’s my first language I still have lots of errors in my writing!

Also beware of manga spoilers too!!

Let’s get started on this very long essay!

Traits of a Pisces: Itadori Yuji

Positive: Compassionate (top), empathetic (middle), & creative (bottom)

We also have: Warm/gentle, caring, intellectual, animal lover, and romantic

Here we have the positive side of a Pisces and let me tell you it screams Yuji so damn much. Yuji is such a compassionate guy. I don’t think I have never seen a character who is very compassionate like Yuji (I have but we are talking about Yuji here lol). He can empathize with a whole lot of people and no matter what the situation is he understands. Yuji doesn’t need to have the same experience as someone because he can feel and get in their head to make him understand what their going through. Which brings me to that he has a really high empathy level when it comes to people (I can relate a lot because I have the same thing). However, having a lot of empathy isn’t all that’s cracked up to be but I’ll talk about it soon.

A Pisces is also very creative and they love hobbies. One of Yuji’s favorite hobbies is, I have a feeling is sports but that just based on what his old school thought of him + the baseball game. Plus cooking! Cooking is an amazing hobby and it lets you get creative with your hands and skills! I like to imagine that he is the best cook throughout the school and loves to share with his classmates and have them rate his cooking lol! Cooking is also a relief of stress so I can also imagine him having a bad day and just ends up being in the kitchen.

Now....

Negative: Overly emotional (top), impressionable (bottom), closed off (middle)

I messed up the order lol

We also have: melancholy, lazy, stubborn, moodiness, etc

Yuji is a very emotional person. We have seen him at his best and at his worse. He is such an emotional person that he felt bad for killing Choso’s brothers. His emotions gets the best of him when Junpei died, Megumi was hurt, seeing what Sukuna has done in Shibuya, and Nanamin/Nobara getting destroyed by Mahito. It’s an unhealthy feeling because we’ve seen Yuji get distracted with his injured friends and him kinda fucking up on his fighting. Another unhealthy trait that Yuji had is not talking about himself. We’ve seen him not talk about his feelings and I mean personal deep feelings that’s always going to be in the back of his head. Like when Megumi knows that something happened to Yuji but Yuji simple doesn’t want to talk about and closes it. He doesn’t really like talking about himself and rather hear other people/helping other people rather than face his own demons. If he’s facing his own demons, he rather be doing it on his own.

I also want to point out that many people think that he gets over people’s death hella easily. No... that is not true whatsoever. The boy has been through so much trauma that eventually you just get so tired of crying about it and you don’t have the energy anymore, you eventually start telling yourself “it is what it is” or “what can I do now?”. Noabra is a perfect example. He didn’t need to cry because he had the biggest mental breakdown when it happened. So when he asked Megumi about her status... he just had to say “alright”.

In my theories... she is definitely alive. Again, Gege is playing half of you guys. She is gonna pop out in the next couple of chapters or even the one coming up next.

Another things that I find interesting in Yuji which according to the links I put, Pisces tend to trust people easily:

Ease of being cheated: A desire to see the best things in other people makes the Two Fish very impressionable individuals. They trust others without any suspicions and often suffer from their frivolity. Any pressure of stronger people is accepted as a command for them and they easily agree with them without any doubts.

For instant, Todo and Choso. Those two mf were about to kill him but they didn’t because of what Yuji’s mind fuck did (I know Gege sensei said that isn’t a theory but still it’s mind fuck lol) He instantly call Todo his best friend like I can hear Nobara (Big sis) twitching somewhere lol. Whenever I think of Yuji and Todo’s relationship, I think of Vinny and Paula D from Jersey Shore haha!

Any who, while trusting people isn’t a bad thing, you still don’t know what their intentions are and everything. It’s a very naive thing to do.

But I felt for Yuji and Choso... Yuji didn’t have much of a choice...

I would like to know what changed Yuji’s mind into staying with Choso. I’m curious how Yuji “trusted” being with Choso after everything that went down. Yuji is a very forgiving character too (minus Mahito). But now, I think we can see that Choso has no bad intentions towards Yuji because he “might” be his brother. And their so cute too!!

On to our other boy!

Traits of a Capricorn: Megumi Fushiguro

Positive: Resourcefulness (top), discipline/patient (middle: also thank @pantherbeamish for the photos!), and reliability (bottom)

We also have: Responsibility, loyalty, diligence, team player, etc

Megumi is a very interesting character. Whenever I see him I get more interested in him. He is exactly what you would describe a Capricorn. We have seen Megumi be resourceful when it comes understanding how curse energy works thanks to him. He is very detailed when it comes to explaining and also a very patient man when Yuji, who doesn’t know jack shit about the Jujutsu world. Never, not once, does Megumi call Yuji an idiot for not knowing all these things. That’s what makes him amazing because if it were other Shonen mangas, the “rival” would’ve called Yuji an idiot. The only time Megumi ever calls Yuji an idiot is when Yuji literally does or says something stupid. To me, that is normal and not being a dick about it because we all know that if we had a friend like Yuji we would’ve stared at him like “why are you like this...”

It’s me... I’m a lot like Yuji lol

But no, he is very patient and tries to explain everything to Yuji as best as he can. I have this thing where almost everyone relies on Megumi a lot because he’s a serious guy + very responsible with his tasks. We see Maki trusting Megumi too. Like the time when Megumi was hyping Yuji up saying he can beat everyone in the Kyoto school if they didn’t use curse energy (something like that lol). Yuji also can confirm himself that Megumi is very reliable. He mentioned it while back at the prison because both sibling duo thought they were lost.

Negative: Sensitivity (top), seriousness (middle), reservation (bottom)

We also have: Unforgiving, criticism, suspicion, pickiness, etc

Just like Yuji, we have seen Megumi’s negative side a lot but it’s simply because he’s sensitive and thinks logically. Sometimes, I also feel like he thinks through his heart as well but that’s just me. That is where the sensitivity comes along. Megumi is hella sensitive he doesn’t need to show it because you can feel it.

In the article:

Sensitivity: It is better not to offend Capricorns who are very sensitive people. They can’t stand being laughed at and remain serious in public but feel badly deeply in their souls. Even a minor joke can result in resentment from their side!

In many, many occasions we have seen everyone fucking around or getting on Megumi’s nerves, especially in our recent Jujustroll where Gojo is saying a bunch of nonsense and embarrassing tf out of Megumi. His seriousness gets in the way and that’s what makes him sensitive.

On the side note: I also wanted to add something. As I was reading a few articles, some mentioned that Capricorns are... bland. Please, Capricorns!! No me ataques! I just find it interesting that someone, like Todo, who thinks Megumi is boring. Todo honestly thought he was boring since he first asked him what was his type and while Megumi gave us the best answer, Todo expected something more fun. But no, it was boring. Also, Megumi lives a simple life. Now, I’m not saying that Megumi is boring because as a matter of fact I like how simple he is. He likes to keep things neutral. Personally, on his activities he is considered “bland” and honestly, I can see why but I would still go out my way to enjoy it with him if I was his significant other lol I also feel like he has a good sense of style in fashion. I’m saying that judging from the official arts + “Lost In Paradise” because in that ED Megumi be looking like a bowl of fruits. A bowl of snacks lmao!

But, anyways! Megumi is also reserved to himself. He does not like talking about himself at all (hon hon does that sound like someone?). He doesn’t open up to a lot of people but I kinda feel like he does with Gojo but that’s just because Gojo raised him and he just knows when Megumi is feeling a certain way. Also, I bet Gojo just knows when Megumi is having a bad day too. We witnessed him just being in his own bubble in the current arc that is happened in the anime. Yuji and Nobara calls him out about him being so reserved to himself. He does eventually tells them what is going on, but it takes a lot for a Capricorn to open up and it’s totally understandable. I feel as if you want a Capricorn to open up, you have to let them give you time for them to get to know you. Give them your intentions and put in the effort to make them trust you.

Now in to the fun part!!

1. Trust:

Positive:

Articles 1: They will often understand each other well enough to respect their relationship and keep it clear of dishonesty

I’m a use this imagine again btw because this speaks their relationship clearly

I think what I truly love about their relationship and love the idea of them being an endgame is the trust that they have for one another(even though someone is gonna die). They barely knew each other for 2 months and their chemistry is off the mf charts.

The picture above isn’t just them having an eye opening moment but the fact that they trust each other to save one another.

Megumi had saved Yuji so many time

Yuji had also saved Megumi so many times

Tbh, when I was thinking about Megumi coming in to save Yuji from Yuuta and Naoya, I thought it would be the same as when Yuji saved Megumi and Maki from Hanami, but we got something better. We got to see Megumi never doubting Yuji and always making sure that he gives him as many chances as he gives. I hope that sparks a realization for Yuji because sometimes I always felt that he doesn’t really acknowledges Megumi doing a whole lotta things for Yuji. I’m still complaining about it because if he can say “thank you, best friend” to Todo or “thank you, Kugisaki, for letting me know that I am not alone” to Nobara, then he should definitely see how much Megumi gives a fuck about him.

I expect a “thank for being by my side and never doubting me” for Megumi.

Articles 2: Pisces, who prefers to hand off important decision-making to dominant Capricorn, feeds into the goat’s need to be in control. On the flip side, Capricorn trusts Pisces to attend to its emotional needs—something that can be very difficult to allow at first.

This is interesting because a lot of the time Megumi is always making the plans and the choices. I feel like Yuji tends to rely on Megumi a lot because Yuji respects the way Megumi thinks (I’m not saying he doesn’t do that with anyone either).

Another thing is that:

“Capricorn trust Pisces to attend to its emotional needs-something that can be very difficult to allow at first”

I want to use Yuji asking Yuuta to kill him if Sukuna comes out especially for Megumi’s sake as an example of “emotional needs” because we see that Yuji does not want to be anywhere near Megumi because of Sukuna. In Yuji’s emotional state, he would rather have Yuuta kill him than Megumi. A lot of people also have this head canon that the reason why he asked Yuuta to kill him instead of Megumi is because Megumi already has a lot on his plate or something. I forgot the theory lol

But... I have a feeling that Megumi is gonna end up killing Yuji at the end because it should be him...

But yes,

Let’s see where things end with the current event that is happening now.

But unfortunately, I have to stop right here because Tumblr only allows 10 images in one post. Tragic!

I do hope you guys enjoy and please comment if I’m missing anything with them! Let’s hope I won’t take long with part 2 because I’m hella busy at times! Overall, tell me what you guys think!

[vampiresuns]

Something Wicked This Way Comes | Prologue, Part 1

✴︎ SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES ✴︎

As Asra gets ready to leave again, Anatole handles two unexpected guests: one will alter his future plans, and the other will give him a headache. 2.7k words. For Anatole’s apprentice timeline, compliant with all the routes.

You can read the rest of Anatole’s apprentice timeline series here.

Asra was leaving. Again. 

Anatole wasn’t thrilled about it, but him and Asra had had this conversation several times and Anatole trusted his friend and teacher enough to not enquire any further — or to enquire behind his back. He said he had his reasons, and Anatole would respect that. Besides, it’s not as if he minded being alone. Maybe he had at the beginning of his recovery, when the City was still too unknown and disorienting, too much happening in it at all times, Anatole himself barely there.

He had read somewhere that all traumatic injuries which resulted in memory loss were different. Annoying as they were, he was better at handling the by-products of whatever the hell it was that had happened to him. Somewhat. He wanted to think he was, that even though the migraines still lingered, he could handle the shop, himself, his magic (magic that had begun advancing towards places and forms Asra could only guide him towards, not teach him). He just wanted to be good enough at it all, and he supposed he’d have no one he’d felt comfortable asking for help to if Asra wasn’t around.

He sighed. it didn’t matter, well, it did, but he’d be able to handle it. He was sure Antu would gladly help.

“I’ll miss you.”

“You better miss me, Asra Alnazar. Though, must you really leave tonight?

“In the dead of a moonless night. The right time for the beginning of a journey.”

Anatole frowned; Asra was full of shit. “Is that a ritual thing? Or is it a poetic licence thing?”

The magician didn’t reply, changing the topic instead like he always did when Anatole guessed too close to the truth about things Asra did not have the means to explain to his pupil. Instead he gave him his tarot deck.

Anatole can’t remember a time Asra’s separated from it. Normally, when Asra’s gone and Anatole had to a do a reading he used his own deck. It used to belong to his aunt, his connection to it jumping to his tongue before Asra could ask him if he knew, or remembered, whom it had previously belonged to. His cards were different from Asra’s — they were quiet, they gave him analytical and interpretational leeway. Asra’s were... too alive.

He took the Deck as Asra handed it to him, looking at the cards. “You trust me with your deck?”

“I do, Nana, I’d trust you with anything.”

Anatole decided to ignore the charged nature of his words. He had discovered within the last six months he was often able to call for the intention behind people’s words, how they were feeling in the moment, or if they were being dishonest. While most of the time it was useful, sometimes it was wildly disconcerting, others exhausting, or inconvenient. Like right now.

He was witness to the in-between-the-lines of communication whether he wanted or not, being too much information to handle at times. When it was too much, it could feel from invading someone's privacy to being overstimulated.

Instead of asking Asra if he had done that on purpose, he said: “You think I’m ready to use it?”

“You know I can’t answer that for you.” 

“I did it again, didn’t I?”

“It’s okay to need validation, Nana.”

Anatole knew that, in theory. Though he couldn’t deny Asra was right: he knew he still needed confirmation that he was doing things correctly, that he was doing a good job, that his efforts were meriting. Even when he had something completely figured out. Out of all the things Asra had thought Anatole would carry back from the dead, his tendency to overcompensate wasn’t one he’d accounted for.

Alright, that was a lie, he hadn’t accounted for Anatole’s entire personality to barrel through death to assert itself over the blank canvas of whom he had come back as. He should’ve foreseen Anatole to manage the impossible, twice. 

“Do you think you’re ready?” Now it wasn’t the time to allow his anxieties to govern over his capacities. Breathing steadily twice, he managed to give Asra the debonair smile with an inquiring, raised eyebrow the magician adored to see on his face. He hated not knowing, and the only way of knowing was to ask.

Asra found himself smiling too. “Why don’t we ask the cards?” 

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ 

As Asra said his last goodbyes, a knock on the door interrupting them both, Anatole thought he ought to ask where had he gotten his feathered hat. Another time.

Anatole wasn’t surprised Asra had already left when he went to the front of the shop to get the door, having slipped he High Priestess and her foreboding messages back into the deck. She’d have to wait for whomever had decided ‘after-hours’ wasn’t a real shop-keeping concept. Customers, Anatole swore. He really couldn’t blame Asra for leaving now. He himself hated being delayed or interrupted when he was focusing on something, and while Asra wasn’t quite the same (or didn’t have the same reasons) it was the same outcome. 

After-hours was the time he spent on himself and tonight he wanted to tackle his Zadithi. He had only just began picking it up again.

Again? That couldn’t be right.

A second, more impatient knock pulled him out of his thoughts. Anatole lunged forward to open the door, only to be met with Countess Satrinava, out of all people. He didn’t even know their shop had reached the Palace’s radar. For some reason he couldn’t pinpoint right then, he didn’t know if he liked it.

“Countess. Welcome to Moonstone & Jasmine how may I help—”

“Please,” she said, paying him little mind, “you must read the cards for me.”

Like he had said before, customers.

However, Anatole didn’t need to pick up on her words to notice the Countess was genuinely troubled by something, her comment on sleepless nights confirming his suspicion. So he decided to give her the benefit of doubt, instead of pinpointing the hour she decided to come at as a display of nobility’s entitlement.

The talk about his reputation was what shocked him the most, however. The temptation to dismiss her words as hyperbole was strong, but she sounded  too honest — a by-product of her state of necessity, Anatole thought, people tended to be worse at lying under pressure (How did he know that?).

When the Countess mentioned Anatole looked different in a dream she had, he speaks as if something had possessed him, having no idea he would speak until he did. “Do you possess any sort of clairvoyance, your Highness? I have a cousin who—”

He stopped as a throb made its way through the back of his head. As far as he knew, he didn’t have any family, he didn’t have anyone but Asra and a dead Aunt, but saying he had a cousin felt right in a way he couldn’t ignore. He had never been very good at lying to himself. Once he knew something was true, it cemented itself in his head, unshakable. He preferred it that way: falsehoods, even if lasting, crumbled. When you built with what was true, you built steady.

This felt like the truth, but was it? Was it a wish, or was it a lost piece of whomever he had been before? In the before he couldn’t remember?

Pushing his thoughts away, he said: “Excuse me, Countess. I forgot myself.”

“No matter. I come with a proposal.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Come to the Palace, and be my guest for a short while. You will be afforded every luxury, of course. I ask only that you bring your skill… and the Arcana.”

His first thought was ‘no’. His second, ‘absolutely not’. He had things! Plans! The only luxury he wanted right now was to be allowed to fill his after work hours as he saw fit. But this was a customer. They could use the money for supplies, and something told him — something he couldn’t pay any attention to right now, something inside of him he could only trust — the Countess was indeed in trouble. The kind of toruble where if he refused to help right now, he’d end up in the Palace anyway.

Sometimes it is better to cooperate with the universe; he had heard that somewhere, or perhaps from someone he couldn’t remember. Perhaps he read it. One way or another, now was not the time to mourn his plans.

“It’ll be an honour.”

“I will alert the guards to expect you tomorrow, but before that...”

Of course, she had come with a tarot inquiry, so Anatole redirected her to the backroom where readings and private consultations were held, finding himself face to face with Asra’s cards again.

He’d have to get used to their liveliness, sooner or latter. Unlike his own card, these spoke to you completely at random, compelling you to deliver their message, so you never knew if you were doing the reading or if the cards themselves were. Anatole didn’t love it, if he was honest. Nothing to do with the cards, though. It had everything to do with having asked Asra why do his cards work like they do, and Asra not giving him an answer which had fully made sense to him. 

He didn’t know what to make of the Countess as she talked to him about other times she had had her fortune read. His headache had moved from the back of his head to his temples. Familiar wasn’t the word for it, but she felt trustworthy, in an inconsequential sense. Like a coworker with good intentions but not enough turn out for his liking. He saw her out, opening the door for her, after her reading was done, still having not the faintest idea where on earth did he get such an impression from the Countess. He must’ve been reading too much, that was certainly it — too much politics before bed made Anatole a very imaginative man. 

As Countess Satrinava left, Anatole wondered if he should’ve told her anything about fees, at least as a joke. He wasn’t sure she’d appreciate the joke. 

He decided to brew something for his headache, worrying it might grow too big to sleep. Potions and brews had never been his strongest fort. He always needed to spend extra attention on them and their instructions, coming less organically than other forms of magic. Like languages. Languages were easy, even if messy sometimes. He still remembered one day, years ago, when he could speak nothing but a gibberish mess of Balkovian, Vesuvian and a very distant variation of Nopali. 

Still, it would keep his mind away from all the reputation talk the Countess had brought with her. He wanted to be convinced she must’ve been thinking about his aunt — Paris, that’s all Asra had told him — but Paris had been dead for even before his accident, so maybe... He took a breath, he was overthinking his way into a migraine again so he went back to his brew. 

He was missing enough of one ingredient, which meant he had to go to the Shop’s storage quarter, accessible only from outside and through the backdoor. As if anticipating his need, Antupillán, his familiar, fetched the keys for him and climbed onto his shoulder as Anatole made his way outside, looking for the sweet relief of willow tree bark. A victory which came at the price of getting his storage key stuck, fumbling for five minutes to unstuck it so he could go back inside. 

With all ingredients in front of him he could finally make himself a headache remedy. 

“Strange hours for a shop to keep,” said a muffled voice coming from somewhere, interrupting him.

If he got mugged, in his own house, he swore to everything he thought mattered in this world he’d spend the rest of his life finding whomever had come into his shop and making their lives miserable. He was sure no one had been around when he went retrieve the willow bark, Antu would’ve told him if there was someone. He was sure he had locked that door the moment he came in.

The thought that someone could’ve been staying in his own house, waiting for the right moment to strike made him sick, but mostly, angry. He knew he had a dagger somewhere in one of the drawers, if magic was not enough.

“Whomever it is, come out of where you are, and tell me what you want.”

“Behind you.” Anatole jumped back, giving himself more distance between this person, levelling a look to the red glasses the mask had for eye-sockets.

“So this is the witch’s lair… and who might you be?”

“Who’s asking?” He tried to sound as surefooted as possible, but the eye sockets of the mask were so vividly red, like a halo of auburn hair under the noon sun. His headache threatened to get stronger.

“I’m asking. I’d rather not do it again.”

The person lifted their hand, Anatole’s brain springing into action as it remembered the dagger was in the third drawer to the left. He lunged forward, he was quick with his feet he could just grab the dagger and protect himself with a shield if he— 

Instead of grabbing him, the stranger threw the mask to the floor. 

The flash of pain between his eyes, right where his nose begins was so intense it burned, making him wince. He patted the front table of the shop to hold onto something, fearing he will lose his balance and fall. He’s— he’s— he swears there’s a name on the tip of his tongue.

“As I suspected, shock, horror—”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s etched on your face! The gruesome reaction of facing the murderer himself. Fear not, I do not care about you, I only want information, so if you stop fooling around and tell me where is the witch.”

“The whomst?”

The man blinked, confused for a flash before he scowled again.

“Where is the witch?”

Something inside Anatole clicked. He was too tired to deal with any of this. If the intruder wanted to attack him, he would’ve done so already.

“Listen,” he said, barking back at this person who had interrupted his evening. “I have a migraine right now, so I will need you to be a little more specific. Secondly, you come into my shop, demanding things without exaplanation, manifesting behind me, and I do have to tell you, even with a migraine, I’m probably better with sharp things than you are so stand back and give me a bloody fucking second, alright?”

It wasn’t a lie. Anatole had always been good with blades. It worried Asra, for a reason he had never explained, but Anatole didn’t think it was a problem.

“You know, if you’re really feeling ill, I’m a medically trained professional—”

“Did you seriously just offer me medical help after you tried to intimidate me for information.”

“I—I, look you don’t look well… wait, did it work? Are you telling me where he is?”

“What? No, no it didn’t. There’s a lot of people who go by ‘he’ this City.”

“Not even the murderer part worked?”

Anatole shot him a death glare that made his uninvited guest look away. After finally retrieving that damn dagger, which he did just in case, he set himself to prepare his migraine remedy.

“You’re the guy who’s wanted for murdering the former Count, right?” He asked as he worked.

“Yes?”

“Wasn’t the guy a bit of an incompetent despot? Created a sanitary emergency and ran the city’s coffers dry? I’m neither of those things, nor I plan to rat you out before you try that line of intimidation, because I’m not a snitch. So please, if you could be specific.”

The intruder did not reply, instead he looked at Anatole like he was the weirdest person he had ever met. He shook himself from it. “The witch, I’m looking for him and I know he lives here...”

“Since you have no clue who I am, I will reckon you’re talking about Asra. He left. Don’t know when he’s coming back, don’t know where he went.”

“But if you don’t know, and I don’t know… why don’t you ask your magic cards?”

God, this man didn’t give up. Normally, Anatole would appreciate that, give him at least some credit as an interesting enemy to run into in the night, but right now? Right now he wanted him to go away. “Because the shop is closed.”

“That’s what the backroom there is for, right? Look, I’m already inside.”

Despite himself, Anatole couldn’t find it in himself to say no, so with a hesitant nod, he left his conoction on the counter and showed his night-time guest to the backroom, but he insisted on Anatole going first. He did, as he didn’t have time for plesantries, though he had to admit, for someone who just broke into his home, he was being very polite.

As he dropped himself into the reading chair, Antu climbed onto Anatole’s lap, sitting there, a comforting presence amid his very annoying evening. He had been his constant companion for almost two years. Antu came in one day unannounced and hadn’t left Anatole’s side since.

“Is that a Raccoon?” The stranger asked, with eyes wide open as he tried to pet him. Antu bit the air in front of him before he could come too close. 

Not forgiven yet, Antu said at the stranger, though only Anatole could listen. 

Anatole smiled to himself, making a mental note to give him extra grapes later. “His name is Antupillán.”

To Anatole’s surprise, the stranger pronounced the name perfectly. “What does it mean?”

“Not many people pronounce that correctly, look at you. People accent it wrong,” he paused, in all honesty Anatole didn’t know what it meant. Yet, once more, he found himself speaking without knowing what he was about to say. “A ‘pillán’ is a spirit, an embodiment. Antu means sun in Mapudungún, so Antupillán is the spirit of the sun.”

Anatole felt his stomach drop as he awaited for the migraine that would inevitably blotch his vision with black spots. However, it never came, the misplaced information settling into him like a homecoming he was not yet able to process.

As Anatole shuffled the deck, the stranger looked friendly, almost awkward in an endearing way. 

“Go on. No need to be shy.”

“Says the man who refuses to give out his name. I need to know it for the ‘magic card reading’, you know?”

“Julian, you can call me Julian,” he said after some stammering and a scarlet blush on his cheeks. His eyes followed his movements as closely as they could, a nervous anticipation to them.

Anatole pulled Death. It was, in Asra’s deck, a particularly quiet card. The horse skull was quiet like someone who opened their mouth to speak, but couldn’t articulate any sound. He wondered if the card in his own Deck — Anatole’s Death major arcana was a moth person holding a mask and a scythe — could hold any answers, other than white noise. It was cheating, technically, but Julian called them ‘magic cards’, Anatole didn’t think he’d mind.

Before he could do anything, Julian laughed. “Death? That means nothing to me. Death cast her gaze upon this wretch and turned away! She has no interest in an abomination like me.”

"What? Julian this isn’t how—”

He stood up abruptly, his mouth seeming to run on automatic pilotwith fatalistic statements and Julian’s hunch that Asra would come back. Which he would, Anatole knew he would. Asra always came back.

Instead of Julian’s advice about seeking him out when Asra did come back, for ‘Anatole’s own good’, whatever that could mean from a fucking stranger, he thought he ought to have accepted the medical help. Perhaps that way, Julian would’ve left earlier and his headache would’ve been dealt with.

Later, as he laid in bed drifting to sleep, he thought Asra left that day not because it was best for a journey, but because he somehowknew all of this would happen and he didn’t want to deal with any of it. 

[bailey-reaper]

The Lord of the Manor (5)

Summary: It is said that you 'reap what you sow', apparently that saying is no different for Grim Reapers...

Content Warnings: angst, xenophobia reference / imperialist thinking + me taking artistic liberties re: the van Zieks family

Other parts: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) |

In the distance Barok could hear voices talking, which only served to confuse him. He was inside Klint's burial chamber, no one else should be here. He opened his eyes, head pounding, and found his confusion grew all the more.

This was not his brother's crypt. It was his own room, yet he had no recollection of leaving the family cemetery or the journey home.

He felt warm and dizzy, and that feeling intensified when he tried to sit up, "...Ugh..." it was slowly dawning on him that he was feverish. Most likely due to the reckless trip he took during a fierce storm.

"My Lord, are you awake?" he heard Harvey's voice.

"... Yes," his croaked, as though his vocal chords had rusted, "... What... happened, Harvey?" no doubt the butler could elucidate him.

"The groundskeeper was tending to the cemetery after the storm and found you collapsed on the floor. He came back to the estate and informed me, I then arranged to have you brought home so that the physician could assess you. Thankfully he does not think it's anything serious, most likely fatigue."

".... I see," Barok laid back in the bed and closed his eyes, his vision was already starting to swim, "... Thank you, Harvey."

"It is my pleasure, my lord, I am glad you are safe... the physician thinks you may have a fever but that you should recover after a few days of rest. Please let me know if you need anything."

"I will..." his consciousness was already slipping; soon enough he drifted to sleep.

──────≪⊰✥⊱≫───────

His sleep was fitful; drifting in and out of consciousness for several hours while his body wracked with freezing shivers and unbearable flashes of warmth. He writhed and groaned as the fever took a firmer hold of his faculties.

"Truly you seem to be suffering, little brother..."

Barok opened his eyes and stared in disbelief at the man sitting on his bed -- Klint. He was sat there, looking over at him with face marred by concern, "... K...Klint?" he uttered, before trying to sit up only to think better of it when his head throbbed sharply.

"Mmm," his older brother nodded, "Truth be told you're hallucinating, but I suppose that's to be expected when you neglect yourself in this manner."

A wry smile tugged his lips; it seemed his own mind was set upon chastising him for his earlier impulsiveness, "... Of course... a figment of my imagination."

"Yes... you've pushed yourself too hard of late, no wonder things have gotten on top of you and now you're feverish and hallucinating."

"..." he felt a strong surge of sadness in the pit of his stomach, "My mind couldn't at least trick me into thinking you were a ghost..."

"You're too cynical for that," the mirage pointed out, "No doubt you'd have tried to cross-examine this situation and forced the truth out of yourself."

It was irksome how accurate that statement was, and how he was incapable of formulating a witty reply to it. Eventually he gave up and muttered, "... Perhaps."

"Undoubtedly," the figment said, "Now, I suppose we'd best get to the bottom of why you're having this moment of delirium..."

"Clearly because I'm feverish," he retorted dryly.

"No..." Klint shook his head, "Clearly you need to do some soul searching. You've lost your way, your feelings of hopelessness have driven you to be reckless and now you don't know what to do with yourself. Perhaps you need to take a step back and re-calibrate, little wolf."

"Nonsense..." he muttered as he draped a hand over his eyes; his forehead was burning, "I... I know precisely what I need to do..."

"Oh really? Well I assure you that clinging to the past isn't it."

".... I know that," but how could he resist? This house was full of memories; it was the last place in all the world where Klint's memory was still a tangible thing that he could hold on to. It was all he had left of him.

"Find something to live for, Barok. You have a chance to turn a new page, to step out of your brother's shadow. You don't have to be a prosecutor. You don't have to be a lawyer. You can be whatever you want."

"Whatever I want..." he mumbled to himself as a wave of tiredness washed over him; he relinquished himself to it and drifted into a deep sleep

──────≪⊰✥⊱≫───────

For several days, Barok continued to drift in and out of delirious conversations with a mimicry of his brother. Until his body recovered and he overcame the fever; there was a dull pang in his chest when it dawned on him that he could not longer hallucinate his brother's presence watching over him, but, it was a familiar grief and one he continued to hold in his core.

He decided to take the fever dreams to heart, rather than wallowing, and set about busying himself with numerous distractions; a main one being repairing the old family estate. It had been refurbished sometime during his grandfather's lifetime, but it seemed the work had been rather shoddy.

In between the renovations, he engaged in correspondence with a few individuals in London, including members of the Prosecutor's Office, and dabbled in stocks to maintain the family's wealth. His employment as a Prosecutor was hardly a king's ransom, but it had been an impressive wage and he was conscious to avoid squandering his family's assets while he languished in a malaise.

For a few years that became his routine, and it was a reasonably comfortable one. He enjoyed the Devon countryside atop Black Gale and distracted himself with a mix of physical and cerebral activities. Yet, it felt profoundly empty to him; there was an acute sense of wistfulness at his core and he knew precisely what it related to.

He had geared his entire life for a career as a lawyer, and the part of his mind that had enjoyed the intellectual rigour found his current life far too humdrum. Of course he still read the Legal Reports not long after they were handed down by the Courts, out of a 'healthy curiosity', he told himself, but reading about the law was nothing when compared to actually practising it.

The anecdotes he received from his peers in the Prosecutor's Office did little to slake that innermost wish, in fact they only stoked it more. But he resisted by reminding himself why he left in the first place.

Should he return, the Capital would once more be swept up in its 'Reaper fever'; the press would fixate on his every move, the criminal underbelly of London would sharpen its knifes and perhaps this time manage to get his eyes... Fear had no part of it, for he did not fear death, but it grew wearisome to be so fetishised by the world at large and all it did was remind him all the more that Klint was not here.

Klint was the one who had inspired such a fervent love of the law in him; his righteousness, his acumen, his talent for public speaking... every time he'd watched his brother in court he'd fallen in love with the law a little more, for it embodied the very things his brother stood for. Or, that's what he'd wanted to believe.

The truth had been a bitter pill to swallow – for, while the law had the best of intentions, it was a clunky machine that often failed to work at the moment where individuals and society at large most needed it. Loopholes and the unjust were constantly undermining it. He felt the dichotomy between reality and idealism keenly. He had often equated the Law with Justice, but sadly the two things were not synonymous.

Sometimes he wondered how Klint had coped with that knowledge, for he saw his brother as a bastion of justice and a man of integrity who would no doubt have been just as aware of the law's failings as he. How he longed to ask his brother now that he had the benefit of practical experience.

For several years he maintained his distance from London and the law; many among the aristocracy gossiped, from rumours about his death to wild theories about his having eloped to America to marry into some wealthy entrepreneurial family, but for the most part he ignored them too. The only time he deigned to mingle with the other noble families was when such was demanded of him as master of the house.

One day, however, a letter arrived from London that piqued his interest to the point he could no longer resist it.

Magnus McGilded was becoming an increasingly brazen problem for the capital. He knew the moneylender had something of a reputation, one that caused misery among the desperate and unfortunate who had fallen upon hardtimes; but it sounded as though his activities were causing more angst than ever before, not least of all because he continued to evade the Courts through underhanded means.

Of course, his friend opined, it was not possible to prove that Magnus McGilded was bribing the Jury, buying witnesses and a catalogue of other dubious evasive tactics; but nor could anyone explain why entire cases were dropped at the last minute or why the police had failed to locate key witnesses until they themselves appeared from nowhere with vital information (in McGilded's favour).

It irked him to his core as he read of the various trials that had collapsed, and for the first time in a long while he felt a strong desire to do something. To bring the rodent out of his labyrinth of deceptions and into the light of day. He knew full well it was something that he would be capable of, were he to oversee a future investigation...

His mind raced with thoughts about how to outwit the Irish Shylock at his own game...

Another thing that piqued his interest was a throwaway postscript:

[Ps. We've had word from Lord Stronghart to expect some Nipponese student in a few months time. Apparently there is some cultural exchange afoot and the young man will be studying British law. I can't say I see the necessity, but I suppose our great nation ought to be charitable to those from more impoverished places...]

Seeing that word roused ugly feelings in his core, things that he had managed to keep his distance from for some time; but the anger was never far away. The resentment, like rot, was deep in his soul and it had been left alone but not eradicated.

The near-five years he had spent in the ancestral home was a welcomed reprieve, and served to focus his mind to some degree. He had never lost his passion for the law, and now it seemed there were reasons to pull him back into the foray.

Perhaps it was high time the Reaper returned London...

─────── Fin.

[writingfortoomanyfandoms]

Fifteen Years Later

Pairing: Calum Hood x Reader

Summary: Set fifteen years after the twins from “I Need You” were born, the Hood children discover just how outlandish some fan theories are

Warnings: Swearing, fan theories

Requested: Nope

A/N: Yeah so this is inspired by discovering some of the theories people had about louis’ son after he was born and I missed this universe so thought it would be fun to add a little more to it. It is technically a Calum x reader fic but it’s mainly just about the kids, but I hope you guys enjoy! As always please remember to let me know what you think - send me asks, reblog and comment, hearing your responses always makes my day a little better and makes me want to keep writing :) and also please don’t take this too seriously, this fic is just a bit of fun, please don’t attack me for it or somethin

“Hey, can I come in?” Maia didn’t wait for Leo to respond before she sauntered into his room and flopped down onto his bed.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Leo said, rolling his eyes a little, making another edit to his essay. “What’s up?”

“I’m bored,” Maia shrugged, pulling out her phone.

“And it’s up to me to entertain you?” Leo questioned, swivelling his chair around to look at his twin with raised eyebrows.

“That’s your job as my dear older brother,” Maia confirmed with a cheesy grin directed towards him.

“I thought twenty seven minutes didn’t count as being older than you?” Leo mused, turning his chair back around so that he could return to work on his homework.

“It does when it’s convenient to me.”

“Nowhere in my job description does it say that I have to entertain you.”

“Arsehole.”

“Bitch.”

Silence fell between the twins as the two of them went about their separate activities - Leo doing his best to finish his homework, Maia scrolling aimlessly on her phone.

The two of them hadn’t shared a room in years. They had moved back to Australia when their mother found out that she was pregnant with their younger sister, Sophie, their parents having wanted to be nearer their own families for the birth of their fourth child.

Leo and Maia had been five when Sophie was born, and they had spent so much of their lives up until that moment being practically attached to the hip that they resented their parents a little for splitting them up.

So it was logical when their parents had their fifth child, Kara, two years later, that Maia and Leo would room together again.

The Hoods moved again when the twins were thirteen, Theodore was eleven, Sophie eight and Kara six, into the house that they still lived in now, with each child having their own room at last.

Calum had taken a lot of time away from the band in recent years, choosing to spend more time with his family.

It had been his idea to move house, understanding that as much as the twins were still still rather inseparable, they did need their own space as they grew into their teenage years. So he had spent months working on the house for them, setting up all of the children’s rooms exactly as they wished, with much help from his best friends, who had also moved back to Australia a few years prior.

And yet it was hardly uncommon to find Maia in Leo’s room - he had gotten first pick of the bedrooms on account of being the eldest, much to Maia’s distaste. It wasn’t that Leo’s room was the biggest of the childrens - no, he had allowed Maia to have the largest room, but it was the placing of it that sparked so much jealousy between the twins.

It was the room that had the best view, overlooking both the garden, which, since moving in, Y/N had spent so long tending to and making it look beautiful.

“Oh my God!” 

“What’s happened?” Leo asked in alarm, not expecting Maia’s outcry. His twin began to laugh.

“Come look at this!”

“What is it?” Leo asked again, rolling his chair across the room, away from his desk and towards the bed to have a look at Maia’s phone screen.

“Fan theories.”

“Fan theories?” Leo repeated, furrowing his brow. “Why’s that so amazing?” 

“Because they’re about Dad!”

“What?” Leo gasped, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Can I borrow your computer?” She asked, already leaping off of his bed towards the laptop on Leo’s desk and opening it, copying the web address that she had been scrolling through on her phone.

“You’ve found some 5sos fan theories?” Leo cackled, moving his chair back in front of his desk as they waited for the website to load.

“They’re insane, as well.”

The twins lapsed into silence as they began to read through the blog posts together, occasionally laughing at some of the more outlandish proposals being made.

Finally, Leo spoke, leaning back a little in his chair with a slight frown on his face.

“So… they think that Dad is actually with Uncle Ash, and that Mum and Aunt Kaykay are just, what - beards?” Leo shot a questioning look to Maia, whose expression remained gleeful as she nodded.

“That seems to be the case, yeah.”

“So… what’s their theory about us?”

“Us?”

“Well… do they think that we’re actually adopted by Dad and Uncle Ash or what? Because there are definitely plenty of photos released of Mum pregnant - especially when she was having Kara,” Leo pointed out.

There was a knock on Leo’s door.

“Yeah?” He called, the door opening to reveal Theodore, his head still buried in a book.

“Tea’s ready,” he mumbled, eyes still intently focused on the pages in front of him.

“Theo - come look at this.”

“I’m busy,” he denied, already beginning to walk away.

“You’ll find it funny!” Maia insisted, grinning over at Leo who rolled his eyes affectionately at their brother’s actions. 

“Doubtful - your sense of humour sucks,” Theodore countered, already halfway down the hallway and about to go downstairs.

“Hey!”

“It’s food time,” Theodore repeated, at last looking up from his book, back down the hallway at his siblings, his expression looking as though he was attempting not to burst into laughter at the look of indignation on Maia’s face.

He didn’t wait for more of a response from her, however, before turning and walking downstairs to where the twins could now hear the sounds of their other family members clattering around in the kitchen and their father singing along to the music playing.

“Hey!” Leo protested when Maia huffed in response to Theodore’s attitude and grabbed her twin’s laptop, slamming it closed and taking it with her downstairs.

Leo gave an exhausted sigh and shook his head before slowly standing up and stretching, following his younger siblings.

The usual chaos greeted Leo as he entered into the kitchen.

Sophie was skipping around laying the table for food, with Kara following her, gripping the knives and forks tightly and looking rather serious as she did so. Theodore still had his head buried in his book but was, at the same time, reaching up into the cabinet nearby the fridge and getting out enough glasses for everyone.

Maia still had Leo’s laptop in hand and was attempting to get the attention of their parents who were stood by the stove, Y/N cooking and Calum leaning against the counter next to it, a grin on his face as he said something to make his wife laugh. 

“Hey - you know the rules, Maia, no gadgets at the table,” Y/N said, finally catching sight of Maia, who had given up her attempts and had slouched into a seat, placing Leo’s laptop on the plate in front of her and pouting.

“That’s not even your laptop,” Calum pointed out, laughing as he crossed the room to place a kiss on the top of his eldest daughters head. “How was your day - you okay?” He added gently.

“Fine - I wanted to ask you two something,” she explained.

“Is it what you were trying to show me?” Theodore piped up from the other side of the room, where Kara was now attempting to help him sort out the drinks for everyone.

“Now you’re interested,” Maia huffed, opening up the laptop.

Calum sat in the chair beside her, looking attentively at the screen, always willing to take time to involve himself in his children’s lives when they gave him the opportunity, eager to listen to whatever it was that they were currently interested in.

“Can’t it wait, sweetheart - food’s ready.” Y/N said, bringing over the food and placing it in the centre of the table, fixing Calum with a look that had him smiling guiltily at her.

“No, this is important!” Maia insisted, ever stubborn and determined to get her way.

“Alright,” Y/N sighed, though it was clear to everyone in the room that she was trying her hardest to suppress her laughter. “What is it?” 

“When were you going to tell us that you’re a beard to hide Uncle Ashton and Dad being together?” Maia questioned shortly, her lips twitching at the edges in her best attempt to maintain a poker face.

Calum choked on the water he had just taken a drink of.

“What’s a beard?” Kara asked, tilting her head to the side and looking at her parents curiously. 

Neither of them answered, Y/N too busy laughing and Calum attempting to collect himself.

There was a smirk on Maia’s face as she, too, looked between her parents.

Sophie was looking equally confused by Maia’s term and even Theodore had looked up from his book to watch the exchange, mild interest on his face.

“What is it?” Kara repeated, looking over to Leo instead, desperate to understand the conversation.

“Maia’s just being silly, K, don’t worry,” Leo assured his youngest sister, sitting down at the table and Kara immediately climbed up onto the chair beside her.

“But what does it mean?”

“Maia’s suggesting that I’m only with Dad to cover up that Dad’s actually with Uncle Ash,” Y/N explained, still grinning to herself at the sheer absurdity of the suggestion. Calum had also begun to chuckle along, his eyes crinkled as he focused on the screen of Leo’s laptop.

“Why would you do that?” Sophie asked, taking the chair beside Kara, swinging her legs under the table as she waited for everyone else to join them sitting down so that food could be served.

“Are you?” Kara questioned in confusion.

“No, sweetheart,” Y/N said and met Calum’s eyes, the two of them grinning at each other. “Just some of Dad’s fans like the idea of him dating Uncle Ash-”

“Or Uncle Mike or Luke,” Calum interrupted knowledgeably.

“Yeah exactly - a lot of it was just about the idea of them being together or just their friendship but there are some occasions where the theories… go beyond that,” Y/N explained, evidently picking her words carefully.

“So you didn’t just have us all for PR?” Leo asked, feigning surprise.

“Of course we didn’t,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes.

“It’s been a while since I’ve looked at fan theories,” Calum said, a certain kind of affection in his voice. “Were you looking at the extreme theories?” He asked, looking interestedly at his daughter.

“They seemed pretty serious that you and Uncle Ash were secretly together - they reckon that you and Mum staged all the photos from when you were kids to make it seem like you had been together for that long.”

“And apparently your management forced you to marry Mum, even though you didn’t want to - something about a morse code pattern that you tapped during an interview once asking for help,” Leo inputted.

“Yeah - I think I read that one as well. I remember being tweeted about it,” Calum confirmed reminiscently.

“You used to read fan theories?”

“Yeah - out of curiosity more than anything,” Calum shrugged.

“I used to get tweeted them a lot,” Y/N added. “Put the laptop away, Maia? Food’s going to go cold.”

“And I’m hungry!” Sophie added, but her cheerful grin was still present.

“Tell Theodore to put his book away,” Maia huffed, annoyance in her voice and looking at Theodore who was sitting opposite her.

“Don’t call me that,” Theodore snapped in response, his eyes immediately flared with anger.

It wasn’t uncommon for Maia and Theodore to butt heads, especially over trivial things.

“Theo, put your book away - Maia, put Leo’s laptop away,” Calum sighed after catching Y/N’s eye.

“But you said you’d look!”

“I will - but after tea, alright?” Calum soothed his eldest daughter.

“Besides - we already know a lot of the more… absurd ones.” 

“Like what?” Sophie asked eagerly, beginning to dish out the food now that everyone was present and ready to eat.

“He’s still reading!” Maia cut her sister off, pointing accusingly at Theodore, who did indeed still have his book laying open on his lap under the table, eyes trained on it.

“Snitch,” he muttered, but closed the book after receiving stern looks from both of his parents.

There was a satisfied smirk on Maia’s face as she relaxed in her chair again. 

Leo caught her eye and rolled his own after catching the expression on his twin’s face.

“I’m confused,” Kara stated after a moment, her young face scrunched up as she stared down at her plate, looking as though she was trying to comprehend ideas way past the understanding that her eight years of age allowed her.

“About what?” Calum asked through a mouthful of food, rewarding him with a scolding look from Y/N that he responded to with a sheepish smile. Kara pointed at Maia, still frowning. “The theories?” Calum suggested before Maia could make some sort of snarky remark and Kara nodded.

“Why would you lie?”

“And why would you have ended up with five kids?” Theodore inputted.

“I read a theory that I got pregnant with someone else to force Calum to stay with me,” Y/N stated casually.

“What?” It was a communal cry of shock from all five children, staring at their mother in complete surprise, while Calum lapsed back into laughter.

“Yeah, some people thought that I got pregnant by someone else, told Calum that the twins were his and so he stayed with me out of duty.” Y/N said, a wry smile on her face, glancing over at her husband. “But that was from people who didn’t like me rather than anything else,” she added.

“What about the people who think Dad and Uncle Ash are together?” Theodore asked curiously, and Leo saw triumph cross Maia’s face at having piqued their brother’s interest.

“Well there are a lot of theories,” Calum said slowly.

“Some think that you guys are actually all adopted by the two of them,” Y/N said. “And that I must live in a shed outside or something to account for why I’m always here.”

“A shed!” Sophie shrieked, laughing and Kara joined in, though looking a little uncertain, just wanting to fit in with her older sister.

“Maybe not a shed precisely, Soph,” Calum laughed. 

“But that’s the gist of it, yeah,” Y/N confirmed. “Oh my God!”

“What?”

“Cal - do you remember when Leo broke his arm?” Her eyes were sparkling with amusement and Calum’s eyes widened, his mouth splitting once again into a wide grin, throwing his head back.

“That was probably one of the most far fetched ones,” he agreed after having recovered a little.

“What about when I broke my arm?” Leo frowned, thinking back to when he was eight years old and had fallen funny during a football match, breaking his arm.

Calum had missed that match - having been called into the studio with Michael to get some recordings straightened out. When Y/N had called him in hysterics in the hospital waiting room, he had rushed straight there. Ashton, Luke and Michael had come along a little while afterwards with the other kids in tow - Ashton and Luke having been babysitting at the time.

“I don’t know if you guys remember - I don’t know why you would - but Ash caught the flu a few days after Leo broke his arm and I remember that there was a theory that I actually rushed off to the hospital to visit him and then management faked Leo’s broken arm to cover up that I was really there to see Ash.”

“They thought I faked having a broken arm?” Leo asked, blinking at his father and frowning.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“When the twins were first born, the same fans thought you two were dolls.”

“Dolls?” Maia repeated.

“Yep - obviously those nine months that I was pregnant with you had to be fake as I was supposedly ‘over-doing’ the pregnancy symptoms-” Y/N was cut off by Calum’s snort of laughter.

“I forgot that people said that.”

“Lucky you,” Y/N said drily. “And so when you were born there was no way that either of you two could be real - therefore you had to be dolls, made specifically to look like us two and made to look properly human.”

“But… we’re not dolls,” Leo pointed out.

“Maia’s got the personality of one,” Theodore mused.

Maia’s protests were lost under the sounds of Sophie and Kara’s giggles and Leo tried to stifle his own laughter, not wanting to aggravate his twin further.

“That’s enough, Theo,” Calum said, but he, too, looked like he was holding back chuckles. “It was something to do how you always looked the same in every photo, you were always positioned the same or something?” He looked to his wife for conformation who gave a shrug before nodding.

“Something like that.”

“We were babies - what were they expecting from us? Backflips or something?”

“I would’ve been so proud of you if you’d done backflips as a child,” Calum sighed. “As it stands, though…”

“Rude,” Maia huffed, but gave in and smiled at her father’s teasing jab.

“I can do a cartwheel!” Kara inputted, puffing up her chest proudly. “Sophie taught me!” She added, after looking over to find that Sophie was looking at her.

“And that’s why you’re my favourite,” Calum assured her.

This caused an outbreak of protests and grumbling from the other four children, all of whom looked greatly offended despite none of them really taking him at all seriously.

“I’m the eldest, surely I hold some form of special affection in your heart,” Leo complained.

“Eldest by twenty-seven minutes!”

“Those twenty-seven minutes are what hold me in higher standing!”

“You two were researching theories that you’re not really our children,” Calum pointed out. “Kara doesn’t know how the computers work.”

“I do!”

“That’s true - she can get onto Minecraft,” Theodore agreed. “Though it’s understandable you resent Maia and Leo, they are rather annoying at all times.”

“Hey, you weren’t the favourite either so don’t get all high and mighty on us.”

“Why aren’t I the favourite?” Sophie asked, looking genuinely distraught.

“Tell you what - whoever cleans up after tea will rise the ranks of favourite child.”

The effect of Calum’s words were immediate, Sophie, Maia and Leo springing to their feet to help out. Kara giggled as she watched her older siblings playfully fighting over who got to clear away Calum’s empty plate and Theodore rolled his eyes to himself, letting out a long-suffering sigh and picked up his book again.

“You know manipulating your children like this makes you a bad person, right?” Y/N asked as she watched the chaos in the room.

“Well of course it makes me sound like a bad person when you put it like that.”

The sounds of clattering dishes had attracted the attention of the dogs, two of which came bounding into the room, the youngest - a spaniel named Milo -still a puppy, who jumped around yapping at the children. The other dog - also a spaniel, named Bowie - instead came over to the table, licking the hand Kara stretched out for him before walking over to Theodore’s chair, silently begging for attention.

Theodore had always been the child that animals gravitated towards.

Almost absent-mindedly, he dropped a hand down to stroke Bowie’s head and a small smile appeared on his face, though his eyes remained fixedly on his book.

Duke entered the kitchen, age waring him down and making his movements slow. He attempted to bark but seemed a little too tired as he ambled his way over to the table, flopping down next to Calum’s chair.

Calum scooped up the small dog and placed him on his lap.

“Hey, old man.” 

Y/N reached over to pet the elderly dog, a sad smile on her face.

“We’ve done alright, haven’t we?” She asked Calum quietly.

“Theo?” Kara’s voice was quiet from across the table.

“Yeah?”

“Will you read with me again tonight?” She sounded shy asking her brother. Y/N was momentarily distracted from Calum and looked at her two children, Kara looking at her older brother imploringly.

“Of course I will,” Theodore agreed, his voice low but kind and gentle in a way that it only sounded when speaking to his youngest sister or the dogs.

“Yeah - I think we did just fine - maybe not as interesting if half of those theories were true,” Calum said, moving one of his own hands off of Duke’s fur and cupping Y/N’s face gently.

She laughed a little at that.

“Maybe we’d be a little more interesting if they were true,” she agreed, smiling prettily up at him in the way that even now still brought a flutter to his chest.

“But I think we’ve done just fine, Nib.”

[kienava]

~~i stayed up til 4 am and wrote beauyasha and i regret nothing~~

When the Nein return to the tower, Beau finally has a chance to read Yasha's poem.

Awkward conversation ensues in a room full of flowers.

_______

how do i wake my spirit cold? [AO3 link]

It had taken Beau a solid three reads to convince herself that this poem was actually real, not just something that her cold-snapped brain had imagined for a fleeting sense of warmth. She’d gone from staring at the words blankly to reading slowly, scrutinizing the angles of each letter, and on her seventh read she’d discovered that it was impossible to tear her eyes off the piece of parchment in her hands. This was now the eighteenth time in a row she’d scanned over these four lines, though she’d long since memorized their contents. At this point, she was less reading a poem and more gazing at a painting. Its beautiful simplicity hit all at once, like a thin blade between the ribs.

Many months ago, Beau might have guessed that Yasha’s handwriting would resemble her intimidating appearance, or maybe even her fighting style: sharp and strong, rough strokes and firm lines. Now, the slight, slanted script on the page came as no surprise, not when Beau had all but reached out and touched the soft edges hidden under layers of rage and anguish - and shawls. Yasha was big on shawls.

Eventually, Beau knew, she would have to put this piece of paper down and stop reading, but her hands and eyes had yet to consider that idea for themselves.

Her breath stayed steady despite her sparking nerves, years of practice kicking in to steady her. After she folded that piece of parchment up, what could she possibly do? Sleep? Not a gods-damned chance. The tower was safe and still, much unlike the thumping in her chest. As skilled as she’d become at controlling her lungs and diaphragm, the ability to keep her heart calm eluded her.

She knew it was a symptom of something that she’d avoided addressing for as long as possible, a creature that would longer allow itself to be pushed off and locked up. Beau had done her best to drown it alive when she’d learned why Yasha pressed her own heart between the pages of a book to desiccate along with torn petals and broken thorns. Loving dead flowers left little room to tend a new garden.

For all Beau’s attempts to do otherwise, she kept coming back to this, perennially doomed to weather the most apocalyptic storms.

In an effort to inspire some new consideration besides poetry, Beau let the paper flutter onto her desk and took to the fighting post. She’d been curious to see how adaptable the tower’s contents really were, and she’d asked Caleb for a variety of weighted staves to train with in this rendition. She grabbed the heaviest one from its mount on the wall. Maybe if she exhausted herself by whaling on the fighting post, she’d be able to fall asleep sometime in the next several hours.

As soon as she started swinging, it was clear that her plan would be fruitless. Her muscles could go on autopilot and run through routines she knew deep in her bones, and she’d built up too much stamina fighting gnolls and ghosts and undead sea monsters to tire herself to the point of genuine exhaustion.

Despite all of her mediation training, she couldn’t shut her brain off. She’d been in research mode for weeks now, mind racing constantly to piece together theories that somehow sounded less and less wild the more their group trekked on. Even while sparring with this helpless post, she exerted more effort willing herself not to sit back down at her desk and scour between the grains of the paper Yasha had given her for clarity and truth.

She made a last-ditch effort at meditating, sitting in the middle of the room with her legs crossed, counting her inhales and exhales. It was the first technique Dairon had taught her, the simplest form of breathwork. The goal was not to control or influence the breath, but to build awareness of one’s natural pace without judgment. At the time, Beau laughed at the possibility that she could go a second without judging (herself or others). But she'd changed so much since then.

She felt herself smile, recalling a conversation from what felt like ages ago.

Thank you for not judging me, Beau.

Have you seen me? Who am I to fucking judge?

I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you a lot.

Was that it? Was that the moment that the harmless flirting had developed its own sense of gravity? That Beau had suddenly found herself tongue-tied during their most superficial conversations, yet secretly hoping for even the briefest moment alone together?

Without intention, her breath had started to line up with the endearingly crooked meter of the poem repeating infinitely in her mind. She inhaled through one line, then emptied her lungs by the end of the next.

Each time she ran through that short stanza again, more questions frayed out like a string splitting endlessly. None of the answers she sought could be found in the library. She’d only need to go one floor down, not two.

All distractions exhausted, Beau considered knocking on someone else’s door instead of seeking the one stamped with lilacs, but she couldn’t come up with a good reason to do so. Veth and Caleb would be together, huddled in front of a cozy fire and having one of those intense conversations meant only for them. Caduceus usually went to sleep early anyway, and he’d eaten a whopping dinner. No way he’d still be up. Fjord had taken up his own meditation practice, and far be it from Beau to interrupt that. Jester - well, that was just a bad idea. If Beau mentioned the poem (and there was very little chance she’d be able to talk about anything else), Jester might just drag her down to Yasha’s room and throw her through right the door.

If Yasha could be brave, so could Beau. In fights, that was the very thing that pushed her to go as hard as she did. She knew that Yasha would be there to pull her out of a giant lobster claw if her risks didn’t pay off. They had each other's backs, always.

Would that still be the case when neither of them held a weapon in their hands?

Only one way to find out.

Beau opened and closed her own door as quietly as possible. Jester had some kind of sixth sense when it came to Beau’s interactions with Yasha, and Beau really didn’t want to explain anything when she wasn’t even entirely sure what was going on herself. She whispered the command word to the lift and sank slowly to the next floor down. She was careful to keep her knock quiet, though it probably wouldn’t wake Caduceus. No promises that Jester wouldn’t somehow hear it, no matter how thick Caleb claimed the walls were.

There was a long beat before Beau heard footsteps. Her stomach flipped - had she woken Yasha up? Normally she relied on some burst of brash confidence to start a conversation, and it had already taken her nearly an hour to build up the courage to step into the hallway and onto the lift. This was too different from the casual check-ins and mid-battle flirting that had happened more often in recent weeks, and Beau forgot every normal greeting she knew when the lilac-emblazoned door swung open.

She only had one thought: “Yasha.”

“Goodnight, Beau,” Yasha said. Quickly, she added, “Not goodnight like ‘goodbye, you should leave.’ Goodnight as in good morning. Like a greeting, I mean.”

“Ha, yeah. Goodnight, I guess,” Beau replied with a little wave. This was going about as badly as possible. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No, no, no. I was just - well, I cannot read Zemnian, but those books Caleb gave us have very nice covers.”

“Yeah, they’re cool,” Beau said. She had an opening here. Might as well take it. “Speaking of reading...”

Yasha raised her eyebrows.

Beau tried to swallow the dryness in her mouth. It didn’t work. “I checked out your poem.”

“Oh, you did?” Yasha asked.

“You sound surprised.”

“Maybe a little.”

Beau wasn’t sure where to go with that, and all she could come up with was a stilted laugh.

Yasha joined in with her own quiet chuckle. The way she bit her lip, lost in thought, made it clear that she was just as much at a loss for words.

This was a bad idea. Beau hadn’t been thinking straight, obviously, when she’d come down here with a million questions and no plan for how to ask them.

“Okay,” Beau said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. “I guess I’m gonna--”

“Do you want to come in?”

Beau blinked. “What? I mean, sure. Yeah.”

Yasha stepped back from the door to open it wider, and Beau stepped inside the flower-laden room for the first time since Caleb’s magical mansion tour.

The door settled shut behind them, and they were left standing in the middle of the bright, colorful blossoms.

“So,” Yasha started. She didn’t go on.

“Nice plants,” Beau commented, nearly smacking herself across the face for it.

Fortunately, Yasha smiled at that. “Caleb really thought of everything for this place.”

Beau’s mind flashed to the mirror mounted above her bed, and for the first time in many years she had to remind herself to breathe. She was more than getting ahead of herself.

“Anyway,” Yasha said, drawing out the end of the word a little more than normal, “what brings you down to the fifth floor?”

“Ah, just got lost on my way to the kitchen, thought I’d swing by,” Beau tried.

Every time Yasha let out even a small laugh, Beau counted it as a win.

The most concrete question burning in Beau’s skull was rooted in something ugly and frightened. She asked it anyway. “So did Jester put you up to that?”

“It was her idea, yes,” Yasha admitted.

“Oh,” Beau said, not quite catching her voice from cracking.

“I shouldn’t have said that. She only helped because I asked.”

“So it was your idea?”

“Not quite. I don’t think. Not the poem thing, specifically. I told her I wanted to...do something, for you, and that is what she suggested.”

Beau fought against the urge to convince herself that those words could mean anything other than what she wanted to hear. She’d been jumping through flaming mental hoops for weeks, maybe months, trying to talk herself out of this. And then Yasha had the pleasant audacity to write her a poem.

“No one’s ever done that before. For me,” Beau reiterated. She held her hands up. “Hey, I’m no expert, but I thought it was dope.”

“No, you didn’t,” Yasha dismissed.

“No, I did.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

Yasha busied herself by stroking the petal of a nearby flower with her thumb, a small smile creeping in.

“Why’d you write it?” Beau asked. 

Yasha’s fingers stilled. Her gaze stayed fixed on the flower in her hand, and her slight smile grew.

“Do you have a favorite flower, Beau?”

There was the answer Beau wanted to give, and then there was the truth. In the dense quiet, the latter won out. “Not really. Kinda wish I did. Do you?”

“I think...” Yasha gently plucked the flower from its stem. “I think they are all my favorite.”

“Really?”

Yasha nodded, cradling the flower in her palm.

It was, quite possibly, the happiest Beau had ever seen her. She suddenly wished that she knew the name of this plant, of every plant in the room. If something could bring Yasha such tranquil joy, it was worth knowing. 

“The ones in this room are from all over. I’ve never even heard of some of them,” Yasha said.

“Caleb probably read about a thousand botany books just for this.”

“Probably,” Yasha laughed.

“Come on. You’ve gotta have a favorite,” Beau pushed, in the back of her mind hoping that she could use the information for future reference.

Yasha shook her head. “My book...I was keeping it for Zuala at first, but I think I am also keeping it for myself now. I want to remember the places that I’ve been and the things that happened there. Because those things have brought me here, and I am very happy about that, even if some of what happened was...not so happy. I would not be here, with all of you, without every single one of those flowers.” 

She held her hand out, presenting the plucked flower. Beau stared at the five long, carefree, white petals, tinged with a sunshiny yellow at the tips. Slowly, she reached out and was surprised to find the petals were rich and soft like velvet. She couldn’t recall ever seeing it before - maybe it was from Xhorhas.

“And,” Yasha met Beau’s eyes, “finding new favorite flowers to add to my book does not mean I forget the old ones.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Beau agreed.

“This one reminds me a lot of you, actually,” Yasha said, almost whispering to herself. 

Beau felt her heart skip. She’d never been given a poem before, and she’d certainly been compared to something so delicate and precious. She wracked her brain for something witty to say, but she’d never been very good at that around Yasha. “It does?” she choked out.

“It grows in the desert,” Yasha explained. “It's very stubborn and strong. We called it Sunsbane. Even with very little water, it survives the hottest days. The buds stay closed for many years, but the plant stays strong. The roots grow deeper than you’d ever guess just from looking at it above the surface. It can take a long time, but when the nights get cool enough, the flowers finally bloom.” She paused, sweeping her hair behind her ear. “You probably didn’t come here to hear so much about plants, though.”

Beau could very well have been in the desert herself at the moment - her mouth went dry again, and she felt like it was about a thousand degrees in that room.

Untrusting of her own ability to form words after that, she lifted the flower from Yasha’s hand, then reached up and tucked its short stem back where Yasha had fixed her hair.

“Hey,” Beau managed.

“Mhm?”

“You can tell me about plants anytime, alright?”

“Alright,” Yasha returned. “Okay.”

Beau retreated a step, realizing how close they’d been standing. “White’s kinda more your color, though. Plus, the yellow really...your eyes, it - works. Looks nice. Um, goodnight.”

There was a strange look on Yasha’s face, like she was thinking too hard.

“What?” Beau risked asking.

“Just that...I didn’t answer your question yet. About the poem.”

“Oh. Yeah. It’s cool, honestly--”

“Beau.” Yasha said her name so softly that Beau had no choice but to stop protesting.

Yasha took the flower from behind her ear and clutched it to her chest. “You should know that I like this flower very much.”

So much of Beau’s old self - the person who’d just tried to leave again - wanted to bolt for the door, but her new self locked down and stood her ground. Inhale, exhale. “I think it likes you, too,” she said weakly.

Yasha waved her hand, still holding onto the flower. “Jester said some things, and I - well, I don’t know. I didn’t think I should hear them from someone else in case they weren’t true or--”

“They are,” Beau jumped in. “I don’t know what she said, exactly, but I can guess.”

“How do you mean?”

“Like I tried not to for a while. And then that became more impossible than it already was. Just like Sunsbane, I guess. Deep roots, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Yasha said suddenly. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Not that I - I wasn’t expecting anything. You’ve surprised me in a lot of ways, is all.”

Beau couldn’t handle the guilt on Yasha’s face. It wasn’t her fault, everything that had happened to her, to them. Beau would’ve waited a thousand days in the desert if it meant letting Yasha heal and find herself.

The gap between them had shrunk again, somehow, but it was more unbearable than ever. It felt like every time they got closer by half, always lessening the space but never quite meeting. But Beau was very good at breaking things, and, for once, she could break something for good. Her palm met Yasha’s cheek, fingertips curling around a small braid hanging loosely.

“You said those flowers are pretty damn patient, right?” Beau said.

Yasha nodded almost imperceptibly, like she was afraid Beau’s hand would pull back.

“Then I think you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Still.”

“Well,” with much less confidence than she’d hoped for, Beau asked, “you gonna kiss me or what?”

Yasha’s eyes closed for a moment, her expression neutral save for the slight crease between her brows and the subtle part of her lips. When her eyes opened again, her gaze was angled down slightly, plotting a trajectory that Beau had hardly dared to dream of.

“You’re sure?” Yasha said softly.

Beau’s answer was no more than a breath of a laugh.

Yasha went on. “I just want to make sure that you are sure. I’m very sure, at this point, but that doesn’t mean that you have to be--”

Beau cut her off as gently as possible.

For a moment, Beau’s mind went blissfully blank.

Then it hit her. She was kissing Yasha.

It started soft - not tentative, but quiet.

And then, miracle of miracles, Yasha was kissing her back, and she was much less patient. She was lightning and thunder striking at once, a storm raw and deafening in its power. Beau wondered when her knees would give out under the sheer weight of it - until solid arms circled around her waist and pulled her in.

Desperate to hold onto something, Beau’s fingers wound into Yasha’s hair. Her other hand was trapped just below Yasha’s collarbone, grasping tighter until blunt nails scraped past a cloth edge and found skin.

Maybe Beau did have a favorite flower, after all.

***

[talenlee]

The Johnlock Conspiracy Conspiracy

First of all this is going to be building off a point first cast into relief for me by Sarah Z’s video on The Johnlock Conspiracy. She is both directly connected with the experience of this space and did the research into the actual history of the people involved, a sort of on-the-spot observer recounting her experiences ethnographically. If you want a longer form deep dive on what The Johnlock Conspiracy is, check out that video. I will be providing a quick summary.

I’m also going to talk about fanagement, which I wrote about last year, which is about the way that fan engagement was seen as being a thing that corporate entities could deliberately engage for commercial ends. Fanagement isn’t necessarily an inherently evil or corrupting thing, but it’s something to know about as something that exists, and knowing it exists can colour your relationship to the media created in response to fanagement.

There’s this idea of ‘The Johnlock conspiracy.’

In the agonisingly mediocre BBC mystery drama Sherlock that ran from who cares to also who cares, starring in the loosest sense of the word Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman (a man ‘renowned’ for this, The Office and the Hobbit trilogy, on a scale of poisonous influence to actual outright evil), as a modern day re-imagining of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson that has some interesting ideas that it absolutely does not use well, mysteries that are not interesting and a relationship tension that was making itself up as it went along. Much ink has been spilled about how this series is not very good, and that’s good, because it’s a very expensively made bad series that banks on the reliable draw of the same fistful of boring privilege.

Part of what made it popular, sort of, was the tension of the relationship between John and Sherlock. See, they were both men, you see, and what if they kissed.

Now, tumblr is, by volume, mostly connections to other parts of tumblr. If you make something popular, it becomes amplified and exploded and brought to the attention of others and curated into lists. Content that gets shared is the very sinew of what Tumblr is, which means that doing things people share around is a strange form of primacy on the site. Making content is powerful, heady, druglike. Commanding curation where you determine what does and does not get shared is even moreso. It is a space for an audience that is engaged deeply with the concept of being engaged, and in this space, fandom happened.

There’s not a lot of Sherlock. There were big gaps between the seasons. When a season came out, it did not explain itself or deliver on its promise at all. It is, as I’ve said, bad. But it was well made and used actors you’d heard of and was treated as being prestigious and so, when the show came out, and because people liked the idea of what it could be, fandom struck on a conspiracy:

What if this terrible show is secretly great?

And I understand the impulse. It’s heart to a lot of fandom. I can’t possibly have spent this time and energy on something I don’t like, it must be that the thing I like is secretly this thing I really like. And so scaffolding comes out to buttress the idea. We’re not taught that fandom is right – we’re taught that fandom is something that justifies itself by being right. If you have a story in your heart about a Dark Fuckprince and his soft bean injured Watson, that story is real and right, and doesn’t need the official endorsement of the BBC to be good.

Without that armour of love, though, instead the fandom turned into this endless oroborous of hostility centered around three people, who seem to just be total dickheads, great job you. This resulted in the blossoming of what was known as ‘the Johnlock Conspiracy,’ where through thousands of pages of well intentioned fumes, these fans huffed themselves into believing that Steven Moffat and Mark Gattis were secretly building up to exactly what they wanted, and they were the smartest people ever for noticing it. The lack of payoff of their beliefs and the active hostility Moffat had to their ideas and positions in person, that was all part of the conspiracy.

Oh, by the way, that idea – conspiracy – is when you have an unfalsifiable conjecture. If you can’t prove it false, no matter what, that’s when you’re dealing with a conspiracy theory.

The dramatic conclusion to all this was the series ended, their conspiracy was wrong, they theorycrafted themselves a few more months of content, and then most people let it drop.

But what if I told you there was a conspiracy?

Because there was. It just wasn’t the conspiracy they thought.

See, a conspiracy is a real thing: it’s a secret plan to do something harmful. And the BBC, since they published the work that Matt Hill described in Torchwoods Trans-Transmedia: Media Tie-Ins and Brand Fanagement, worked with the parameters of their experiment aggressively.

The idea, as I outlined in my article about Fanagement was that making the program so it could engage fans directly, and give fans feelings of creative ownership over the work would drive viewership and the kinds of engagement they liked (like, paying for things). Fanagement sought to make media ‘gifable’ – low saturation backgrounds with cuts of under a second so you could break a scene apart easily and conveniently. It wanted to make fan media easy to make, and to minimise hard declarative statements.

The lessons learned from this paper included things like ship teasing as a deliberate task – and I do mean teasing, with the idea that you had to do it in deniable and ambiguous ways. Making things definite wouldn’t get you as much fan engagement as keeping things ambiguous, because fans would make an inference based on what you show them, talk about it, then other fans would watch it again to make sure they could argue with you about it.

A mystery show like Sherlock was perfect for this kind of treatment. Treating the series as if there was some really deep, thoughtful question at the heart of it meant that there was always a reason to keep from ‘revealing’ the secret of the story, to string the audience along, like they’d believe or tolerate it, if it was all in service of a clever explanation. You get it, right? After all, we gave you all the clues.

The toxic fandom of Sherlock did not form as much as it was fostered.

A lesson from this experience, a lesson easily escaping notice, is that it’s not that ‘fandoms are all the same.’ They really aren’t. They are wildly varying in the terms of their problems and those problems root causes. What they tend to have in common is dynamics, but those dynamics are expressed in a lot of different ways. It’s not that ‘fandoms’ naturally become toxic and awful. There are fandoms that are generally, quite nice, and they tend to be that way because of the values of the central movers and shakers and the conscious willingness of people who perceive themselves as part of the fandom as taking care of it. The dynamic is the same – you have common nexuses of community that people interact with – and the kind of behaviour that’s acceptable and reasonable is filtered through them. If the idea of asking people to modify their behaviour or respect people’s boundaries is seen as unreasonable, then you can get a toxic space.

Also, as I talk about ‘toxic fandoms,’ understand toxicity is relative. There is, after all, a very real, very unironic Hitler Fandom, and they are probably one of the worst fandoms out there. Being a mean lawyer on the internet is bad, and I’ve no doubt the fandom curators known now as the Powerpuff Girls absolutely wrecked some teenagers’ lives – like, there are definitely people with, I am not joking or being hyperbolic, some PTSD triggers about (say) Tumblr or whatnot, based on the kind of social force these people were leveraging.

And then remember that holding that lever at the high end, right at the top with the most power over it was a company that made TV shows that was trying to make sure you watched their shows.

Also: The tools for doing this are available to all the companies that read the paper.

My advice? Exhort and uplift queer creators. Be positive about it, not negative. Don’t make your time about attacking other people’s dark fuckprince. Bring what you like to life, and bring that life into the light. Share and love each other, rather than find reasons to be mad at one another for how you’re all playing with toys a corporation wants you to treat with respect and only play properly. And as always, the standard you walk past is the standard you accept – so make sure your fandom circles aren’t putting up with some Powerpuff Girls.

Originally posted on my Blog.

[quidfree]

tdbk hurt/comfort?

writing this just made me think about my long-running theory that principal nezu is a mastermind villain who is taking out his grudge on humanity via slowly destroying the next generation of heroes bc how ELSE can you explain the amount of personal injury-lawsuits-that-never-were within UA’s supervision 

anyways i would have made this w shouto injured but i feel like IGFTD already has enough of bakugou babysitting him so *reverse uno*

(definitely not at all thinking abt the latest updates of the manga aha..ha)

it’s hardly the first time shouto has seen bakugou get his ass beat. he doesn’t have midoriya’s abysmal track record, but midoriya mostly destroys himself; bakugou tends to get battered by external forces. now that he’s thinking about it he can’t think of another classmate with worse luck, except maybe mineta, but that’s more punitive justice than anything.

habit is a great deadener, or so he’s read. that may be true on a day-to-day basis, but it does nothing to diminish the gut-punch of worry when bakugou’s explosions stutter to a halt so abruptly that it makes him look up just in time to see him plummeting out of the sky, jagged shard of rock protruding through his chest.

midoriya is yelling from somewhere, panicked cry of ‘kacchan!’ turning into a furious scream midway, and shouto is skating upwards on instinct, ice solidifying beneath his feet, arms extending and pulse thudding with memories of ‘how sad, todoroki shouto’ echoing through his mind. 

not so slow, this time. bakugou knocks right into him, gauntlets and all, heavy enough to knock them both off the ice; it shifts and reforms beneath them as he grapples for a better hold. somewhere above them a berserk midoriya is exploding into green light, blows breaking through the villain’s crumbling shell as the mountainside continues to fall apart; shouto’s hands are slick with what he can only hope is sweat as he rides the ice to safety.

they land roughly between the trees, rumbling from above muffled through the foliage just enough that he can hear bakugou cussing, which he has rarely been so happy to hear. 

“get your damn hands off me, icyhot,” bakugou snaps, as shouto’s heartbeat slows incrementally. when their eyes meet his are uncharacteristically hazy, sweat and grime sticking his hair to his face. 

shouto’s eyes lower, and his gut clenches. 

“stop that,” bakugou demands, as shouto’s ears buzz. the rock has embedded itself in his abdomen, and all around it red is soaking through even the dark materials of his suit, torso slick with blood. 

“bakugou...”

“i’m fine,” bakugou grits out, with unconvincing anger. somewhere distant there is a final sounding boom, and then the ground starts to shake. “worry about the damn- earthquake.”

“shit,” shouto says, under his breath, mind racing. earthquake, and mountain, and- landslide. and bakugou, with a poisoned piece of stone stuck right through him. 

he rises to his knees. when he moves bakugou recoils, smacking his hands away with an alarming lack of violence. 

“bakugou,” shouto says. “i’m not going to leave you behind.”

“worry about your damn self!” bakugou retorts, though his gaze flickers to the mountain above. “you’re not carrying me out of here.”

for a second, panicked frustration overwhelms him; he inhales deeply, stands. 

“fine. come on. get going.”

it’s cruel, really; bakugou’s face twists, and then he’s stumbling to his feet, leaking blood as he does. he barely makes it two steps before he’s swaying violently, face gone sheet-white under the mask. 

silently, shouto hoists an arm under his shoulder. bakugou, jaw clenched tight, looks away. it’s as much of a concession as he’ll get.

ice carries them upwards, over the trees, and he glances backwards to find bakugou’s warnings prescient: the mountain top has deteriorated, great chunks of rock sent spiralling downwards with increasing speed. midoriya and the others are fine, he tells himself. he can’t focus on two things at once.

what he can’t stop himself from focusing on, as they make rapid progress overhead, is the way that bakugou is sagging into his hold, dampness spreading through his suit; the pallor of his cheek and the rasping quality of his breaths. he feels faintly nauseous. 

bakugou isn’t dying. not now. what a stupid, ridiculous way to die this would be- three years into UA, having survived every other ridiculous thing life has thrown their way. dying at the hands of some elemental villain, for the price of diverting his attention from his exhausted classmates. 

fuck, why does this always happen to him? his fingers closing on air as dabi whisks bakugou away- his father in his grip as shigaraki pierces through bakugou right above him- it’s always like this, in his face, like fate derives some personal enjoyment out of his helplessly witnessing bakugou’s near-death experiences. 

he doesn’t realise how tight his grip is getting until bakugou hisses in unwilling pain; he relaxes it a fraction, guilt sickening, as he lowers them towards the rocks. there’s enough height and distance that the landslide won’t reach them- or won’t reach them fast enough to disrupt the process, anyways.

bakugou all-but crumples as soon as they’re on firm ground, folding inwards like a house of cards, and shouto is on his knees besides him instantly, hands fumbling for his medical kit. 

he’s a third year; he shouldn’t be so shaky when it comes to rescues, but his fingers are unsteady. 

“i’m going to have to take that out.”

“rule one of on-site aid,” bakugou rasps. his eyes are half-lidded, torso jerking irregularly as he watches shouto move.

never remove the knife from the stab wound. “i know. but you’ve seen what these rocks do. it’s hurting you worse than the blood loss can.”

“came first on the medical test, but who’s counting,” bakugou mutters. he keeps spasming, face tight with pain, and shouto remembers his brushes with the stone- like having fire ants crawling over your skin, red-hot and vicious. to have that inside of you-

ten minutes, if you’re lucky, aizawa had said. 

“i’m taking it out,” he repeats, redundantly, and wills his hands to stop shaking, ice spreading around the shard as bakugou gasps and flinches. 

“fucking- get off me, you bastard, get-”

he’s freezing around the stone now, forces himself not to react to the wet sounds of ice sliding through blood and organ to wrap itself around the intruding shard. bakugou’s cursing has turned to incoherent noise, and he can’t bring himself to look up, own breathing heavy to his ears as he coils the ice like a hook, tugs softly then harder.

“fuck!” bakugou howls, as he grits his teeth and painstakingly pulls back another fragment; a defensive explosion hits him right in the side, and he pulls too hard on instinct, whole shard yanked free as bakugou screams bloody murder. 

shouto falls back with a piece of rock the size of his forearm in his lap, covered in blood and tissue and ice, almost gets sick at the feel of it. instead he drops it hastily, slams an arm down over the gushing wound as his free hand grabs for the spray. top of the line hero resources; knits any wound back together, hatsume had promised, and why the hell had he trusted hatsume mei of all people with his tech? if this is one of her misses-

he sprays, blood splattering him in the face when he withdraws long enough to do so, and then keeps spraying so violently that his hand cramps, watching tissue knit itself in a disturbing parody of organs as the bleeding slows. 

for a beat he just sits and stares, chest rising and falling. there is still a hole through bakugou, but it’s like it’s been half-sketched in the way it’s supposed to look, veins and muscle and what could be a kidney half-fleshed out within the empty space.

“motherfucker,” bakugou chokes out, tight, and then shoves himself half-upright just in time to throw up off the side of the rock. shouto’s hands have resumed shaking.

bakugou collapses back onto the rock, arms wobbly from the exertion, and for a second he just lies there, shouto’s pulse slowing ever so slightly as he takes in the mess they’re in, blood and guts and ice and some half-mended massacre in bakugou’s abdomen. 

more than ten minutes, though. enough to get actual medical care. that has to be enough. 

“todoroki,” bakugou says. shouto startles, leans over. his gaze is unfocused, hazily attentive.

“am i dying?”

it’s said matter-of-factly; instinctively his stomach turns. 

“no.”

“don’t lie to me.”

“i have never lied to you,” shouto retorts, intent. “you’re not dying.”

bakugou looks at him, brow furrowed deeply with effort as he blinks in frustration. can’t quite muster up the energy to concentrate, shouto assumes. it makes him look oddly like his younger self, all screwed up suspicion.

not dying, shouto tells himself, fiercely. not fucking dying. 

he stomps down the emotion, but he’s lost his touch over the past three years because bakugou’s mouth twitches wryly, eyes briefly sharp. 

“’f i’m not dying what’s with that look?”

“what look?”

“the fucking- hero’s crisis. failed rescue.”

“shut up,” shouto says, abruptly harsh. “that’s not- shut up. you’re not dying.”

“feel like shit though,” bakugou mutters, eyes drifting shut again. 

if the roles were reversed bakugou would have said and you look like it too. but he’s not bakugou, even if he is the only other person in the class that’s as poorly equipped to play nurse; he can’t muster the normalcy to banter. he just keeps replaying bakugou’s screaming, eyes caught on the tear-tracks on his cheeks. he hadn’t even noticed him crying during.

help is coming. help has to be coming. bakugou will last until then. but he’d hate for them to find him like this.

of its own volition, his hand retrieves a sanitary wipe from the medikit. then it’s dabbing at bakugou’s face. 

“the fuck are you- get off,” bakugou protests, albeit with more bewilderment than anger. shouto’s hands resolutely do not listen, wiping dutifully ahead, and at some point bakugou gives up, just lies there with confused annoyance in his frown. when his face is clean shouto folds the wipe away, sits back. 

“i’m sorry i made you walk earlier.”

bakugou’s eyes flicker open, slanted red. “’s whatever.”

“it was petty of me,” shouto continues, half a sigh. “i was panicking.”

“yeah, well,” bakugou mumbles. “would have kept bitching if you hadn’t, so. for the best.”

not dying, not dying, not dying. “don’t suddenly become reasonable just because you think you’re on your deathbed.”

“fuck you,” bakugou retorts, managing a snort before it turns into a coughing fit that leaves him curled up and sweating, eyes squeezed tight with pained humiliation. 

if midoriya were here, shouto thinks- but that’s stupid. he and bakugou are friends too, really. have been for much longer than bakugou would admit. he should be able to do something. 

he can’t move him, though. not with the fragile hold hatsume’s gadget has on his internal organs. he’s not exactly going to kiss him better like recovery girl would. and when it comes to conversation, he’s never really had a knack for keeping bakugou placid.

he keeps thinking about all of the times he hadn’t caught him. bakugou out of reach. that sick feeling, worsening every time. 

hesitantly, his hand finds bakugou’s. 

“what the fuck.”

instinct should make him jerk it back, but stubbornness supersedes the urge. he winds their fingers together as bakugou lifts his head to glare at him. 

“get your damn hand off me, half ‘n half.”

“no.”

bakugou tugs, hard and ineffective, falls back with an outraged glower. 

“are you fucking kidding me? what is this, a k-drama?”

“i don’t know what else to do to make you feel better,” shouto retorts, nebulously self-conscious but entirely resolute. “so unless you have any better ideas i’m not letting go.”

“it’d make me feel better if you stopped touching me!” bakugou snaps, coughing. shouto ignores him, runs his thumb over his knuckles, vague sense memories of his mother coming to him as he does. had she held his hands, back then? he thinks maybe. he can’t think where else he’d have picked it up.

bakugou has stopped struggling, but has not died. shouto relaxes a fraction.

holding hands is sort of nice. bakugou’s hand is sweaty, which makes sense, but also very hot, and calloused. after a while he sort of forgets the circumstances, just starts absently playing with it, pressing his fingers into the pads of his hand. he thinks he was right about his mother. he can sort of recall the sensation of her hands in his.

“if i don’t die,” bakugou says, after a minute, sort of resigned sounding, “i’m going to kill you.”

“yeah,” shouto says, squeezing his hand. “sure.”

he wonders if bakugou’s parents held his hand a child. he thinks probably yes. he seems like the type whose parents love him a lot in spite of his attitude. that’s mostly how everyone treats him, in the end.

mitsuki bakugou looks a lot like her son. the last time he saw her she was aggressively ruffling his hair into even greater disarray, voice strident as bakugou yelled back obscenities and made no real effort to displace her.

it must be hard, shouto reflects, for a civilian parent. midoriya’s mother certainly has reason to worry. bakugou’s is probably a close second by now.

“stop looking at me like that.”

“sorry.”

“no you’re not!”

“well, if it bothers you...”

“can you just be a normal damn person for once?”

bakugou hits him when he starts messing with his hair, but he doesn’t let go of his hand. 

(he also doesn’t kill shouto when he’s released from the hospital, but then shouto had sort of expected that.)

[angels-heap]

Okay hello I feel like you are Wise and Know things... it’s kind of hard to explain but is it wrong to just... Enjoy Things? With all the HL pisscourse going around it’s making me nervous about liking things like TF2 and missing something critical and huge in the media I consume and being labelled as a bad person for doing that. ESPECIALLY for liking characters like GLaDOS or Wheatley from Portal. I want to just Enjoy Things but there’s guilt tied to not being critical about every single detail

Thanks for reaching out, friend, and I’m so sorry to hear the current nonsense has you feeling this way. I have a hunch you’re not alone, and although I don’t claim to have all the answers here, I hope hearing my thoughts on this helps alleviate some of that guilt. This got long and I’m not putting it under a cut because it’s important. 

The short answer to your question is no; it is not wrong to just enjoy things. You don’t have to constantly examine all your favorite media under a microscope and incessantly highlight or dwell on its faults to be a good person or a good consumer of media, and here are a few reasons why:

(CW for brief mentions of all the squicky/potentially triggering things that tend to come up in ship discourse conversations.)

1. It is virtually impossible to find a truly unproblematic piece of media.

And that’s okay! Media is both created and consumed by people, and people are notoriously imperfect and complex. Sometimes creators choose to explore dark or taboo themes that are always going to squick some people out, no matter how well (or poorly) they’re handled. Sometimes content creators are actually terrible people who deliberately try to perpetuate their messed-up ideas through media. Sometimes creators’ deeply internalized prejudices seep into a work in a way they may not even consciously realize. Sometimes consumers’ experiences or prejudices color the way they perceive a piece of media and may lead them to a very different interpretation than what the creators intended.

Point is, there are a lot of shades of gray here. We should always strive to do better as creators and consumers, but the goalposts for “perfection” are always moving.

There’s almost always going to be something about your favorite media—no matter how benign it is—that rubs some people the wrong way, or (perhaps unintentionally) perpetuates harmful stereotypes, or starts out okay but doesn’t age well down the line. Period. That’s an uncomfortable truth that we all have to sit with. But don’t despair, because…

2. It is still okay to engage with and enjoy media that you know is problematic. Even if it’s really problematic. For real. I promise. The media you consume does not determine your worth as a person. 

Since you specifically mentioned Valve games, I’ll start out by clarifying that (as of July 2020), Valve games and their fandoms are pretty benign overall. Perhaps in the future, more of the humor will start to age poorly, or Valve will make some extremely questionable design choices with their next game, or Gabe Newell will be outed as a prolific serial killer, or whatever, but for now, there’s really nothing about Valve games that should make the average person go, “holy shit, you’re into that?!” when you bring them up in polite company. (And anyone who insinuates otherwise re: Half Life shipping discourse is either very confused about the definition of certain words or is maliciously trying to stir up controversy.)

That said, everyone has a different threshold for what they do and don’t want to see in media, and those boundaries are totally valid! But it is absolutely possible to enjoy even notably problematic media (e.g., Game of Thrones, the new Star Wars sequels, old movies where the directors were huge assholes to the female cast members, etc.) without being a bad person or a bad social justice activist. Instead of rambling about that at length, I’m going to link you to this excellent blog post on the subject.

The big takeaway here is that you can love a piece of media while also acknowledging its faults. In fact, I’d argue that a key part of loving something is being able to think critically about it and trying to hold its creators to a higher standard whenever possible. However, that doesn’t mean you have to be constantly analyzing it or prefacing every single public acknowledgment of your love for it with an “I know this is problematic and I swear, I just like it for XYZ” disclaimer, because…

3. Tumblr’s black-and-white thinking about media consumption is not healthy, “normal,” or (usually) present to the same degree in other virtual or real-world spaces.

I think most of the people on Tumblr who seem to be on a constant (and ultimately futile; see point 1) quest to find the One True Unproblematic Media have good intentions. I really do. And I applaud them for actively trying to understand and un-learn their own biases while becoming critical consumers of media.

Unfortunately, for a bunch of complicated reasons I still don’t totally understand and won’t get into here, some online communities tend to take these things to such an extreme that, in their quest to create a safe and/or inclusive environment, they actually end up creating an even more hostile one. To reference the recent drama again, nowhere is that more apparent than with “pro-ship” vs. “anti-ship” discourse.

Basically, “pro-shippers” believe that fiction is entirely separate from reality and therefore, “problematic” content (up to and including p*dophilia, inc*st, noncon, etc.) has just as much of a right to exist as any other content; this makes some sense on a purely intellectual level, but in the real world, obviously things are much more complicated than that. “Anti-shippers,” on the other hand, claim to be specifically against the aforementioned Big Three Bad Things in theory, but in practice, they’re basically the fandom purity police; they strive to criticize and shut down any media or fandom activity that could be even remotely construed as problematic, because they seem to have a (perhaps well-intentioned but ultimately misguided) perception that discussing anything “bad” in fiction will glorify/condone/promote it in real life and that all creators of “bad” fiction are inherently malicious. Often, they’re willing to twist definitions and jump through some very strange hoops to justify why something is “bad.”

The truth lies somewhere between those two extremes; fiction absolutely can (and does) impact reality, but not in such a clear-cut cause-and-effect way. People can see or read about dark/complicated/problematic things without condoning or enjoying them in real life, and conversely, people can dislike even relatively benign things without having to have an extreme, profound reason for feeling that way. People can also enjoy “bad” media while being fully conscious of what’s wrong with it and taking steps to ensure that it doesn’t negatively influence them, or they may lack the knowledge/context to understand why something is “bad” at first and change how they engage (or don’t engage) as they learn. There’s a lot more nuance to this issue than Tumblr is willing to acknowledge, and as a result, a lot of innocent people who just want to enjoy things in peace get sucked into some truly absurd drama that can be really hard to deal with. And that sucks. A lot.

So, TL;DR: Almost all media is at least a little problematic, but that’s okay, because the media you like does not determine whether or not you’re a good person. (And especially if your primary interests are Valve games... you’re good, mate. Seriously.)

The fact that you’re even asking me this question shows me that you’re being a thoughtful, responsible consumer of media, and that’s all anyone can reasonably ask of you without being a gigantic hypocrite—because whether they’ll admit it or not, everybody who’s perpetuating this discourse both on and offline likes something “problematic.” It’s impossible not to, unless you live under a rock and consume exactly zero media. Take care, and try not to let the discourse get to you! Go forth and enjoy things! (As always, my inbox is open for follow-up questions.)

ETA: Here’s another excellent tumblr post on this topic! And another one! 

[angstidote]

Shadowbringers Theory Time

FFXIV 5.2 spoilers below the cut, but like, THE IMPLICATIONS !!!

This is totally just a theory, but I feel like I have a good idea of what caused the end of Amaurot in the first place, the why of Zodiark and Hydaelyn, how the WoL is not in fact tempered as has been implied, why Emet-Selch felt justified in extending his faith to us, what Elidibus is working at with this seemingly empowering angle, and what we can expect to see in the upcoming story arc.

It’s a lot, I know, but hear me out:

So like, first off we know now that “the defector” was not part of summoning Zodiark OR Hydaelyn, and we’re pretty sure we were the defector because in Hythlodeus’s speech about that person, the gender of the 14th changes with your gender–implying he’s likely speaking of us. This means that WE were not necessarily tempered by Hydaelyn, because we were likely not there for her summoning in the first place:

We knew why the original convocation created Zodiark–to stop the world from self-destructing. But they have not yet explained why it was falling apart in the first place.

I’m seriously wondering if somewhere along the way someone realized that the source of the problem was the Amaurotians themselves. After all, we know that magic takes aether, and that the Amaurotians were crazy powerful mages. To not have made this connection themselves is totally unrealistic, given how advanced they were with regard to their knowledge of magic.

My theory is that they realized they were responsible, but no one wanted to admit that they were at fault. Or more than that, no one wanted to, well, stop using magic, so they started grasping at straws for what to do…and Zodiark was one such attempt. By giving the planet a will of its own they hoped that IT would moderate them as necessary, no muss no fuss.

However, to summon Zodiark took a tremendous amount of aether as we know, and after that he basically demanded that the Amaurotians pay the cost of any further large magic expenditures. My feeling is that they gave the star a will, but did so specifically so it would save itself. We know how sensitive creation magic was, so surely someone wrote this intention into it–but they probably didn’t realize what that implied for those who lived on the planet. Accordingly, it willed that people stop using its magic, and die en masse if that’s what it took.

We see only a part of the ancient ones’ conversation, but it seems like they knew this. If Zodiark stayed, eventually he was either going to kill everyone directly or allow them to kill themselves by sacrificing themselves for every expenditure:

Now, as for Emet-Selch–he made it seem like whatever was causing the end of days was a mystery, but he was one of the convocation members and he would have at least heard evidence for why Zodiark would and wouldn’t work.

It could be that the council had other reasons to believe Zodiark wouldn’t fix the problem–but considering Emet’s obvious and understandable adoration for his lost people, I’m wondering if perhaps time changed his perceptions of how the sacrificing of half the population went down in the first place.

It may not have been quite as voluntary as he remembers it–especially considering the populations of the 14 dimensions are made of the same souls as the ones who lived in Amaurot! He said as much himself. But given what we’ve seen in the comparison between us and Aldelbert, souls tend to live out their natural tendencies no matter how many times they’re rejoined. As the WoL we’re nearly half our original strength thanks to all the rejoinings, but Adelbert ran the same endless errand chains and then sacrificed everything just as we would, even though he had only 1/14th of our soul in him. This tells us that souls behave like themselves no matter how strong or weak they are.

By Emet’s estimation, the fragmented incarnations are weak and selfish and scared, but I’d put money on the fact that they were like that to begin with, and here’s why:

This was the theme of this whole expansion: selfless acts may be remembered as selfish. And I’m thinking this is likely a set up for the reverse being true as well (since all of Shadowbringers has been about the importance of understanding the other side of the story): that selfish acts can get mis-remembered as more selfless than they were.

Emet lauded the selflessness of Amaurotians being willing to sacrifice one half their community to save the other half. But if they were somehow to blame for what was happening–due to how much aether they were depleting from the earth itself by using their creation magics so much–their sacrifice may have been necessary just to stem the depletion causing the chaos.

Which is why Hydaelyn may have manifested the way she did. They probably realized that Zodiark got accidentally made to save himself at any cost, so they had to create a will of the planet that cared about its populace as much or more, to keep him in check. But knowing the source of the problem, they had to make her able to kill both birds with the same stone. By splitting everything up as she did, she both stemmed Zodiark’s power and also dramatically reduced everyone else’s power as well, which stopped the hemorrhaging of energy without everyone having to pay for it with their lives.

Note the distinct need for a permanent solution. 

It sounds to me like they knew they would be dis-empowering everyone by summoning her. That everyone would be split into pieces and forced into the reincarnation cycle. Yet they seemed to feel like it was the only choice, given the circumstances–circumstances that Emet may have omitted from his 12,000 year old memory bank due to his conflicting desires to both save everyone and serve Zodiark faithfully.

Ultimately, it’s likely that he extended his olive branch to the WoL because he knew we were not involved in summoning Zodiark OR Hydaelyn, and that we genuinely cared about people no matter who they were--like he did. It’s implied that we were on good terms or even close to him before the sundering. But while we didn’t think Zodiark was a good plan, he went with it because he was desperate to save everyone. Just like Adelbert, he was manipulated into making a horrible mistake because his love was so blinding he couldn’t see what he was doing. That’s why he was able to convince you as Adelbert, and why he knew you (”that soul”) were worth trying to win over. He knew we were capable of hearing him (Adelbert already had) and of giving him a chance when no one else could. 

Again, we see the idea that because love was the motivating factor for the crime, his selfish acts got mis-remembered by him as more selfless than they were. Instead of recognizing that Zodiark killed half the population, he just blindly believed on some level that they made the sacrifice voluntarily. And I’m sure this will come up in the story again because we already see it happening with all the guards of the Crystarium quitting “to be helpful” when it’s actually the opposite of helpful, because it leaves the city unguarded.

But back on the topic of Emet, he’s incredibly sympathetic to the scions--both eventually eliciting their respect as the story progressed, and subtly supporting them (for example, by bringing Y’shitola back from the life stream). You can tell he genuinely wants to see eye to eye, and not just for the purpose of manipulation. But as a result of his tempering he’s ultimately unable to separate his will from Zodiark’s. This made him the enemy of the Scions and ostensibly the WoL as well, something which has clearly tormented him ever since (after all, he clearly tried to make it work, as “he had children with us, grew old and died with us,” etc.) and has driven him to endlessly try to rejoin everything so we would all be on the same page again.

But in the end we couldn’t go with Zodiark for the same reason we couldn’t go with the idea in the first place–which is probably why he flew into a rage and remembered us as our Amaurotian selves. But despite this, Emet still died having placed his hopes for the future on us…his hopes that we would honor the lives that were lost in the ancients’ misguided attempts to save everyone. And I think this is significant because it tells us that on some level his love for his people overpowered his tempering.

Elidibus remarks that Emet didn’t have the stomach to do what was necessary to follow through on Zodiark’s orders. I suspect that Elidibus is indeed the Oracle of Darkness and equivalent in rank to Oracle Minfilia, and that as a result he agrees unyieldingly with Zodiark that people are the problem and are therefore irrelevant. Emet, on the other hand, did not feel this way. And though he was unable to act in opposition to Zodiark--having been tempered by him--it’s pretty clear that the only reason he supported summoning Zodiark at all was the one implied in his memories--he loved the people of Amaurot and wanted to save them. This is why all his memories of Amaurot are favorable, all the people kind and considerate and lovely...because that’s how he always perceived them. But this created a permanent splintering of his loyalties (which is tragic but cool in the sense that the title of Angel of Truth/Emet-Selch is associated with the sign Gemini).

Sorry, I got off topic there but I just really love Emet-Selch.

Anyway, as for the ancients we saw in the Anamnesis Anyder…I gotta assume we were looking at The Scions 1.0. Particularly with Venat being linked as Minfilia because of this little bit of data:

…and we know who consistently looks the same in all her incarnations on the first: the Oracle of Light. She’s probably talking to Thancred there, since he implores that anyone but her do it, then accepts her will even though he’s sad about it, which is…like, the story of Thancred’s life, the poor dude.

But I mean, what we’re seeing with Elidibus wandering around as Adelbert seems to be a new approach. To put it simply, if everyone awakens to their original power, they’ll all start draining the shards just as they did with the Source. Ultimately, this will bring about the same calamities everyone faced back in Amaurot and once again people will look for a savior…and maybe, just maybe, we’ll get the whole Zodiark thing this time (doubtful, bro, but you do you). After all, blind desire to help is exactly how he got created in the first place.

In the end, we may all find ourselves repeating the forgotten history.

This expansion is so freakin’ elegant. I’m just obsessed!

[holymoonlighted]

Lost in the Sands, Irithyll, Anor Londo and beyond.

Spoilers for Dark Souls III for the entire post:

Irithyll is an interesting location in Dark Souls III, a snowy town with an eternal Moon upon its sky; Anor Londo being the same. However, if not obvious it was not always the case for Dark Souls III. The intentions for Anor Londo and Irithyll were much different, it can even be seen in the game still.

If one needs some information before we begin: Dark Souls III was heavily edited and reconstructed very late in the day. You can still see so many unused structures and different placements of things especially from Vordt’s room where you fly to Undead Settlement. Many maps even now have drastically rearranged, new or removed architecture, placements of buildings and locations, the works. It is a miracle that this game even came out, honestly. Nevertheless, this is needed to explain that the story was shifted around insurmountably. It is why many things in the story seem to just fall off, or seem like they don’t belong. Many things even during the DLC were absolutely switched and patchworked in to make sense or to make things even more confusing. Boss Musical Chairs is the name of the game in this game as well. Nevertheless, enjoy.

(Sorry, this is the best shot I could get for this building.)

This itself is Anor Londo. This is not the end of the world as the Ringed City would like you to believe. It was never planned to be that until they had to cut the entire concept. Yes, this means Irithyll was a desert at some point. It’s still quite obvious in the final game, but luckily snow acts the same as sand in the way it’s used but, nonetheless, here we go. In this version, it was just sand everywhere. Furthermore, this proves something by the appearance of it. It’s old, decrepit and quite frankly demolished. Ruins are all over the place and it is obviously quite large. It also appears even from Vordt’s view, not as high up as if it’s sunken into the sands. Many buildings are left to ruin and most likely, no holy sights or Gwyn or even Gwynevere statues exist anymore.  So, it’s not how it appears in the final game, and that can be explained. What would have happened is, at some point, travelling back to a past Anor Londo was necessary. How or why this was isn’t know, but, what is known is that travelling back was a thing but then possibly defeating Gwyndolin or someone that looks like Gwyndolin was necessary. If you notice, the Gwyndolin we fight as Aldrich, well that isn’t Gwyndolin. It’s just Lothric with a mask similar to Gwyndolin. It is also interesting to note, at one point, Aldrich had the ability to summon Man Grubs as one point and it links him to being Rosaria’s firstborn even more, so fun fact.

Current story aside this, well, is not Gwyndolin. The mask is so different that it looks like a Bootleg. Not to mention the clothes are entirely new, especially that the color is transparent and black. And this was most likely the case. Someone who was pretending to be Gwyndolin and faking it so that they can influence the people of Irithyll their god is still alive, somebody named Sulyvahn. See, Aldrich’s internal name is Sulyvahn. With this it can be concluded that some roles were changed, Aldrich at one point was at Archdragon Peak, way, way past Anor Londo. Then he was at the Cathedral, still far away from Anor Londo. In conclusion, Sulyvahn was this character that was acting like Gwyndolin, who is leading the Darkmoon Knights and corrupting their image. There is just a boss in the files called “Anor Londo Boss” and well, it was most likely Sulyvahn and was probably a callback to the Gwyndolin fight. At the time where you travel back to, Anor Londo was still whole, in fact the past map is actually the current map but the past map would have a “past” world state aka just a filter on the screen. Also, the entire Sulyvahn and Aldrich plot was absolutely just not here. As will be seen later. The boss that was “Moonlight Witch” and this enemy still appears in game, as the “Fire Witch”. It’s also in the art book with some impressive art, it being the boss is the reason. These enemies still bare their magic and weapons in the final game, but not the spell shown in its art.

This location by the way is called “Anor Londo Ruins” and the entire place would just be ruins and it was also the end game area, assumedly. And, once in the past, and defeating this boss some event revolving around resurrection is involved. An unused game flag called “After Resurrection” is present but sadly, nothing is known about it other than that. Except, we probably do know. Sulyvahn as we know him now is actually a boss called “Old King of the Eclipse” and was actually the final boss before Soul of Cinder. He was probably the final boss for a long while until he had to be changed due to unspecified reasons.

The Old King of the Eclipse:

This part of cut content is extremely, very, very hard to pin down lore-wise but other parts like mechanics is pretty easy to decipher. So, to state a few things I said before and some I didn’t: 

Aldrich in Archdragon Peak

Resurrection in Anor Londo

Lorian and Lothric being an early boss

Old King of the Eclipse being resurrected

Archdragon Peak lines up with Lothric Castle with some teleportation manipulation, meaning Archdragon Peak was closer at one point, incredibly close.

So, with this information we can construct a narrative: Aldrich is still a Lord of Cinder, traveling to him would be like Anor Londo now. But instead it would be in Archdragon peak. Since the Lothric princes are early bosses, no need to fight them as Lords of Cinder(them being Lords is very late, apparent by their absence in the intro cutscene.). So, three lords defeated and once at Anor Londo, a resurrection happens. Then you go to Untended Graves and unlock the Kiln of the First Flame. It is unknown if something at Anor Londo resurrected the Old King, or what it’s just up in the clouds. Also, I am not sure when this was a thing but the Pilgrim Butterflies at one point were seemingly Dragons. A lot of early stuff seemed to involve Draconic Children and really the return of Dragons in general. Which could help with the whole scenic thing of “Things are turning back to how their primal form” which would also include the world itself, which includes Dragons who were there before Gwyn and Humans. But. nevertheless, assume that this resurrection is related. 

Then, this possibly kickstarts the Eclipse or furthers it along. The Eclipse in a logistical standpoint is not explained as far as I know. It has not true explanation that gives credence to any sort of theory involving it rather than content clues. It seems that a King was born and became a holy symbol of this world ending eclipse, it is most likely that this eclipse is something like the 2012 Mayan Calendar event and when this or this happens like the resurrection, it kicks off and the world ends. The picture below is assumedly the eclipse as well as the Kiln at this point:

Also, keep in mind that this King is literally the Sulyvahn Model, from what I know, nothing drastic changed and it’s the same. The King seems to form this duality, like souls tends to do; Life and Death, Alive and Undead, Good and Evil and Light and Dark which are incredibly key opponents in the Dark Souls world. Gwyn has always been seen as the light of the world, he is literally the Sun. The Eclipse is the Moon, Darkness. An Eclipse is the Moon obscuring the Sun, and this King of the Eclipse can be well equated with a Dark Lord character archetype found in fiction. This figure that overshadows the Dark. It’s even more apparent looking at early Anor Londo, it’s absolutely destroyed.  Gwyns legacy is destroyed, at least one of its major parts.

Gwyn as a name is essentially forgotten. And yes, it is unknown how worshipped this King was, but, he’s doing way better than Gwyn, he’s still alive. So, it seems this King and the Eclipse is this symbolic thing that says “Gwyn is dead, his age of light is dead, overtaken by the dark.” and it’s way more maddening when you realize this is the apocalypse, the end of everything. Also, notice how it looks exactly like the Darksign, this bloody Moon of Darkness which covers the Sun; It’s definitely a symbol of Gwyn’s fear and his failed efforts have finally overtaken his world that he’s built. 

 It’s not only Gwyn, though. The society he built is still lingering through Lothric, in some capacity. Undead are still hated, the linking of the fire is still “needed” and supported to the point an entire Kingdom’s ethics are based around making a worthy linker. It symbolizes, in my mind, the idea of the curse and the world that the sins are bleeding onto the world as if it were saying “this has been brought onto you, by you, your blood.” Of course, Gwyn did bring the curse to humanity, but they continued to link the fire, the fear of death is a thing that lingers still: But due to humanity’s fears as well, they continued to link it. But since humanity continued this tradition. The world must sit and watch itself burn. 

Of course, this is just my theory, if you have anything else to add or you don’t agree, feel free to let me know.

Thanks for reading! (This post has been drastically edited!)