#THEY ONLY ACKNOWLEDGEMENT THE GAME HAS FOR HER IS A SINGLE VOICE LINE THAT IS VERY EASILY MISSABLE

[autism-swagger]

Playing through Spider-Man 2 has caused me to enter my Grieving Phin Era all over again.

[yuwuta]

mine. — inumaki toge

❝i just wanna say you’re mine, you’re mine; fuck what you heard, you’re mine, you’re mine.

000. inumaki toge + reader

001. fluff, non-curse/college au, slightly suggestive but barely, inumaki uses sign language and speaks like two actual verbal words

002. baby sized drabble, barely even 1k words

Toge would consider himself patient. He doesn’t mind waiting in long lines for the release of a new game, has no problem when the trains are delayed because it means he can sit and relax in the station a little longer, can sit for hours on end doing nothing and not be bored—but his tolerance for watching other people mess with his girlfriend is extremely low.

He reasons that you continue the conversation because you think it’s merely friend and polite to do so, and you’ve always been such a pleasantly happy drunk. But Toge knows this conversation isn’t friendly on the other end—and it’s not some protective boyfriend instinct, either, he has solid evidence of this idiot talking about you to his other idiot friend in front of Toge during lecture, with no knowledge that he was behind them, or that you are very not single.

(“She’s gorgeous, bro, look,” the kid muses, showing his friend your Instagram profile, “She’s in my bioethics class, and she’s easily the hottest girl. Smart, too. Little bit of a teacher’s pet, but I don’t care, she’s beautiful. A solid eight, for sure.”)

Toge knows that if this guy ever got his head out of his ass and ever bucked up the balls to actually ask you out instead of using roundabout flirting tactics and hopelessly pining over you during lectures, that you’d turn him down. He isn’t worried about losing you, and he doesn’t doubt your love for him. It does, however, concern him that there are people who believe they have a shot with you in the first place. He can’t possibly let that carry on. 

(Also, an eight? How could this guy call you beautiful, but say you’re an eight? It doesn’t equate—Toge doesn’t believe in rating women, but you’re not an eight. You’re a fifteen on a scale of one to ten; a shining star amongst a sea of planets; the love of his life). 

His fuse is about to blow when the guy touches you, reaches for your hair and carefully twirls a bit between his fingers. He knows that move; he knows the excuse was probably that there was something stuck to your hair, but Toge didn’t see shit. He’s had enough, and promptly bulldozes through Maki’s small apartment to reach you. He’s not sure if he’s making a ruckus, or if you can sense him coming, but you turn your head in his direction, a smile spreading on your face before cheering, “Hey, Toge! Do you—”

You’re cut off by a tug on your shirt, firm and impatient—but you’re not moving yet, not quick enough, so he does it again. Your eyes seem to light up with realization. You turn back to acknowledge the boy, and that’s really when Toge really loses it. All he hears is the stupid, desperate pitch of the kid’s voice sputtering out something about finding you later and grabbing drinks for you both, even as Toge’s dragging you through the crowd.

You let yourself be pulled by Toge’s greedy hand. It’s not all that far, just into a corner of the hallway, next to a closet where Maki keeps her cleaning and kickboxing supplies. He’s tempted to pull you into her bedroom, but he’s not up for being bruised for a week. 

“You okay?” you question, voice sweet and genuine—and it makes him grimace, because you really didn’t have a clue. Not one at all. 

Toge huffs, drops your hand to sign; using his left hand to circle around his face slowly, tapping at his chin. You understand, but only partially, given the slight tilt of your head and question that follows, “Beautiful? That’s why you’re upset?” 

He blinks slowly, shaking his head and flailing his arms in the direction of the living room. You follow his hands, down the hall then back to his face, but he can tell you still don’t get it. He tries again, pointing to you, then repeating his previous sign and adding another, and he can see the realization spread across your face, followed shortly by a bashful chuckle. 

“Too pretty? Me?” you ask to confirm. Toge nods his head, all serious and steely eyes, but you throw yours back with a hearty laugh this time. He crinkles his eyebrows, repeating his initial signs this time. Hdoesn’t know what’s so funny, if you’re laughing because you’re flattered or you find him ridiculous or something in between, but Toge means it either way; wants to ingrain it into you, just how beautiful you are.

So, he raises his hands again, when your eyes have met him again, and goes slower this time—pulls his mask down for good measure, so you can read his expression more clearly—to sign one simple word: “Mine.”

You tilt your head to the side again, and now Toge is the one laughing. He thinks you might be a little more drunk than you’ve let on, or maybe you just want him to indulge you. Either way, he has no problem repeating himself, doesn’t mind telling you again and again and again. 

He takes a step forward, leaving mere inches between you. You seem much smaller than him like this, still giggling, but he doesn’t mind. Toge reaches for your rest again, turning your palm upward and using a single finger to trace the letters of the word “mine,” onto your skin.

Your laughter comes to a halt when you verbalize his words, “Mine?” Toge nods, turning your wrist again to lace your hands together, pushes yours against the wall, uses his free one to cradle your cheek. He adores the way your pupils get bigger, the way your lips part slightly in anticipation. It’s his turn to smile, pulling you towards him for a kiss and ghosting his words over your lips, “You’re mine.”

[allmannerofmalady]

DATV: Thoughts after 30+ hours of playing

Part 2 of my jumble of thoughts, spoilers ahead. I'm going to be yapping a LOT but hey, this is my space to yap. It will be LONG.

General spoilers ahead, and explicit Solas/ending spoilers.

I feel like I have to add caveats yet again-

This comes from a place of deep emotional involvement with the franchise - but it's just the personal opinion of a rando on the internet (me).

I work in the VFX industry and I'm transitioning into game dev. I am very aware of how much time and work has gone into every detail, so I just want to acknowledge the work of the whole team. Creating assets, environments, levels - it's NOT easy. I am also very aware of how creative people and projects can get stifled due to corporate greed/ upper management.

I am a to-the-bone RPG player, I am in my 30s and it has been a lifelong passion of mine. I care about lore, character design and story - so that's my bias when it comes to opinions.

I love Solas and have feelings about it sorrryyyyyyyy

ON TO THOUGHTS :D

Positives

I'm really enjoying the gameplay and combat, hence the 30+ hours I've put into it. I'm playing as a rogue, and as I level up the combat and combos have been very satisfying. I usually always play on mouse + keyboard for DA, but I'm using a controller for DATV.

Again - I am surprisingly really enjoying Rook so far! I like the character and the British VO, and this is coming from a person who was extremely meh and uninterested in Rook, and yearned to revisit previous protagonists.

Bellara is another surprise, she's much more sweet and endearing than I expected, and from the trailers/leaks I thought I would not enjoy her character at all. Voice acting in general seems to be improving, or at least doesn't stand out to me as much as the start of my game.

The companions as a whole don't feel as deep or well rounded as previous games (but I'm still midway through, so not a fair assessment until I complete all of their personal quests), but as an RPG lover who loves games with a diverse party of companions, I'm enjoying the journey with them. Emmrich is my fave.

I don't think any amount of cameos and previous game mentions would ever be enough for me, but wow was I emotional when I saw Dorian and Inquisitor Lavellan <3 how amazing is it to have characters that get that sort of reaction from you.

I'm happy to be back in the world of Thedas, even if it wasn't how I personally envisioned it would be presented. Walking around and hearing a bard play Sera Was Never?!?!? I'm not crying.

The game looks and plays beautifully, setting aside feelings about character proportions. I keep getting distracted by how beautiful my Rook is lol. It's also running so smoothly for me, not a single glitch or bug as yet.

Personal meh's

I really, really miss the opportunities for dialogue as we had in DA:I. I feel like I can only start conversations when the game allows me to, and I loved yapping with the characters whenever I could. It also allowed you to ask juicy questions, like going to Viv or Morrigan when she's in Skyhold, asking their opinions about stuff, etc. I hate that I can't pick Harding's brain more about her time at the Inquisiton, or Varric (yes, I'm aware of the twist but still).

Following that, I wish we had more access to Solas :') even if it's just to bicker or give him attitude, or whatever the player chooses. So far, I've only been able to speak to him 3 times, I think.

The 3 choices at the start of the game (which like many, I have feelings about) don't seem to give you much satisfying payoff so far. For example, I created Inquisitor Lavellan, who romanced Solas and wants to redeem him. I spoke to her, she gave me the lines about her history with him - based on those choices, I feel like Rook should rush back to Solas and use that information? Like hey, I know this about you, I hold a weak point, work with me etc - or something idk. This applies to a lot of other angles as well, but just one example. I guess this is part of the phasing out of the Keep, and in turn removing the importance of previous decisions.

I am still really enjoying playing and nothing will stop me from finishing the game - but it doesn't feel like the RP in RPG (which I think is what it's going for, it's leaning towards the action RPG style). At moments it feels like "Dragon Age Stories" or something - shorter, tighter missions and an overarching story. This does not feel like the follow up I envisioned after the first 3 games, and the grand finale of Tresspasser. Sometimes it feels like playing Hyrule Warriors or Persona 5 Strikers and being told they're sequels to the actual RPGs if that makes sense? I'm still not sure I'll feel this way at the end, we shall see. I'm absolutely open to changing my mind.

I'm not a fan of the music, and think the previous games had much better soundtracks *hides*

Me being butthurt about stuff

There's been so much DA Inquisition hate over the years, and recently I feel like a lot of the feedback from BioWare has also felt like DA:I is being swept under the rug. Yes - a lot of it is valid, the fetch quests, the Hinterlands stuff etc, and I know a lot of DA fans have mixed feelings about it. But to me, it was so ambitious - that's what has continued to blow my mind until today. It's breadth, the size - running around Skyhold, feeling the power of the Inquisitor grow, the lore. I played DA2 first, followed by DA:O (which I ADORE) and when I started DA:I, the amount of lore was still overwhelming - I felt like I was really entering a true high fantasy game, and never felt like I was treated like an idiot. In fact, it was so fulfilling to absorb and learn the lore. The way it's simplified, over explained, retconned or glossed over in DATV really makes me sad at times. I refuse to shit on DA:I (or any previous DA game) to justify changes in future games. I bought every DLC, art book, merch, the novels - I and many others have invested into the franchise over the last 10 years with only crumbs of info about a new game. I don't like feeling like in order to celebrate a new release, we're encouraged to disparage the ones that came before, IDK.

I question getting invested in DA characters anymore, when we see how they get treated. Why should I be invested in any of the new gang? I fell in love with every companion in DA, and I miss them sorely. I downloaded mods to fix the banter bugs, tried every path to squeeze what I could out of the games. How can we be in Tevinter, talk about the issues of slavery, and no mention of Fenris?! (Yes, I'm biased af lol). I miss Cassandra, Leliana, SO many others. The line between rebooting the franchise and not wanting to mention previous characters is controversial.

There is a lot of love put into DATV, even as someone who is disappointed at aspects of it. The one thing I wish for was for the game to have felt like a love letter to the franchise that came before, and TO ME it feels more like a rush to tie loose ends. The new Silent Hill 2 remake feels like a love letter to the fans, and to the original game. If you feel that way about DATV that's fantastic, genuinely, it just didn't hit that mark for me after years of anticipation. But hey, I'm a rando on the internet. A love letter to the game to me could feature characters from the first 3 games (whatever choices the players made, since the Keep is removed any way), just to bid them a proper farewell at this point. Alistair my bb :')

There is a lot of world building from the previous games that seems completely ignored. Too much to type out tbh.

Solas/Solavellan rants - I'm seeing a lot of people complain about negativity on the subject, so please take with a grain of salt that this is just my opinion! I am still enjoying my Rook's journey.

I am sad about how Solas was written, and the Solavellan ending. I know many are happy about it - and trust me, I'm glad but I just wish I felt the same :') he feels very moustache twirling a lot of the time and I miss the previous complexity. They clearly set him on a path of no return with what he did to Varric as well, and that was... a choice. Idk what to even say about that whole plot line.

Not everyone is a Solavellan, or even likes Solas as a character. Hence the beauty of different endings, the different ways you can go about it. But I just can't reconcile the "good" ending options, and the effort to provide a Solavellan ending when it was set up like this. I get that Solas is now on the Din'anshiral, his mask is gone, he is embodying the Dread Wolf. But that beautiful nuance from Inquisition isn't there for me. The sadness, the conflict. The incredible branching dialogue options. SIGH.

The Mythal plotline - I would not have minded this given the backstory we get from previous media, but having the new companions making sex jokes about Solas/Mythal honestly felt like it was purposely shitting on Solavellans lololol. There is a million ways to interpret Solas' memories, the things you find, but I wish it didn't require it. I wish it was a clear homage to a romance that became iconic for the game this is a follow up to, and kept a sizeable chunk of the fandom going for 10 years. I still do think the game is slightly selling that Solas loves Lavellan (if that's the storyline you choose at the start, and if you choose to find the clues etc), but it feels wedged in, like an afterthought to the Mythal storyline they're going for. Almost like "HERE shut up about Solavellan, TAKE THIS *slaps messy baggage about potential Solas x Mythal and a limp kiss/doomed ending on a plate* now eat it and SHUT UP, we're moving ON" ha ha haaaa

The kiss between Solas and the Inquisitor at the end, and them getting into the flying car to (maybe?) rot in the fade like a doomed Danny and Sandy - not it for me. Sorry. But AGAIN, my dad doesn't work at Bioware, this is their franchise to do with as they see fit lol I'm just a yapper, a fan who was nourished by Solavellan crumbs. I do hope it makes others happy and wraps up the story the way they envisioned it, I'm actually jealous and wish I felt that way lol. But fanfics and art have always filled the gaps, and they shall continue to do so. Maybe I'll change my mind as time goes on.

Even though I'm not a fan, I am glad we got SOMETHING for Solavellan, I think it was just overhyped and not this grand beautiful foil to the heartbreak in Trespasser.

So far, gameplay wise - I would give DATV a 7 or 8 out of 10. It's smooth, it's beautiful, and the combat is addictive and I find myself always wanting to go on one more quest, or exploring just a little bit further.

Storywise - I don't think I could give it a fair assessment given I'm biased about previous games, and I'm too entrenched in the world building of DAO to DAI to be fair. I accept that I might be being phased out as the target audience for the franchise moving forward, but will enjoy getting my Rook to where she needs to be :)

[rosietrace]

〈 アイドル! 〉Track 00 — Ditto

〈 天才的なアイドル様!! 〉

「↺ 概要 ↻」— 「 ↺ Overview/Synopsis! ↻ 」

❐ With the idol scene on the rise, Night Raven Entertainment found it opportunistic to promote their new and improved idol group; (Co)-Connect! Though the group has a lot to go about, the members are still in need of dire improvement before they can truly shine alongside their peers.

Fortunately, NRE found the perfect mentor for the job; The ex-member of Poisoner — and long-time solo sensation — Shōri.

[ Apologies for any out of character moments ]

[ Reblogs > Likes ]

──ㅇ─────↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺───ㅇ────

“Elle! Get off your phone, it's almost time for shooting!”

Ellis flinched, her train of thought coming to a stop at the sound of Yuuta's voice. Turning to him, she saw the condescending look he gave her while leaning against the doorway of her trailer.

She narrowed her eyes. “Ever heard of knocking?”

“I tried that,” Yuuta snorted. “You, Pinkie Pie, were too busy scrolling through Twitter to hear.”

“It's X now,” Ellis corrected, but the grimace on her face was evident.

Walking up to her, Yuuta ruffled her hair — nearly destroying all the effort her hair stylists had put in.

“Wha- Yuuta-!”

“We can't waste any more time than we already are, Sweet Cheeks. C'mon, I'll treat you to that one pastry shop after.”

Ellis was certainly tempted by that offer. After assessing that Yuuta was telling the truth, she nodded slowly.

“Alright,” she gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Let's head to it, then.”

Yuuta snickered, guiding Ellis out of her trailer to meet up with the rest of the members.

Juvia was sitting on one of the larger props of the set, playing some sort of offline game. Miren was beside her, quietly watching her go from one level to the next.

Carol and Chizuko were having idle chitchat about whatever new ‘literary marvel’ had caught their interest.

Juvia was the one to first notice Yuuta and Ellis approaching, throwing her phone into Miren's arms to run up to them.

“There you are!” Like the rest of the members, Juvia was all dolled up for the music video. As was everyone else, bedecked in white — with Yuuta being the only one in black, as he was meant to be the center focus on their latest music video.

Chizuko looked their way, humming. “Ah,” was all she uttered, sending a nod of acknowledgment their way right before turning her attention back to Carol.

“Sorry I took so long,” Ellis laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of her head…. Or neck. Who knows. “I got distracted.”

“No worries,” Juvia assured, chuckling softly. “We're about to start, might as well get ready, no?”

Yuuta had an arm around both of their shoulders, a lazy smile on his face with a drawl, “Naturally. Ladies first.”

•↻°─────────°↺•

After several takes, hours of hair and makeup sessions, and an editing process that took longer than Chizuko writing the song lyrics — (Co)-Connect’s latest single, “Ditto”, had been released.

It wasn't an automatic success, but there was certainly a lot of praise left for the members’ efforts, as well as the editing style of the music video; which diverted away from the usual editing structures of Night Raven Entertainment’s idol groups.

Carol went to Ellis, who was a bit occupied. Phone in hand, hair a little messy from celebrating the music video release, and — as Yuuta promised — a slice of cake from the pastry shop Ellis liked.

“You okay?” Carol asked, a worried tone in her voice as she took a seat beside her pink-wearing groupmate.

Ellis nodded a tight-lipped smile on her face. “Yeah,” her voice didn't do much to assure Carol. “Yeah… Yeah, I'm fine. Yup.”

Carol narrowed her eyes, looking over the contents of Ellis' phone.

“.... Ah.”

Hate comments.

“Of course, they used the fanservice to promote the MV 💀💀”

“Is it just me or is the line distribution just all over the place?? It's like they're focusing on one member over the other.”

“Not Verde and Yuuta taking up half of the music video 😭 give more attention to the more interesting members”

“NOT VELVET BEING SO PICK ME CODED😭😭😭”

“Juvia's not a good dancer and hasn't improved since debuting 🥰 Stay mad”

“Thank God Miren got almost no lines.”

“It's the way Ellis is a walking eyesore for me 😍”

Carol shook her head at the comments. Soon enough, Ellis had Carol's hand on her shoulder.

“Don't let it get to your head,” Carol told her, “They're just comments trying to be negative. Besides, they're just being nonsensical.”

“I appreciate the support,” Ellis removed Carol's hand from her shoulder, her smile awkward and painfully crooked. “But… I'm fine, Carol. Promise.”

You aren't, she could practically hear Carol think. But ‘Verde’ saw no need to push her further, nodding her head and changing the topic.

Ellis knew idol life wouldn't be success after success….

…. But she just wished things would be a little easier.

•↻°─────────°↺•

“Stop.”

Noriko turned off the TV, standing behind the couch where she sat from. Beside her was her secretary, who was more than ready to document everything her boss said if she so asked them.

“Well?” They asked her. “What do you think of… (Co)-Connect so far?”

Victoria let out a breath, tilting her head a bit. “They could use some work,” she turned her head, facing Noriko. “But they have potential.”

She looked at her secretary. “This is their fourth single after their debut album?”

They nodded. “I’m under the belief that NRE’s CEO doesn't particularly care for Ramshackle's latest group,” they commented, eyes locking with Victoria. “But to answer your question: Yes. They debuted with their album ‘Linked Bonds’. After that, the group had released several successful singles, but didn't reach the charts.”

Noriko hummed. “The Idol industry would consider that a ‘flop’,” they mumbled, putting the word flop in quotations’.

Victoria nodded her head in understanding. “I see…”

Noriko leaned over the couch, their hand reaching to Victoria's chin to turn her head to them. (This action sent her secretary — H.T — through an internal frenzy)

“Are you going to accept Crowley's request?”

Victoria smiled softly, an assuring look in her eyes — leaning her forehead against Noriko's.

“We'll see.”

──ㅇ─────↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺───ㅇ────

〈 Taglist 〉

(Co)-Connect

@starry-night-rose • @jasdiary • @authoruio • @nem0-nee • @fumikomiyasaki • @sakuramidnight15

Others

@geminiiviolets • @terrovaniadorm • @absolutelyobsessedkiya/@twistedsongstressofstarz • @twsted-princess

──ㅇ─────↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺───ㅇ────

[imeternallylove]

Cloud Covered - S.Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warning: Graphics of violence, torture of dead and plenty of more brutality

Word: 4.6k 🥹

main mastetlist  | request & ask | prompts | theme song

Chapters index

Bloodbath | Marionette | Invisible Strings (you are reading this)

Crown Prosecution Service

"Ladies and gentlemen, the accused, Simon Finn, is guilty."

You and your fiancé sat in the prosecutor's corner, as the blonde CPS officer in a lovely pinkish blazer and skirt spoke from the record of the detective's report. The snort from your lips when the following line came from her over there.

"Jersey wasn't even his true name. And his merciless murder spree has terrorised our community. Many innocent people, including some of our brave officers from New Scotland Yard, were all targeted for no other reason than to play Simon Finn's sadistic game."

Your eyes is locked on the other building, your countenance blank. Sherlock observes you, wonders what is going on in your thoughts, but refrains from asking questions; the man who murdered people close to them has finally been imprisoned, so he assumed it is only natural for you to have a lot on your mind at the moment.

“Simon Finn has confessed to every single one of these crimes. I ask that the court consider Simon Finn’s voluntary confession for his crimes. He has spared the victims families a prolonged trial, and in doing so has demonstrated a glimmer of remorse. Therefore it is my recommendation that Simon Finn be spared the death penalty, and instead sentenced to life in prison with no possibility to parole. Thank you.”

But at last, you could find rest now.

"It's over," Sherlock mutters as the judge sentences Simon to death by lethal injection, his eyes finally locking on yours, a little smile curving on his lips. "We did it." You notice one of his steadfast hand strokes on yours, where the sparkling shine of the diamond engagement band illuminates through into your eyes.

And an outpouring of pride washes over your soon-to-be lifeline, he finally bringing you serenity; which you truly not believe in this Simon Finn’ confess at all. "We did."

Your drifting sensation and eye contact unintentionally collided with Simon's in the relieving slumber, his look strained but with a smirk as opposed of a grimace; terrified to be execution, manifesting your chest to swell. It echoed in your head, ‘he’s not the real murderer.’

The silence is thick and oppressive, vibrating within the catastrophic white walls of Simon Finn's residence. No one dares to speak, no one dares to move a finger. 

Sherlock leaned over his brother's body, his hands grasping each side of the steel surface where he lied, pallid and lifeless after being discovered with a hole in his nape, spineless. A horrific method of murder, slow and certain to be agonising.

His gaze stayed fixated on the J engraved directly beneath Mycroft's collarbone.

When Sherlock is permitted into Simon's cell, the first thing he does is tie his fist to the prisoner's jaw.

"Oh my," you hissed behind him, but it didn't stop him from throwing another punch at the man. Sherlock was furious beyond comprehension, having left the mortuary without saying anything and going directly for prison to confront Simon - Jersey - himself.

"Why?" Sherlock asks, his voice trembling and his breathing irregular. "Why was Mycroft killed? How?"

In response, Simon gives him a nasty grin, prompting Sherlock to hurl him against the wall while seizing the taller's collar. There's no way Finn could have killed Mycroft while he's only been in this prison for over two weeks, waiting to pay for all the crimes he committed here and everybody knows. "Are you the only Jersey? Is there any more? Do you have people working for you?"

"Sherlock," you call from behind them. "I'm all for you beating the crap out of him, but let's not get into trouble here, okay?"

He heard you, acknowledged your remarks, but his gaze didn't stray away from Simon, retaining a firm grip on him. Simon, on the other hand, had his gaze fixated on you, the sick grin staying on his lips, and Sherlock shook his head fiercely. "Listen to me when I'm talking to you!" He insists, but Simon's eyes is fixed on you.

"London bridge is falling down," Simon singsongs softly, prolonging the syllables, his grin becoming broader. "My lovely lady."

Sherlock lets go of his hands, gazing at you, who are looking back at him, bewilderment evident in your stare, and Sherlock makes an impatience sounds before slamming Simon to the floor.

He rushes out of the a jail cell, leaving you with Simon's distant laughter ringing in the recesses of his eardrums. You perceive Sherlock needs alone time, which is why you hold your ready-to-wreck-down body to sit facing Simon, and remaining silent for a couple minutes rendered him stand up by himself and fling his ass onto the seat. You can bet he noticed you sweating, but it wasn't because you were scared or worried, rather because you always trust what your gut tells you. 

"I can feel you’re not the real Jersey." Before he could say anything, you began with your hoarse speaking; a slight smile formed as his grin rose while his hands with handcuffs grabbed his wounded bruise that your fiancée had made. “Well, I’m gonna die a liar anyway. The dirty liars.”

You lean back and nod with caution your head dipping slightly as you murmur, an enticing grin on the bridge of your mouth as you cross the spaces between your legs. "Then who did?"

"I've got a place; it's your job to find out." Simon claims it all in one breath, which leads to your brows with a furrow significantly. “Where?”

"-It's not, uh, better if I draw you a map." He ignores what you have to say and proceeds. He looks at your notebook with a treacherous smile on his lips. "You going to draw me a treasure map?" You pat the desk twice and stifle a giggle. "No, you've got word, just say it."

Simon's gulp drops, followed by a loud whistle from the prisoner. "I just want to show myself to you, lady."

You only nod contentedly. "So, let's say you're telling the truth, I assumed it’s seems like the real Jersey promising to get you out but he left you high and dry-" your cheshire cat-like sneer on Simon's hiss voice that is so audible it pierces right through your attention span, and that's saying something.

“My dear Marney, you seems don’t know a thing.”

"And I might bring you out in the next half hour to reenact the murder scene." You say this as you stand back up, pick up your notepad and tape player, and gesture to the cops to wait for you. You pause before answering the door, shifting back to meet Simon's satirising smile. "Does that sound like a fun way to celebrate your final 20 hours before the execution?"

"Do me a favour, Y/N. And just make sure he doesn't try anything." 

"Oh, he can certainly try."

Simon overheard Greg and you conversing, but paid scant close attention to you two, not bothering to digest your words as his thoughts focused on taking a deep inhalation in with a broad smile on his face, standing in front of his own residence. He was handcuffed, where he is accompanied by the two policeman officers behind him.

It wasn't difficult; it shouldn't have been difficult, but some pieces didn't quite fit in, and Sherlock lightning-fast assumed Simon Finn was the Jersey, and if he thrust them harder than necessary, you were able to predict Sherlock might break and ruin the entire puzzle, just like he only discovered 'who did' as opposed to 'why did that.'

"Don't get any ideas." You attained for Finn's handcuffs, and he takes his attention in unambiguously, almost latching on you for a moment. He gave you the typical greeting green signal and your petite smile spread with your dead outstares. "Good to see you again, cunning."

There was nothing to toy with, because the only thing written on your serene face was the phrase 'do not try me.'

"How's it going with your bracelets?"

"Well, I can't feel my fingers if that's what you're asking." Repiled you with a voice lower, like he attempt to convinced for some of your less generous tolerance. "You gonna help me out or what?" Now he asks in a more hushed but inquiring tone, to which you merely shrug and tighten his cuffs even more. "How's that?"

"Thats so kind of you."

Simon, move away with your arms folded behind you. "So, is this where you confessed that this was your treasure map?" You grumbled, with your eyebrows barely wrinkled. He simply sends you nods, and you bring him on the inside with Greg.

As soon as you notice the stairs, which must lead to the second and third floors, an officer approaches to report you. "All things is fine. There are actually two squatter nests, but they appear to be split." You drew your lips down to him, still not sure. “Alright. Just give us five."

It was Simon's turn to stare out at the view of his own house, which was visibly tense. You gave him a quick glance before poking his leg with your foot and angling your head. "Start the tour, boss."

"Here's Jersey, using my house as a treasure trove after running." The three of you subsequently followed Simon, who was waiting for Greg to unlock the door room on the second floor, but he was handcuffed. 

"It appears that nobody has been here in years, Finn." Greg makes a remark while pacing back and forth in Simon's sitting room, his brow furrowed in concentration. Confusion can be heard in Simon's speech. "I didn't say he'd be here to greet us either."

"There are still traces of footsteps." You shrugged, swinging your hands a little as you maintained your constantly wandering. Cast your torch towards a heap of papers. "That's all the newspaper has to say about 'J,'...I'm sure he's impressed by his reputation."

“He is.”

"Well," you breathe in, stating your thoughts and ignoring - or rather, hardly hearing - Simon's inputs. "In my little hope, I didn't plan to investigate any of the evidences for the aleatory case that simply does not make sense for months, Finn."

Simon is looking at you with furrowed brows and a thoughtful, perplexed gaze. "...You want me to tell you who's Jersey?"

"That was before we ever met, actually." You explain quickly, your face screwed somewhat in irritation. "If you're just trying to fool us, I'd say your death is impending." You breathe out eventually coming to a halt.

"From what I can tell, the killer was murdering for fun, for his own amusement, carving J's and dropping clues just to form tight headache knots in detectives' skulls." 

"That's the cost of doing business; I'd make a provision." You responded, then turned your focus towards Greg. You did this for a long, pacing around Simon's room, fingertips pushing together as you leaned your face against your hands, as if it would help you think better.

Greg's phone started ringing at that point. Reminding you that you squandered those five minutes looking for your restricted blocked hints. "For God's sake. I needs take this. Y/N, are you going to-"

"We're good." You notice Greg's worried eyes, despite your assurance and a little faith in Simon, making him goes away.

"Do you still think I'm making this stuff up?" Simon questions, almost cautiously.

"Less or less, if you don't play a game on me; the real Jersey is still running around the playground..." You state, emphasising your words as irritation rises once more. "And you can't offer me any proof that you're not Jersey anyway." 

"I can get you proof," Simon grunts as he approaches you. "No. You can't." You murmur, knowing your body despised practically instantly as he began confronting you. "You are correct. Not like this, I can't."

Your sternum is flailing in wrath, and when he speaks to you in that gentle voice of his, it almost feels as if you are bound by the lies. "You're nuts. I'll remind you that you just have a few hours to be executed." 

His frowns and glances elsewhere, a pout forming in his lips as you continue to hold your gaze up to his. "Look, you're correct. He left me high and dry, dying with the accusations I didn't do. I’m sure he won't feel like his ass has caught fire if I'm still in jail, as a soon-to-be executed criminal." 

You creak in response, feeling a sense that you shouldn't be wasting time like this when you should be working on the case, but when Simon continues, your intestinal tract seems to come back to live. "But now that I'm on my own, I can entice him and serve him up on a silver platter."

"Even if you are right, I have no right in offering what you need, Finn. Didn't you forget you're on death row?"

"For crimes that I didn't commit. Did you forget?" You slumped and went silent, not realising Simon was moving approaching. "Look at me. I could knock you out in an instant. The police would buy it, and we could make it look real, but I assure you that you and your tiny Marney would be perfectly unharmed."

Your lung is shrieking incoherently, -how could Finn be cognizant of this? You know how Sherlock always noticed an insignificant illness that affected you for months and you gave him your positive pregnancy results from the test, but soon you two were busy and forgot to mention it.

The stronger the air you breathe, the sharper your intuitive sense contrasts with the beams of light from the retreating obscurity you generate...

Simon Finn has had more contact with Sherlock than anybody else. Perhaps more than you realise.

“Prisoner 75427 is requested to be returned to custody immediately.”

“This is officer 926 receiving request . Please stand by for confirmation.”

The rejection of your attempt to ignore the reality blasted forth and back over your head. You cast one final glance at Simon and decide to believe in Simon Finn. You close your eyes after unlocking Simon's shackles and grasp the handcuffs key in your palm. Simon is already liberated as a result of your decision. 

He waited for your signal in quiet and reserved until you finally looked up at him. Your answer reinforces what he already knows.

“Do it.”

You awoke at Sherlock's flat with an aching neck. Mrs Hudson stated that he has been out with Greg since the officer brought you here an hour ago while arranging for you to change clothes and be ready for teatime with her.

Teatime and the wedding plan that the elderly woman advised were both superb, although your hand couldn't remain still as you discovered Finn's literally unreliable signal on your phone.  

Don’t bother catching a cab despite the fact that it began to rain meanwhile, feeling that walking your path back home would be calming to your nerves at least slightly so. You walk out the Baker street fast, hands stuck in your coat pockets, hair starting to stick to your forehead from the small but persistent raindrops. You bumps into one or two persons on your way, all of them attempting to escape the rain or fighting against the wind that attempted to take their umbrellas, but there's not a single worry on your mind despite the fact that this case was, after all, unsolved still.

You were already more than halfway to your destination when your phone buzzed in your pocket and you clicked your tongue, thinking it was Sherlock since you had just realised he had left you in his flat and you had always failed to follow following.

Nothing could possibly have prepared you for the text. Not even from Finn, as the red dot continued to run, heading and pausing at St. Bartholomew's Hospital for several minutes.

from: unknown

let's meet up? just us two…

— J

Never did you reply to a text so fast. And then, unexpectedly, a harder grip grabs your limb and takes you across into the area between blocks around the corner of the street. You could be recognised by the scent of nicotine mingling with body odour that you've been living with for years of age; it’s Sherlock.

“What the hell are you think?” He goldsmiths his quivering hands passionately, prompting your hold to tighten even more, disregarding your broken appearance further. “I know you let Jersey go.” 

In a rage of fury, you poured your scorn and suspicion on Sherlock back to Him, struggling to breathe. "Can you just listen to me?"

"Listen to you?" His inhales are sharp, and he counterfeits a witty smile that persists on his entire face. “I did- listen to you. And that's exactly how this happened!”  

You let yourself to get carried away in an ocean of rage, not his, but yours. There's no need for you to talk to Sherlock at this point if you want to break free from his clutches and walk away with no apology for whatever you've done.

The chosen location wasn't thought to be the most strategic on Jersey's part, being one of the few open fields on the outer edges of the city where buildings had yet to be built, but it wasn't a bad option either. Although there were houses nearby, there was no one on the streets; the mild rain became heavier, and the sand and dirt beneath your shoes turned to mud as you approached closer to the centre, a careful gaze observing the surroundings.

There wasn't a single person or sound but the static sounds of the pouring rain — Until, at last, someone turned around the corner of a werehouse, feet going to the wide field where you stood.

You blinked, wondering whether the poor weather was distorting your eyesight; nevertheless, at least for today, nothing could be worse than the battle with Sherlock. But no one was deceived by the guy approaching, and your expression was filled with perplexity.

"Sherlock?" You call, unclear how he could have followed you there, and afraid of why he would.

"Hello again, love." He welcomes you quietly as always, pausing solely a few metres away, a smile forming on his lips as his head tilts. "Did you miss me?"

You are certain that you have forgotten how to breathe.

The enormous sighs, as if the sudden revelation had sapped all vitality from your body, depriving you of your confidence and left you fatigued, bewildered, conjectured, and all that you had been sleeping with and stuck lingering inside you from the beginning of this case. You're still floating in a mass of haze and don't want to accept it, although his sharp glance aren't going to allow you to do so. You fail to locate your own voice though the question you pose to him. "Why?" 

"Why not?" Sherlock hums back, lifting his arms slightly to emphasise your query and taking tiny steps closer. "I thought it would be fun. Such a young man, Sherlock who inspired by detective novels and films, was duped by his own thinking but he always solved it all. Everyone is proud of whoever is in existence and has written history; they have faith in that. Am I horribly adorable, darling?"

You shake your head in bewilderment, your throat aching near to explode. "Finn—"

"That complete moron. As screwed up as we both are." Sherlock whistled as if he were telling you an intriguing tale. "Simon did whatever I ordered him to do like a puppy eager to impress. Still extremely efficient. I basically needed to give him a name and my favourite method of murder. Isn't he a fantastic actor? Even the murderer, who actually me, and his manipulation all of you as the true murderer, he should feel honoured."

He flicked on the lighting, enabling you to spot Simon's corpse on ground covered in bloodstream, and you were certain he was murdered before you came. Sherlock tosses the body away with one of his foot as he begins to approach you. "Now I sent him back to where he belonged... quicker than on death row."

"So all this time-"

"Of course, baby." Sherlock squeaks. "It's always been me. It was me long before I produced Jersey." He continues, his smile widening as he notices the way you express yourself. "I've wanted to play a game with you ever since we met. I mean, young detective Marney, who believes 'Me' can figure out a person's history just by looking at their clothes- you're quite naïve to the actual world. You believed you had matured, but wasn't it all a façade?"

The lips of yours emerges then shuts, and you're not quivering from the thunderous downpour.

"Who do you suppose left the clues in all those murder cases we solved, love? Who do you think led us to success, to solving it so effortlessly?"

Hanging your head down, his words are like razor-sharp knife cuts, slicing your assaulted edge into parts, and you have no voice appealed to him to stop.

"It was me. I killed them and then watching you be so appreciative of me, of your incredible talents when you were, in fact, just a child fitting jigsaw pieces together." He amusement. "I must admit that I became fond of you at some point, which is why I thought it was about time I put up an encore monumental game for you. Feelings mess you up, darling. I won't be the one to fall."

"You slaughtered your friends and mine," you exhale, unsteady, your thoughts far too rapid and far too loud for someone who has just been locked in time, tossing one great fist slamming over his face. "And I broke down for months over them!"

"Of course we did," He say. Sherlock responds casually, his brows rising high in his forehead as he attracts you away. You're standing staggeringly, like if he's left a gigantic hole inside you, and you cannot stabilise yourself from being off-balance. "How could you have trusted me otherwise? You figured me out several times back there, Y/N, but you're too far away to prove it. I needed to make sure you wasn't believe that it was me till now."

Dazedly looking at the muddy ground, rendered speechless. After a little while, your body yields and you collapse to your knees, shed tears streaming down your cheeks. For so long, you let your people down since the invisible strings veiled themselves by your neglect; it was all right in front of you.

"It's going to be okay, baby." Sherlock coos once again, and despite the fact that you're no longer gazing at him, you heard the cocking of a pistol. Sherlock kneels in front of you, his free hand caressing your cheek, and his lips press against your soaked forehead. "I truly cherish you; nobody ever loves me as you do, I vow. I'll do it without making you feel anything."

Sherlock stands up again, and you still don't move, not even a twitch of a muscle.

Reality settles in, leaving you devoid of responses and options; instead, you accept it.

You lost by your trust.

The cold metal of the gun's mouth presses on the top of your head, and you sense a smirk on Sherlock's lips. "Any last words, my love?"

The tiniest shudder travels down your spine, and your eyes close.

You smile. Because he was correct; this is for the record. The victor writes history. History is littered with liars. If he lives and you die, his words is written into stone and yours is lost.

Sherlock notices the wry grin on your sorrowful face. "I wasn't pregnant; there was no trace of it. It's only my amazing talents to falsify my pregnancy test- and you're trapped-" His pistol mouths thrashed on the skin of your cheek, and you could feel lifeblood running through your pearly whites. 

"And I spent my spare for engagement to little brat for GPS monitoring." You push yourself to crack a smile only to see Sherlock's grin widen. "Indeed, she's still wearing that stupid ring. She's even come here by herself to seek out her own tomb." 

Sherlock's about to complete the greatest trick a liar ever played on history. His truth will be the truth. But that’s only if he lives, and you die.

Sherlock was incorrect in the meantime of the twinkling of an eye. And your hoarse voice demonstrates that. "You think it's just us here?"

“What?”

The death Finn then stands up and pulls the rope from the ceiling down, falling over Sherlock's. You observe his centre body becoming intertwined and these ropes hanging him up there with his scream; as soon as his pistol drops, you rise up and move away from where you entered this warehouse.

Greg and the other cops make goosesteps from everywhere, and you notice his exhausted and grateful gaze from his restless eyes, so you stroke his shoulder before disappearing into the stillness of the night.

Simon approached Greg with his stump feet by the sticky fake blood, thrilled by the sight he seen. “You talked too much Mr detective.”

closure

Strange wind blowing throughout the empty place it may be gliding to. You're standing in front of a black marble headstone, surrounded by greenery and the chirping of songbirds. The flowers are now at the foot of the monument. You stare at the beautiful black stone that just says SHERLOCK HOLMES.

Sigh, drop your head, and stand there but you moved to another black stone. You figure looks to have the name of Molly and Mycroft etched straight across your chest, as reflected in the polished marble of the headstone. You lower your head even lower and cover your eyes with one hand. Knowing that all of the corpses doesn't appear to underneath here, rather in the mortuary. Then your phone vibrates with an incoming call.

"They say he murdered himself by drowning himself with hydrochloric liquids," Greg slows down with his own gasp. "Only hydrogen chloride vapours create considerable difficulty breathing when- you know, just cleaning the restroom." 

You're now in the car, patiently absorbing his words through the phone conversation before signal the light to turning the car into Smithfield Street, and Greg continues to explain what he knows. "In his instance, continuing to breathe at such high rates may be fatal, but he had absorbed it into his body... in his own way, for several weeks in after bang up there, not just by breathing it in."

You two leave a little time of stillness, holding the call and sinking into contemplation of the whole situation that happened until you are the one who smashes it. "I'm in the mortuary now. Which room?"

Greg opens the door behind you, his strained voice in the queue just acting as if you could see his burning face, which was only fighting not to sob in front of you. You drew him into your shattered hug, and it seemed that for all the secrets of the Sherlock Holmes's, he left you two to feel grief like dying while remaining alive

“You may need some alone time here.”

Every step you take to get closer to the lifeless corpse is precisely the same as when you first met, but there is no longer any of Sherlock's façade lies.

You leaned down and pulled aside the sheet, uncovering Sherlock lying beneath it, pallid and bare, his eyes closed. Tenderly strokes his curling bangs hairline, long lashes and nose bridge, which once it always necked at your cheeks, yours.

'S.Holmes' possessions' package captures your glance from the corner of your field of vision.  You snatched it and saw your golden pen, the long-awaited souvenir for you and his first anniversary. It's been roughly four years since then. And while you were putting it back, you saw a torn paper on it, and there was Sherlock's handwriting; uncleared but still could recognizable text.

‘May we meet again, Y/N’

a/t: well me too ;_; sorry guys if the ending wasn’t what you thought 🥺🥹 murderer sherlock smell so nice to me oi and for this story ive my lovely bestie to help me created murderer stage name! its @lady-harvey ♥️ my gurl, tysm again ♥️❣️❣️now i think i need to take a little break from writing 😭 but im still here just back to manage my undone work and ill brb asap but for sure ill still online here huhu, not gonna mia in this soon hue hue

[landhficrecs]

Polyamory

pull of the tides by finelinegynandromorph 

they're all marine biologists at a research station and zayn is grappling with a complex history with institutionalized religion as well as his own guilt and shame about polyamory.

Something Unconventional by bromanceorromance 71k

Riley has been Harry's beard for a while now and she's practically in love with both Harry and Louis, but what does she do when they ask her to enter into a relationship with the both of them? What happens when Riley's in a real relationship with Harry and Louis, but can only publicly acknowledge her relationship with Harry?

where we are alive by torielle 42k

Harry invites Taylor and Louis to stay in a cottage by the coast for the Easter holidays. Harry bed-hops between them until tensions rise too high.

Tall,Dark and… wait, what?! by LadyAJ_13 3k

Liam just wants Louis and Harry to admit they're seeing each other. To feel comfortable being themselves within the band and know that they're supported. So, he sets up a little game.

after summer by stylinsoncity 4k

Summer is over and Louis has news for his boys that changes everything.

Moonstruck by Lhhome by 9k

“Hello, I’m Louis,” he introduces himself to Emma in a raspy voice, putting an arm around Harry’s waist as he does so. Well, that answered Emma’s unvoiced question because she hadn’t been entirely sure about Florence’s intentions when introducing her to Harry. Ever since their breakup last year Florence had introduced them to a lot of people of all genders she wanted to set them up with ignoring their talk of being happily single.

Harry is just trying to figure himself out, Louis just wants to help his long-term partner but doesn't know how and Emma's best friend Florence just might claim she is a matchmaker.

with love on the line by disgruntledkittenface 7k

“I didn’t realize, since you have to get so close to a beta to scent them and I was trying to keep my distance, but it’s kind of like–”

“Apples,” Harry finishes, running the silk under his nose again. “Like a freshly cut apple at the height of fall.”

“Mm, exactly,” Louis agrees, the scent reaching his nose despite Harry’s efforts to hog it. “It blends so well with us, don’t you think? Your floral–”

“Jasmine,” Harry corrects, the way he always does. “Jasmine flower. And your sandalwood and vanilla. How does it go so well?”

“I don’t know,” Louis says, shrugging. “But it does. I think maybe that’s what it would be like. If we were with him.”

Harry and Louis have always been Harry and Louis. Then they meet Nick.

A relationship in three snapshots.

The Only Thing That Keeps Me Grounded by lululawrence 27k

“Shit, I definitely missed the last train.”

“Oh no,” Louis lamented. “I’d offer a ride, but I’m part of a carpool and we’re full already. I’m so sorry.”

“Really, it’s fine.” Then, what Louis said sank in. “Wait, I thought you were here alone?”

“Oh, I am. I’m the only one dancing here tonight. The others were working. In fact, here’s Nick now.”

It felt like slow motion as a tall, lanky man with incredible hair came walking over towards Louis. He smiled before pulling Louis into him and giving him a quick kiss.

“Nick, this is my new friend Harry. He just moved to the area and he’s amazing at swing. Harry, this is my husband, Nick.”

Fuck.

Or the one where Harry moves to Washington DC to be a nanny and never expects that his past struggles with love will be brought to a head. He definitely never expects the solution to it all will be the man of his dreams that just so happens to be married to the other man of his dreams.

Thou, Sun, Art Half As Happy by lululawrence

Hello, I’m sorry if this isn’t a post that is allowed on this channel, but I was hoping for the best since it is regarding a photography project I’m working on at the moment. I’m working on a set of sunrise kiss photos and therefore am needing a willing kissing partner. I’d hoped to be able to provide one for myself, but it hasn’t panned out, so here I am! I was hoping to find someone here, since I know most of you (at least peripherally) and can generally vouch for you not being creeps. Plus this way I know you will understand needing to continue to tweak the camera settings and reshoots etc that others might not.

Anyway, I’m looking for someone who identifies as male or male-ish (sorry, ladies) who is between the ages of 18 and 40. I’m a 29 year old male-ish myself, for those who would like to know before replying.

If you’re interested and are free the early morning of August 7th and would like to kiss in the sunrise with me for the sake of some (hopefully) interesting and fun photos, let me know via DM and I’ll give you the location.

OR the one where Louis needs a kissing partner, two show up, and it all might turn out for the best that way.

@l-a-r-r-yspellslove @ladyaj-13 @stylinsoncity @disgruntledkittenface @lululawrence

(Please @the authors if you can xx)

[astralartefact]

Placeholder Name for Atarase's Media Diary

Entry 003 - NieR Reincarnation <<Prev: Dragon's Dogma 2

Synopsis

Living in the shadow of its predecessors a [g___] grapples with the fact that it was born shouldering the burden of Reincarnation.

And don't forget, Mother is watching. Don't. fuck it up.

gambling that whatever they announce next week makes parts of this post irrelevant

How much did I know before playing?

I played it since the JP launch despite not understanding a single word and I've played every DrakeNieR Adjacent thing in existence except for DoD2 (no interest, sry) and... NieR Automata which I refuse to play at this point - but I guess that just means you can't complain that I haven't played DoD2 lol.

Did I like it more than I expected?

I did in fact not expect the Gacha game to turn out the best NieR game but here we are.

Since I liked it, here's what I hated about it

Despite its (to me) clear intention to present a diverse and not particularly "objectified" cast it still has a visible bias towards a certain group of characters - by which i of course mean the waifus, because those make more money. But it means that certain characters never get the 'worthless' free event units while some only get them - snd I mean, just look at Priyet who has 3 less costumes than Yurie who came out months after her.

Also, the story was clearly supposed to be longer, especially with 10H's more-than-swift in- and ex-troduction, but tbh I didn't particularly mind it? 'Cutting it short' didn't ruin anything even though it could have taken the game a bit longer to end - but I wouldn't have said no to a Purple Season 3 Chapter either.

Also also, 'Tis evident that this ludus has maybe one singular mention of our Lord and Saviour YoRHa:Dark Apocalypse (henceforth referred to as Y:DA) - and even that one mention is marvelously vague. Father, are you ashamed of your best work? Is it because it doesn't qualify as its own game? Please, I beg of you to acknowledge the existence of the Crime & Punishment fanfiction sequel you wrote in a MMORPG cross-over! Do it for meeee!

What did this game make me think about?

Reincarnation is a Cage.

Specific Impressions that will stick with me

Honestly? A lot, so this is very non exhaustive.

The Art, both 2D and 3D, especially the very limited usage of color.

The Story and how exactly it was written. Every single line in this game pulls at the same rope and that's impressive for a game that's basically a very, very complicatedly put together Collection of Vignettes written from more than 5 people.

How thought through this game's structure is - how and when what kind of story was introduced/unlocked, stuff like that. I even thought "the grind" wasn't pointless okay, sue me but it makes the pay-off from the ex stories feel better.

Sarafa and Priyet

Outstanding Audio

The entire soundtrack, as always the crew at MONACA is beyond mere mortals - and honestly, Shotaro Seo deserves more credit for his NieR work!!! (also he's cute but that's besides the point)

Here are some fave picks:

Inori, Kizuna & the S3 Main Theme

Kusabi (i love seo's voice i think its so funny that they just used him as the male voice)

Mizukagami

Madan & the S3 Battle Themes

The Return of Normandy

The Mourning Mother Theme, All Versions (if this one doesn't come back in one of the next games i swear to mother)

The Final Boss Theme

Favorite Character

this is so hard why would Past!Me make me choos- Sarafa.

also mama, dark mama and papa and fio and levania and saryu and yudil and priyet and yuzuki and hina and argo (bc he's an idiot) and akeha and frenlise (still not sure why that's the only name they changed) and- all of them, i love all of them, some more than others but all of them except for the carrier, fuck the carrier also anogg y:da should be on this list

Favorite Arc/Story Line

Sun/Moon Story

Favorite Set Piece

The S3 Cage is so fcking gorgeous, around every corner another compositional marvel, they went above and beyond.

Favorite Scene

Priyet's Hidden Stories

The Library

Mourning Mother

Best Performance (I played with JP voices)

Yumi Hara as Mama.

--- ENTERING THE PRETENTIOUS SECTION OF THIS ENTRY --- reminder that the pretentious section is called that way for a reason, don't take it too seriously

What about this game gives me Hope for the future of gaming?

I guess the death of the Common Gacha is somewhat imminent if even Square Enix is giving up on it. A shame that what's left in its wake (the Gacha with "Gameplay Value") is so much more worrisome than shitty jpg dispensers ever could be.

And I don't know, I guess I'm just excited for Yoko Taro's next big hit because he has yet to really miss. Sadly this game won't set any industry standards in the ways I would like it to :/

What about this game makes me scared for the future of gaming?

The Internet has figured out that complaining about things that everybody agrees is bad is fun - and that's nothing new. What's new is that they have at this point seen enough video essays to make their incessant complaining sound like "Criticism."

The problem I have with that is that these surface level "Criticisms" taint the stage, so to speak. Everyone is constantly mad at the mere mention of Microtransactions or of Gacha Games (except, of course, if it's one of the popular ones) and it makes it so that "not critizising" Gacha Games for even just existing in the first place makes you "uncritical."

Can you tell by my usage of Quotation Marks that I do not like the word Criticism anymore?

And I wish that my only stake with this is that I think this shit is annoying as fuck. That I think it sucks that every person having something, anything genuine to say about this game feels the need to state how they know Gacha games are bad because Capitalism sucks - a so surface level fact I would genuinely struggle to believe anyone who would agree with that hasn't already caught on to it yet.

But no - that's where our public interrogation of this type of media starts and ends, because god forbid we have a more nuanced opinion about this shit than "Gacha Bad".

Instead of talking about anything below the surface, good or bad, be it the artistic merits of this game I really like or the actually deeply fucked up evolution on the Gacha Formula the Industry is going through to make their practices more palatable despite being so much worse and deeply ingrained into everything else - resulting in an ecosystem that's so much more dangerous than anything Square Enix could ever hope to come up with.

Instead of talking about any of that I get to hear people act high and mighty about how smart and brave they are for voicing an opinion everybody shares with them.

Meanwhile Hoyoverse has made it cool to just take whatever game is currently popular and turn it into an industrial-grade FOMO machine printing object women of the week and money and everybody unironically endorses it, creates endless amounts of free publicity through fan-art & co, feeding into this FOMO cycle that's already exacerbated by games solely built to drive you to FOMO through all of its built-in game design mechanisms - all so you gamble your money away for your own enjoyment - but that's 'better', actually, 'because it has good gameplay.'

[This is where I cut a lengthy section about how Japanese Idols and Gacha Games are both selling the same things. It was very informative and you are disappointed you're missing out on this quality content.]

Because clearly, the problem with Gacha Games has all this time been that Gacha Games have boring gameplay and not that they do everything in their power to addict people into spending money on parasocial relationships to people (mostly women) that don't even exist, all to impress themselves and their friends.

and also you guys it looks kind of silly when you say 'good riddance, you cheap cash-grab' to a game that a) clearly wasn't that cheap and b) clearly didn't grab that much cash

The Ramble Section where I get to actually talk about what I thought about

[This is where I cut a lengthy section about my complicated feelings towards Video Game Archiving and how Lore is a blight. It was very informative and you are disappointed you're missing out on this quality content.]

So a couple days ago Yoko Taro met up with the Stellar Blade guy and the only thing I can think about is... well...

Was 2B a mistake?

I mean, it's kind of a sign of how good he is at analyzing the topic at hand so take that as you will, but the fact is that Yoko Taro set out to create the most objectifiable women he could think of - and he was so good at it she has become what is probably the most objectified female character of our time.

And yet, despite knowing that that's not really a good thing - because clearly he did all of that for a reason and Reincarnation didn't really do all that despite being a Gacha - he continues to just... enable people (and by people I do mean Men) to keep doing these kinds of disgusting behaviours to an entire gender, fictional or not. Things that Automata at least to some degree criticizes through 9S (like there's a reason he's the final boss you guys)

And I guess it just feels shitty to see Yoko Taro publicly give this game his stamp of approval when the entire existential premise for Stellar Blade seems to be that clip of Yoko Taro saying "I just really like girls"; a shitty quote that 100% has caused women some societal harm he has yet to r3pent for because Gamers took it and ran - and now we have another game with a big tits SciFi Woman for Men to objectify and I'm pretty sure this one won't have the underlying subtext of "maybe objectifying women is not all that great you guys"

But then there's stuff like putting a shallow husk of 2B - and they somehow also always feature the butt out version too, isn't that interesting - into any game that will take her - which is pretty much every game that is physically able to because thanks to her standing for nothing but ass woman in the popular conscious everyone wants a piece of that free money from horny gamers.

And I guess I have to legally state that that's fine or else the horny fun police is taking me in, but with how he's treating this character outside of the game it feels like it does such a disservice to the points he makes in his games (plural bc of dod3) and that fucking sucks because clearly the world isn't ready to move on from 2B so she'll be around, and with her a symbol that actually, it's fine to objectify your female characters - full stop because nobody but us few cares about the things he's criticizing through subtext.

And it sucks that to SquareEnix her stupid ass (like literally just her ass) is going to overshadow anything Reincarnation has ever done, all the interesting points it makes about societal agency and human relationships and gender and consent and family - because I wouldn't be surprised if NieR 4 manages to barely acknowledge Reincarnation's existence at all while still churning out YoRHa DLC - I mean just look at how they treat Drakengard, which for its 20th anniversary got... an entire tweet.

Like. They didn't even play Reincarnation Music at the NieR Concert!!! Not even Inori!!! It's been three years, why was there no Reincarnation Music at the fucking NieR concert??? I guess we'll just hear Grandma and Kainé and Weight of the World Remixes forever because squeenix mandated that everything that's not the big 2 games can only be referenced in vague subtext (and listen, I love how NieR treats Drakengard Lore, I will be severly disappointed if he ever actually explains any of it - it just hurts my soul that Kuroi Hana has never been performed live) (also y:da's final boss theme should have been a kuroi hana arrangement and not kainé but i guess licensing is a bitch so there's that)

But I mean it is kind of funny that NieR Reincarnation is in a Reincarnation Cage of its own. It's living in the shadow of its predecessors, grappling with the fact that it was born shouldering the burden of Reincarnation. Another Yoko Taro story whose story is about itself. (can i interest you in a german review i wrote where i explain which other yoko taro story also does that) (it's y:da, it's always y:da)

I guess all I can say is that you're clowning about Women, Yoko Taro, and I really hate that. Do Better, as they say. I wish you would publicly talk about literally anything else at this point, especially since you made a good point and then ruined it by not just simply shutting up about it like you do about anything else you do. (remember the ff14 live stream where he proceeded to not answer a single question about y:da? iconic behavior and absolutely the right choice)

And you have so many other good points to make that you could talk about instead! ...then again I swear to mother if Kamierabi really is about how Abortions are bad I will abort you, we have a perfectly capable successor in Yuki Wada right there. (btw praise be Yuki Wada, the true hero of this story, living his dream with his two nier ocs hina and yuzuki)

[jeremy-queere]

im actually gonna liveblog my own thoughts about those last few chaps of my fic, which are basically always going to be "i'm hilarious actually" but yknow. specific lines. minor spoilers ig

>be jeremy >tell rich about how you fixed the giant issue where yelling at a squip can turn off every squip in the network >by telling him this aloud, you just alerted the squips to this security flaw >mfw i destroyed the easiest way to save the world without a second thought: :) >still smilling at rich, ready for praise >rich short circuits.

plus with the shutdown that christine mentioned this chapter. it's almost like ? jeremy isn't coming at this from a perspective of wanting to turn squips off???? and never even bothered researching that option??? 😂 bonkers. who'd have thought

i fully recognize that having a coder POV say "The bugs, miraculously, became rarer and smaller" is the biggest ask in the fic in terms of suspension of disbelief. maybe when jeremy is better at this they'll realize they were wrong about that. not in a "this update is secretly a time bomb" way but in a "holy shit i can't believe i used to think this was good programming" way

i still think it's funny whenever i reference jeremy muting themself after the FIRST TIME it came up where jeremy acknowledged that "muting themself wasn't any different from a human just choosing not to speak." i love my weird robot child.

i still like the "C-c-c-c'mon, Jeremy, can't you see, we've got a date, so concentrate! We'll start with us, just me and you, some deja vu, and then ensue: your microchip plus our friendship-" implying "the squip" being sung in the same lovestruck voice as the chorus usually sings "christine."

^ i usually pick a song to write the summary from based solely on vibes and character focus. the fact that this was from Upgrade rather than two player game was a dead giveaway regarding michael's intentions btw.

writing michael after that last mall scene has been so weird. on purpose. but like everything he says is a catchy line ending on a discordant note. the sudden pivot from slowburn to joking about having sex and humanity = romance. every time michael interrupts or talks over jeremy instead of going out of his way to set a good example, i wince lol. encouraging them to stop thinking so much. ignoring every one of jeremy's soft "no"s because they're inconvenient. Here Are Our Stereotypical Nerd Spots and Here Is Your Mandated Giant Teddy Bear and Here Is My Secret Condom. (jeremy sprinted into the sunset before we got to that part and we all thank them for it.) jeremy never once having indicated that they wanted to actually have sex any time soon but michael did everything in his power to make sure the date would end that way without a single worry about what jeremy told them about chloe.

i don't think it's spoilers to clarify that michael was in the driver's seat for all of that, but was in a situation where he was very incentivized to listen to the SQUIP. and jeremy looooves squips so obviously the SQUIP is the expert on this, not michael :P

madeline offscreen: constant orgies, pretending to be from paris, scheming femme fatale madeline for the 2.3 seconds she was onscreen: i swear quebec is better than people give it credit for wait don't go-

jeremy's definition of breaking up with someone is, consistently, running away from an emotionally charged moment and convincing themself that they hate them. lol.

christine accusing jeremy of talking at her was also a direct response to the author trying to get on their wikipedia-level-of-philosophy-knowledge soapbox again. btw on that note, observation selection effect seems to only be mentioned in places as a synonym for the anthropic principle. it is more specific than how jeremy defines it, being an existential thing about how "the range of possible observations that could be made about the universe is limited by the fact that observations could happen only in a universe capable of developing intelligent life" (~ wikipedia <3). i get away with a lot of bullshit claims, some of them even intentionally bullshit, bc the character making those claims is reading even less of the wikipedia article than i am.

but that was transparently just a nod to the book being one of the many parallel universes that are foundational to how the squip works in canon

speaking of references that delight me and me alone, in-character phantom of the opera reference re: pageboy

i think all the main/supporting cast all think they're the main characters. except jeremy! not because of jeremy 1.0's insistence that he's not a leading man, but because they have been so busy with observing themself that they haven't even considered anyone else observing them and coming to different conclusions. (see: the PA system joke with michael which alerted the ENTIRE SCHOOOOooool 🎶 to their situation, which in jeremy's narrative, was just a gag as part of a longer fun flirty convo with michael, brought up for laughs and then forgotten.) (it's not like it's plot relevant as in that it doomed them or anything, but just a signal that not everyone perceives the fic events like jeremy does!!)

they're trying to learn to be less self-absorbed (and i'm not saying that as an insult so much as an accurate description of their default thought patterns) but it IS a learning curve. for all their self-reflection, i would describe them as a very reactive person, which is also probably why they (along with jeremy 1.0 and keanu squip) constantly struggle/d with needing a sense of control

im aware that despite christine's in-character criticism of the narrative i wrote 🙃 that she's here for exposition and emotional closure. she knows and she's not happy about it. it's a consequence of writing the story i wanted to tell but that doesn't make it immune from criticism. it's a good question for me, that the story i wanted to tell DID involve removing her agency so much. but i don't see that as a question that needs a direct answer or for me to defend so much as something to reflect on after it's over. in the meantime christine ma'am i'll give you something good in the epilogue i prommy, and i'll add something about this to my notes now that i think about it.

[lilypadding]

The Fifth Trial

Crossposted on AO3

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

In which Nanami and Komaeda are closer friends before he sets up his master plan.

Word count: A bit over 4k

(Some gore, only what's present in the game.)

There is a dead Komaeda Nagito behind Nanami Chiaki. 

The first time she hears his voice, she thinks she is hallucinating. But her programming doesn’t glitch in that way. It shouldn’t . Her perception has not failed her, not this drastically. 

She knows very little about how she was created, but her coding has never tripped and triggered the live words of a dead person. She has never felt the presence of a murder victim leaning into her during their own class trial from behind her. She has never felt the cool of their breath as they repeat her name almost helplessly, begging for attention, for her to spin around and face them. 

Nanami-san. Nanami-san. Nanami-san—  

His voice is so quiet, so quiet , she must be hallucinating. She’s hearing things. She has to be. Her eyes settle on Hinata from across the circled podiums and remain there. 

Komaeda Nagito is not here. 

He is not settled behind her in the middle of a class trial, he is not calling for her attention by pressing into her, she cannot feel the lack of his warmth against her. 

The true cause of death has come to light. Poisoned by a single fire grenade that one of them threw into the flames in the warehouse. An elaborate charade to get someone to kill him, to pin the responsibility of his life on the toss of a fire grenade. A suicide, by all reasoning—except Monokuma’s. 

The group is convinced Komaeda had ill intent. That he took advantage of the trial system for the sake of leaving the group empty-handed in terms of a verdict. But this cannot be true.

Nanami swallows a lump stuck in her throat, eyeing her classmates. Their expressions are fear-stricken. It’s always fear when it comes to Komaeda. She spent her time trusting him on the island. She hadn’t felt this fear; not until now. 

“Nanami-san.”

Komaeda’s voice is low. It’s enough for her to ignore, instead focus on gripping the bars of the podium before her. 

She can’t decide on an answer. 

It could be a glitch. A break in the system. A few, shattered lines of code. 

Her classmates don’t perceive him, certainly, because they dive into yet another conversation topic that Nanami doesn’t bother listening to. She couldn’t even if she wanted to, all too distracted by the mystery that Komaeda Nagito has induced by his mere presence. Which is not new. 

Maybe acknowledging him will make him disappear. Like noticing a shadow in the darkness of a room, but when your eyes focus, all traces of it vanish.  But the idea of spinning and catching his face is mortifying. What would he look like? Would he look normal? A faraway look in his eyes, a feigned smile, the same as always?

Nanami locks eyes onto her classmates. Sonia. Owari. Kuzuryuu. Those who are actually alive, anyone she can rightfully perceive. Anyone that doesn’t make her think she’s lost it. 

Komaeda’s next words are quiet, but his tone of voice is easy to distinguish. She trembles under his breath. Desperately, she tries shoving away the memory of his voice, the clarity of his words. 

She can still see him in his cottage, pensively gazing down at her, shaking his head at the idea that she was worried about him.  She doesn’t miss the mockery in his words. 

“Can you hear me?”

Hinata’s voice pierces her thoughts:

“Komaeda did all of this… to pin his death on us,” He seems to be grappling with this, disbelief killing his assertion, “He didn’t care who the blackened was. That’s… what he wanted.”

It sounds more like a question than a statement.

It sucks the air dry. Nanami’s eyes dart to the trial grounds, defeat suffocating her. 

“Bastard,” Kuzuryuu barks, anger and confusion powering him, “Fucking bastard. Of course, he was scheming something. We should’ve kept him—”

His cut-off is abrupt. As if he’d realized that a should’ve is pointless. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Sonia concludes for the group, “I… I just can’t believe he… I mean, all of those wounds, which are not even the cause of death, are self-inflicted …? He’d have to have been holding the spear while he used the knife to...” 

Their dread piles with every word. The refusal to finish Sonia’s sentence leaves too much room for the imagination. The silence visualizes the scene for them. 

Komaeda, deliberately wrapping thick rope to his limbs; Komaeda, looping the cord of the spear around the ceiling beam for it to dangle over his stomach; Komaeda, with far too little hesitance biting back screams while relentlessly mutilating his thighs with the knife, the spear swaying threateningly over him as blood splatters. 

“Nanami-san…”

She stiffens and looks for a distraction within her classmates. They’re busy mulling over the idea of him, faces nearly pale. She needs someone to pull her away from him . To expel his voice from her mind. 

But it’s impossible to ignore Komaeda Nagito. Even beyond his living days. 

“Are you going to tell them?”

She doesn’t want to.  She has to. 

It will come up, because Hinata was the one who watched her scramble out of Komaeda’s cottage the night prior. He’d ignored it during the investigation, refusing to ask her anything, to even so much as acknowledge their late night interaction. But he wouldn’t ignore it during the class trial, not when he still didn’t know what happened between Nanami and Komaeda the night before he died . 

She’d spent a lot of time with Komaeda already, around the island during the easier days, the hours between other murders. Nanami had been undeterred by everyone’s hesitance towards him, their fear and apprehension after having that first trial. She understood their reluctance, really. 

Komaeda spoke in unsettling ways since their first trial, to say the least. His seeming lack of remorse, his willingness to kill and die for them. But it was all the more reason to seek him out.

He always refused her company, insisting she shouldn’t spend her free time with someone like him, that he’d be fine without anyone’s company. But he wasn’t going to survive this killing game alone. He wouldn’t get through the heavy days, isolating himself. She’d learn about him, she’d come to understand him, even if it cost her classmate’s wary stares while they were seen together. 

She had one responsibility, one command to follow under Future Foundation. 

Take care of them all. 

And this would not exclude Komaeda Nagito. No matter what. 

Everyone else, though… had a hard time accepting him. 

“So, who was the traitor?” Owari’s voice snaps Nanami back to the trial. Everyone shoots Owari a confused look. “I mean, didn’t Komaeda say he already knew who the traitor was? What was that about?”

“If he knew who the traitor was, why would he die?” Hinata snaps back, an unnerving hostility clouding him. He’s been tense this entire trial. Ever since they’d found Komaeda’s body, he’d only spoken in clipped sentences and a flat tone.

Nanami wasn’t confident in her judgment of character and behavior. But she did know that something struck Hinata when he saw Komaeda’s corpse. 

A hazy look in his eyes and a weakened stance was enough for Nanami to deduce two things. One, Hinata was going to be sick. Two, Komaeda Nagito’s death was the thing that Hinata Hajime had least expected.

“Because the guy makes no sense,” Souda scratches his chin, glaring at Hinata, “He probably did it ‘cause the sicko felt like it. That’s all.”

“That’s too simple,” Hajime’s response is immediate, “He has to have a good reason for setting this elaborate plan up. This is Komaeda we’re talking about.” 

“You’re putting in way too much effort,” Souda crosses his arms over his chest, “Komaeda’s crazy . There’s no logic with that guy. He probably just wanted to put on a stupid show just to kill himself.”

“That’s not it,” Hinata glares, his stance unwavering, “Komaeda’s dead . This isn’t a show. And there is a logic to him. Yeah, it’s crazy, and his thought process gives me a headache, but it’s always calculated. There’s something we’re missing.”

Hinata usually loses merit through his arguments during trials, confidence slipping from between his fingers as he asserts himself. He’s never displayed such unwavering determination before. It’s comforting, knowing he’s not letting himself slip now. 

For too long, Nanami has wondered whether Hinata even liked Komaeda. It was always hard to tell. Hinata’s eyes were never completely comfortable around him, not after that first trial.  But they did have their moments. Short and brief and fleeting where they acted normal. Almost friendly. 

And now that Hinata is clouded by his loss, the pendulum swung back in favor of the guy. 

“But it’s just like Komaeda to be dramatic for the sake of hope or whatever he says— or said. And it’s just like him to do this for hope. He was always talking about being a sacrifice.”

“Souda. Did you even listen to me? I said that—”

“Okay, well…” Kuzuryuu raises his hands in front of him, attempting to quell the tension. Both Souda and Hinata’s annoyed gazes fix on him. 

“Let’s look at this one more time…” Kuzuryuu states, but Nanami fails in following his next words. 

She reflects on last night instead, caught up in recalling every miniscule instance that would have suggested an outcome like this. Every glance Komaeda threw, every word he muttered— he was always careful with his phrasing, and often, the meaning behind conversations with him would go unnoticed until the benefit of hindsight kicked in. 

But Nanami can’t pin anything suspicious in what he’d said. He’d gotten foggy-eyed when he expressed his gratitude for her visit, and reflected almost wistfully at their time spent together on the island for the previous days. That isn’t much of a surprise anymore— now knowing that he knew it would be his last day alive. His last moment to appreciate anything at all. 

Maybe that’s why he didn’t act hostile with her, not in the way he’d been with the group previously: antagonizing them and mocking their Ultimate titles. 

She had half expected the harsh treatment— for her to walk into his cottage and immediately be received by verbal blows to her lack of leadership or embodiment of hope . He’s behaved smugly towards everyone up until then anyway, jabbing them with bitter insults, a stark contrast to the praise and worship he’d given them prior. 

But he hadn’t done any of that last night. He hadn’t insulted her, or the others, while she was speaking with him. He’d been… normal. For once. And for a person that was planning his own suicide… That… makes sense. 

Nanami feels an ice-cold sensation land atop her wrist. Her eyes flick down to it. 

It’s a hand. 

His hand. The sweater sleeve and blood stains give that much away. 

She bites back a gasp, harshly looking away, recuperating herself. Her expression must be a dead give away that something is blatantly wrong , but everyone is distracted with a distant conversation. 

A thick trail of blood is running down the wrist of his sleeve, the skin of his hand, snaking thin lines around his fingers, pooling in Nanami’s sweater sleeve where he’s lightly gripping her, the fabric of it darkening as it sinks into her clothes. 

She stares at it, the growing stain, and a faint sensation of warmth from the blood is what forces her to clamp her jaw shut and fight the urge to scream in the middle of the trial. 

She glances up at her classmates, and no one is looking at her. 

Komaeda is here. 

It’s not just his voice. 

Nanami lightly shakes her head, trying to clear her mind. She closes her eyes, a silent prayer that when she opens them, he’ll be gone— his hand will be gone, and this will be yet another unexplained, self-induced hallucination, a defunct mistake in the Program that shouldn’t be possible in the first place. 

She opens her eyes, and Komaeda’s hand is still there. Dread tightens her throat. His presence is starting to overwhelm her, the warm blood solidifying him in her mind. He’s behind her. He’s here to stay. 

Nanami grips the podium shortly, a weak attempt at grounding herself in reality and claws her gaze into Owari, spouting off about something about a gut feeling. 

But his voice starts up anyway, clearer than before, and an ugly chill scratches her. He sounds identical to how he sounded last night— a casual lilt in his tone, bordering on upbeat. As if he were really here. 

As if it was just another day of Komaeda speaking when he wasn’t supposed to. 

“Nanami-san…?”

She gives him nothing. 

“Wow, getting ignored even in the afterlife… You must really think lowly of me, huh?”

Nanami keeps her eyes trained straight ahead as his cold hand travels up the cloth of her arm. It’s almost an affectionate gesture—  If his hand wasn’t so bloodied. 

Souda is saying something , she thinks, watching the mechanic’s face morph into a scowl. His voice is unheard as he speaks, muted while his lips move, and her mind is desperately trying to make its way back into the courtroom, into anything but the presence behind her. 

Komaeda’s voice envelops the foreground regardless. 

“Not that I can really blame you… I really am worthless…”

She’d always pestered him to not talk badly about himself. When he was alive. She’d slap his shoulder lightly when he made remarks like that, scolding him. He would always laugh. 

“You hate me, don’t you?”

His voice is distant this time. As if he were questioning himself instead of her. Nanami fights to urge to face him head on. 

Seeing his bloodied hand and sweater sleeve, feeling it burn into her was enough.  Her mind wanders despite herself— if she were to turn around, what would she see ? Would Komaeda’s face be bloodied, too? Would his eyes be empty? Would the duct tape be hanging off his cheek?

Why is his hand covered in blood? 

Is she haunting herself? Is she imagining it all? Is she forcing herself to live through another string of Komaeda’s words through the guise of his dead, animated body? Could her programming even do that? Was she built to this level of consciousness, of guilt?

No one else can see him. That’s blatantly obvious— They’re so immersed in the court trial at hand, and no one has screamed about seeing a ghost over her shoulder. Only she is perceiving him. But, why?

“Nanami-san,” Komaeda whines, “At least an acknowledgement would be nice…”

She bores her eyes into Hinata from across the circle of podiums. He’s not speaking to the others. He catches her eyes immediately and frowns slightly, seeming confused by her fixed gaze on him. Certainly not enough to indicate he saw him. 

She tears her attention away. It’s impossible to communicate to Hinata that a dead boy is trying to speak to her. 

Komaeda groans, the sound emitting from deep in his throat. She feels him move impatiently before he dips his head, setting his chin on her shoulder. Nanami almost flinches at the notion, his cold skin freezing her through her sweater. 

“Well… Will you tell them our secret?”

She furrows her brows and hovers pensively, ignoring the desire to jab into his form, shove him off. 

Guilt had burnt into her after finding his body. In seconds, minutes, what felt like hours , she reflected obsessively on what she could have done. 

Every idea, every grievance after the fact, every nerve in her mind concluding the same thought: she should have stayed in his cottage.  I should’ve shoved myself in there last night.  Broken the door down.  Of course Komaeda would end up doing something like this.  She’d cheated herself when she told herself he’d be okay. 

The warehouse— the sight of him splayed on the floor, covered in his own blood, was enough of a sinking pit. And the investigation following flooded with flashes of the previous night. The short exchange in his cottage, the lack of answers he gave. His face. 

Troubled, and lacking sleep— as always. But alive. The smile he wore while praising her, and the glare he gave while reproaching her. 

Searching his cottage during the investigation was not easy. Hinata had accompanied her to the task, silent against last night, clearly refusing to bring it up. It was almost like he had forgotten about their exchange entirely. Or maybe she’d hallucinated her conversation with him, just as she’s hallucinating… 

“Well?” 

Secret?

As she reflects again, her ears finally sink back into the trial discussion. 

“What if… What if he was leaving it up to the traitor?” Hinata asserts, eyes scanning, entranced in his own thoughts. They all watch him. 

“What’re you saying?” Kuzuryuu winces, disapproving already. 

“He was leaving it up to the traitor,” Hinata concludes pensively.

Nanami’s heart begins to race. 

“Dude, spit it out already.”

“Komaeda wasn’t randomizing the blackened,” Hinata looks around the group anxiously, “We completely misunderstood him.”

“What the fuck are you saying?” Kuzuryuu is lacking patience. 

“It’s not an unsolvable mystery,” Hinata snaps back, voice louder. His eyes flash across the circle, determined, before he declares words that make Nanami’s blood run cold. 

“The culprit is the traitor.”

The air is tight, sharpened only by their reciprocating silence and unbelieving eyes. 

“There is no way for us to know who was holding the bottle with poison. Nothing indicates which bottle was the murder weapon. We all threw a bottle into the fire, and what we do know is that one of those bottles is what killed him.”

Nanami wants to curl in on herself when Komeada laughs behind her. As if watching Hinata fit the puzzle pieces together was so amusing. 

“One of the bottles was poisoned, and one of us was the one to throw it. Komaeda was obsessed with finding the traitor. What better way was there to pin them down, to put them on the spot, than to make them the blackened in his own murder ?”

Truthfully, Hinata was a spectacle to watch when he pieced the evidence together. When he draws a conclusion that he’s so certain about, when he asserts himself amongst a questioning group, only certainty brimming in his eyes. Nanami hasn’t seen it often. 

It’s only rational that this is occurring now that Komaeda’s the victim. 

Still, as she gazes at his confidence, his straightened posture and fixed eyes, her heart can’t help but tremble. 

“... Hinata. If I may ask,” Sonia’s voice is soft but forceful. Her demeanor and tone always demand respect, and now is no exception, “How are we sure the traitor was the one who chose the poisoned bottle? I understand that Komaeda could have intended for this to be the case, but anyone could have picked up the poisoned bottle, couldn’t they?”

It’s slight, the movement of Hinata’s lips upturning. He’d been expecting the question. 

It’s admirable, really, how sure he is. But Nanami’s stance is weakening at her podium, for this certainty is what is going to get her—

“You’re right,” Hinata’s voice is calm. He straightens himself slightly, “ Anyone could have picked up that fire grenade. But Komaeda had a goal. Komaeda had a target , he had a plan , and what better thing to implement into this complicated set-up than his Ultimate talent ?”

The courtroom goes silent.

No one moves. 

Nanami doesn’t have to analyze the tension that has risen to know they realized it. The air has thickened, and it’s getting hard to breathe, because these are her last moments, and there’s no getting out of this now. 

There’s no escaping Komaeda’s plan, and there’s no escaping Hinata disassembling it. 

She’d hoped her conclusion was wrong while they were investigating. 

But her only thought was that Komaeda wanted to find the traitor while she examined his body and reevaluated his torment.

He might have planned and executed his death to spite them all, to put all their heads on a chopping block. But when it became clear that Komaeda would never kill them all, not completely, not without giving them an opportunity of escape, not without leaving enough evidence to let them live; 

A fragment of hope…

This is when Nanami was shoved into accepting her fate. 

If Hinata’s expression is any indication, he’s successfully won them over. Has he realized what he’s doing? Would he stop if he did?

“Our Reserve Course has really cleaned up…” Komaeda’s voice is almost dreamy, “I never expected this.”

“Liar,” She mutters, barely a whisper. Of course Komaeda had expected this. 

He’s the one who met Hinata first, and he’s the one who’s witnessed him shining during the trials since. His words are hollow, tasteless , when remembering the way he always looked at him. 

She realizes too late that replying to him is a mistake. The acknowledgement only strengthens his presence. He draws closer to her, brimming with a smile she can hear already. 

“Oh, Nanami-san!” Cheery, carefree, and he’s closer than ever. Familiar, too familiar. His hand retracts, leaving behind only the sensation of warm blood on her sweater. “I really thought you couldn’t hear me for a second. How comforting…”

Nanami wonders if she can ignore him again, pretend his voice is invisible, but there is no point in drawing a silent vow after replying to him, even if it was just with one word. 

She sighs quietly, defeat piling in her. Komaeda chuckles, leaning toward her ear. The room is deathly silent, save for him. 

Everyone is basking in the bewilderment of Hinata’s revelation. Like they’re scared to say it, bring it to light, to life. 

“ Nanami-san .”

“He was the Ultimate Lucky Student,” Sonia draws out of herself. She looks mortified.

“ They’re about to find our secret after all.”

“And what else could possibly cause the traitor, of all people, to pick up the bottle of poison?” Hinata declares, refusing to back away from his line of reasoning, “Only one thing could allow such a thing. Having that same Ultimate Luck.”

“Now. Will you concede?”

Nanami draws a blank at the question. Komaeda knew. 

Komaeda knew . 

Why was he acting so disturbingly casual about such information? Was being dead really that much of a blessing? 

Often, she’d judged Komaeda for his sheer ability of laughing at such tense and uncomfortable moments. But it’s now that all she wants to do is laugh. How could he know? How could he guess? Was his life as a ghost granting him the ability to see through secrets? Was it obvious in her behavior? Did he always know, that she was the— 

“Nanami?” Sonia’s voice calls. 

Nanami blinks and steals a glance around the courtroom. All eyes are on her. 

“Yeah?”

“We were asking you a question…” Sonia trails off, eyes wary. For a split second, Nanami wonders if they can see him too. Sonia’s gaze fixes over Nanami’s shoulder, but doesn’t remain.

And, still, no one is screaming about a ghost. 

“Were you with Komaeda yesterday?”

Nanami’s mouth draws closed. Her mind scours for ways to answer the question, but all she draws are blanks. 

“You told me you had somewhere to be in the evening,” Hinata adds, his voice going soft, “When I asked to speak with you? And I saw you… um… walk towards his cottage.”

Nanami’s eyes widen before she recuperates.  Hinata had been watching? 

She stares him down. He refuses to meet her gaze, and Nanami is suddenly sure that he had watched them talk. For as long as they were talking outside, anyway. 

“Wow, the Reserve Course loves using common sense…” 

She can feel Komaeda’s sneer behind her, and she feels the need to snap back. But her prolonged silence has been incriminating enough. 

“I… did see Komaeda yesterday,” Nanami states, her posture and tone maintaining a sense of stability, despite her mind going haywire, “I went to his cottage to ask him why he was doing all of this. I wanted to know.”

“There’s no reasoning with that guy…!” Souda yells, “Why didn’t you bring anyone with you? He could’ve hurt you…”

“He didn’t,” Nanami replies, “He just… talked.”

“Care to give details?” Kuzuryuu raises an eyebrow, clearly suspicious. 

“Yeah, I can tell you what he said… I think.”

-

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

[starstrucksheeptrash]

I feel like there is a huge lack of literacy within this post that drowns out some valid criticisms that SHOULD be held up and talked about. And that is only going to cause more harm than good. Puritan media is genuinely going to be the death of us. To gloss over the genuinely disgusting act of using a holocaust survivors name the way the show did, and instead bring up numerous explainable situations that were written well if paid attention to-

Fallout is a series that has been constantly about morally gray characters and decisions. There has been racism and indoctrination since the very beginning. To say that the writing is inherently racist because Maximus and Thaddeus, who were raised in the BoS, have adopted those ideals makes no sense. To have a scene with just them, where there is no one else to argue against that, and to see that as a show encouraging it? When Lucy sees ghouls multiple times throughout her journey and only ever treats them with sympathy and kindness? The writers of the show expect you to be able to take in what is being said, to inspect it, see the holes within the characters' statements, and begin to make your own conclusions. To think critically. They shouldn't have to hold up a giant sign saying "racism BAD" because it is. That is not something they have any desire to argue with. If characters raised in a highly cult like environment are not allowed to display and voice the very ideals they were raised by, how are we supposed to know they have those ideals???

Lucy does not forgive Cooper. She doesn't like him. That is so clear throughout every single one of their interactions. But she was raised in a meritocracy. She has had specific ideals about treating others how you want to be treated (which she calls the Golden Rule) ingrained in her since she was a baby. That mentality is a pillar of her personality, one that is shown throughout the series to be tested and tested again and again. Her teaming up with Cooper at the end of the series? That's her knowing she needs to find her dad, acknowledging that Cooper is a highly skilled tracker looking for the same thing and tagging along. There is no forgiveness. She isn't even happy about it. She does it because she has to.

Continuing with Lucy, and along the same lines, she is a person raised in a vault with defense training that she has never before had to use in a real-life scenario. It's also Fallout. Playing the games, you were CONSTANTLY getting shot, blown up, or your shit absolutely rocked. I truly don't understand why this is suddenly something that is a problem? Are the main characters not allowed to be put through situations? Is it because she is a woman?

That scene with the feral ghoul Martha was clearly put on a sympathetic angel, same with the ghoul she met with Cooper. Lucy is kind, she is sympathetic, Ella is so good at showing how Lucy's heart bleeds for these two. She begs Martha to not attack, to find herself, she is tearing up about it. And when she shoots her, it's a massive moment for her character. It also reveals, again, how strongly she sticks to her morals, because she sees what happened to these two ghouls and, as much as she dislikes Cooper, can not stomach letting him fall victim to it when she has the means to help. Personally, I think that the show did an amazing job showing feral ghouls to actually be human, that's literally what the ENTIRE first feral ghoul moment is about. How many times in the games are they just treated like zombies to shoot up without ANY thought to who they were?

Rape is not a word that should be thrown around so blatantly. Yes, she has every right to feel violated, but rape isn't a word to be used in such a flippant manner. While the raider does lie about who he is (being a vault dweller), she also willingly had sex with him without knowing a single aspect about him other than "hot man I just got married to". She enthusiastically consented, literally throwing herself onto him (do not take that in a shaming way, she was genuinely excited is what I am stating). If not knowing exactly who someone is before having sex with them means rape than you are essentially stating that one night stands are rape.

We are in a place where, because of a desperate attempt to make everything correct and equal (a pursuit that should be continued), we are almost beginning to go back to a mentality of stripping opportunities from marginalized people, specifically in cinematic narratives. We do not know whether Fances Turner was sought out specifically, or if she had auditioned and gotten the part. I feel like refusing to give someone a part because they're a Black woman is vastly more racist than allowing them to take the part.

Media literacy is on such a decline, and puritancial beliefs are becoming so prevalent that now the actual problems or fucking heinous things are being brushed aside. "A holocaust survivors name was used for a character that was once a part of a fascist organization, that's bad. But let's focus on reducing a very serious words meaning, and also how if a main character is a woman she should not ever have a hand laid on her because that's super abusive and morally wrong. Also, characters raised in a racist cult should not struggle with racist ideologies not even once because racism is bad."

Long post ahead. My full thoughts on the fallout series. TW for references to Sexual Assault, racism, antisemitism. It's not particularly in depth here- but I do reference specific acts of violence done in the show.

I've had people insinuate I'm only mad because I'm a New Vegas fan, because I think they retconned the lore. I'm not upset at the fallout show for its dubious lore additions and reworks. I think they're quite bad in places, but they're by far the least of the show's problems.

This isn't a case of a New Vegas fan mad they messed with my game in a way I didn't like.

Please refer to literally any of my posts pointing out the racism and antisemitism in the show. They brand a black man in episode 1. They named the enclave scientist after a real life holocaust survivor and then spent most of the show lobbing around his decapitated head like a volleyball.

But I'd like to consider other elements of the show. View it as a whole.

Consider the inherent misogyny of having a female main character whose entire character arc is just her getting abused for 8 episodes. How the trajectory of her character revolves around not giving up on the humanity of the man who waterboarded her and sold her to organ harvesters. A female main character who is raped in the first episode and watches her entire community get brutalized and who comes out of it completely unphased- still as plucky as ever- just worried about her dad.

Consider the horror of having a black woman be the one to drop the bombs. Consider the horror of her leading a council of elites who have infiltrated and taken over the US government. Consider the ways this group is presented and shown, the ways every fault of the US government in the series is offloaded onto a shadowy group of elites.

Consider how the capitalist critique of the show only goes so far as saying there's a secret organization of bad people who must be purged. The antisemitism and conspiratorial nonsense inherent to that premise.

Consider the rampant classism with the show's depiction of Wastelanders as either animalistic monsters or too stupid to live.

Consider the ways the show punishes nearly every act of kindness- the ways the world rewards might-makes-right authoritarians.

Consider the way the NCR collapsed offscreen because a disgruntled husband was mad his wife left him, and how after it collapsed the army immediately became raiders and the survivors became blood drinking cultists. Don't give me "it's just shady sands that collapsed" because the NCR was a developed nation. If one of their cities blew up, they would send aid. They would assist.

Consider the way the show constantly uses sex crimes as comedy and horror- the incest jokes and the "chicken fucker" bit, and the Vault 4 monster impregnation and the main character's rape in the first episode.

Consider the ableism of the treatment of ghouls, how every ghoul is now a ticking time bomb, how Lucy helps free a small dementia-riddled old ghoul woman from a medical torture facility and then is immediately punished with the woman trying to inexplicably murder her. Thaddeus openly talks about ghoul exterminationism and it's never a joke or a bit- he just says it and nobody reacts or says anything.

Consider the way the Vault 33 town councillors use real world progressive talking points about restorative justice and prison abolition and multiculturalism- meanwhile Norm advocates for the death penalty and a closed society. How Norm is shown as good and righteous and the vault dwellers range from deluded to damningly stupid- how the mere concept of restorative justice is made a farce because the NCR raiders are screaming about eating organs and murdering people 24/7.

Consider the way they removed the Boneyard, and the Followers of the Apocalypse by extension. In New Vegas we heard about the Followers operating a university in LA. It's gone now. Not destroyed by bombs- but written out of existence because the Boneyard never existed, and Shady Sands is in its place. Consider what that says about this world- that the group most dedicated to peace and rebuilding has been surgically excised from the narrative- destroyed more wholly than even the NCR- written out of existence entirely.

This is the single most reactionary fallout story that has been produced. By a fucking country mile.

Whatever lore critiques there are should be secondary. The storytelling is reactionary in ways I straight up have not seen from other Bethesda entries in the series. It is cruel to a fault, and depicts a world that is incapable of healing or growing- where the best you can do is hold onto that small spark of goodness while every bit of the society around you tries to murder it out of you. This isn't a story about rebuilding, or about postwar politics, or about society- it's about dueling warlords and might makes right attitudes and grimdark views of the nature of humanity. It's fallout in aesthetics alone- and it's perhaps the most hateful thing I've seen come out of this series outside of the actual neonazis in the fanbase.

Whatever hope there is in Moldaver's final moments looking out over the glittering ruins of LA is undercut by the knowledge of what came before. What was destroyed. And it's undercut by the Brotherhood's totalitarian control. It's not hopeful, it's the bare minimum of survival. It's all the progress of the postwar world, 200 years of humanity and history, reduced to just barely getting the lights back on.

In the intro to fallout 1, "War Never Changes" is used as thematic glue. It ties together two concepts- past wars- and present capitalism and militarism.

Ron Perlman describes the Roman Empire, the Spanish conquests of the Americas, and the Nazi regime- and then he says "war never changes" and uses it to connect those past atrocities to the modern world of the setting- to the war that ended everything. The phrase existed to link the resource wars and their ensuing fallout to all the crimes of empire prior. War never changes wasn't a hard and fast rule of human nature- it was a specific condemnation of America.

Lonesome Road even ends with the phrase refuted. War Never Changes. But men do, through the roads they walk. There is hope. That's what this series has always been about. The Master died at the end of fallout 1 and said "leave while you still have hope."

In this show, the black woman Vault Tec exec who ends the world says the phrase. It's stripped of all meaning. Just a generic throwback because it's a famous phrase in the series' history. It's not a condemnation of America, it's a celebratory thing. Vault Tec toasting to the end of the world.

What a thing to see this series become. What a thing to see celebrated.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 5

Summary: A very special dinner brings a very special moment for the Darkling and his wife.

Warnings: angst, sexual innuendoes, swearing, bit of fluff

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four  

=================================

She felt caught in the riptide, finding it hard to stay upright. As the daughter of a general, Y/N had seen so many evils, so much hurt, yet she never buckled under pressure.

Staring at the empty spot beside her, she laid there while battling shadows in her head. So filled with rage, she wondered who she’s becoming as a part of her longed to feel his touch. Perhaps he was right, she’s a foolish girl who is trying to win a game where the rules are nonexistent.

Having stayed awake most of the previous night, she didn’t expect trouble sleeping. With a heavy sigh, she abandoned the bed they shared – it felt too intimate to remain there now. They’ve only ever kissed and it was never planned nor did it happen in the very bed she felt is so incredibly vast, so lonely and cold when he didn’t stay there with her.

Pacing the room as she saw his shadow do the night before, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if he had trouble sleeping alone too. It was less than a full week since they married and she already cursed the smallest part of her that seemed to care for him.

Men are easy to love. A woman’s heart was made to care and love those near her. Mistaking love and trust is what a woman should never do. Love and trust are separate entities, one is given, the other must be earned.

Remembering her mother’s words eased her self-loathing. If she dared to love the Darkling, it wasn’t entirely under her control. Trusting him was different. She wasn’t as naïve as to allow the echoes of her heart dictate what her mind long acknowledged – he isn’t trustworthy.

And as the stars rise in the sky, she paced the room tirelessly. Arguing with herself, she paid no mind to the night sky she loved so much. If she had, Y/N might have realized a man with dark skies for eyes had trouble looking away from her shadow.

Exhausted, Y/N rose with the dawn. She had barely scraped up a few hours of decent sleep, tormented by his words even in dreams.

“Enter”, she yawned as Genya readily walked inside. The maids rushed to the bed, willing to change the bed sheets they couldn’t last time as Y/N had sent them away.

“Stop!” She exclaims as they reach Kirigan’s side of the bed, a slightly panicked look on her face relaying uncontrollable desires she had no chance of understanding.

Frowning, Genya licked her lips. While Y/N wasn’t sure what caused her outburst, she believed to know the root. “Leave us. You will be asked to change the sheets when Y/N desires it.”

Swallowing thickly, Y/N turned away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be”, Genya mussed. “We have a dinner to prepare you for.”

“Yes, of course.” Y/N managed a smile, briefly looking to Genya. “I’ll be alone which gives me a perfect chance to find new allies.”

Blinking fast, Genya’s frown deepened. “I’m not sure who could ally with us in the Palace. Everyone’s charmed by our General. If you’d just work with him, they would all be with you too.”

“He works for the emperor.” Y/N reminded her.

Running her hands through her hair, Y/N didn’t know if she could ever trust him enough to tell him the truth. Her plans, her fight, it’s her life’s work. She came into that palace with intention of burning it down. The emperor must die and anyone else who’d fuel the flames of war must perish along with him. The war had claimed her mother’s life, of thousands of humans and Grisha alike, Y/N aimed to end it. And to end it, she had to destroy those who started it, those who refused to implement equality between species, as Kirigan called them. Humans and Grisha must be seen equally worthy, they must ally or they will be exterminated like vermin by surrounding enemies.

She grieved for her mother every day, even now as a decade had passed. Grief is really just love one cannot give to the other. It’s all the unspent love, gathering in the corners of her eyes, the lump in her throat and inside the hollowed heart that’s trying to beat in her chest. If her sorrow was but snow that could melt with coming spring, she’d shake it off her shoulder and be done with it. It doesn’t just disappear or heal with time, she could not just let it go and forgive. Y/N survived the loss of her mother by making a vow, one she was closer to fulfilling.

“Should I prepare your usual kefta?” Genya asked, holding the blue one over her forearm.

Shaking her head, Y/N turned to her with a smile. If she wants to succeeded, she must use all weapons at hand. Being the General’s wife is one of the weapons at her disposal.

“I was thinking about a different color for tonight.”

“How different are we talking?”

Smirking, Y/N’s eyes flickered to Kirigan’s kefta. “Black.”

“No one wears black but Kirigan”, Genya reminds her.

“Until he married. I believe I’m allowed to wear his color.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Genya sighed heavily. “Alright. As long as you allow me to make a few modifications.”

Anticipating the dinner, Y/N felt like a goddess in the kefta Genya had crafted for her. It fit her perfectly, adjusted just above the waist as it properly accentuated her curves. The closed collar wrapped around her neck, fallen stars creating a golden woven blaze as a necklace, while moondust adorned the long, skin tight lacey sleeves. The bottom acted as a floor length dress with a long slit revealing skin up to middle of her thigh.

Entering the room with her head held high and Genya on her hand, Y/N felt even more confident about the eclipsed sun stitched across her heart. It was bound to attract attention if the rest of her makeshift kefta inspired dress didn’t.  

The moment she took a step inside, everybody’s head turned. The chatter died down, replaced by astonished gasps of pure awestruck admiration.

“I believe you’ve created a masterpiece”, Y/N whispers to Genya whose smile widens.

“You are what makes it so spectacular”, Genya winks.

“Don’t be modest. We both know it’s not in your nature.”

Giggling, Genya nods, “You’re right. I’m brilliant and this”, she steps aside to give her a once over again, “You are proof.”

Pursing her lips, Y/N felt her cheeks darken. Her plan was to draw attention so any potential ally she speaks to would be more inclined to accept her request, but she didn’t expect for everyone to stop and stare.

Tugging her by the arm, Genya pulled her closer. “You’ll never guess who is here”, she spoke in a hushed tone, looking to the left as the rest of the guests began speaking again and the music played softly in the background.

Following her line of view, Y/N’s heart came to a near stop as her eyes locked on his.

“Wasn’t he supposed to leave last night?” Genya whispers, but Y/N could hardly speak.

Breath caught in her throat, Y/N stared back at Kirigan who seemed to be just as breathless. She looked like a dream, a golden bird that carried all the happiness of the world on its wings.

“He didn’t”, Y/N looked away, knitting her eyebrows. “Why didn’t he”, she tried to finish her initial thought, but she couldn’t. If she spoke of the sudden ache that settled after the initial shock of his presence dispersed, she’d hate herself more. She’s weak if her feelings are hurt by a single night spent alone in a bed. She was certain now. She is foolish.

“You won’t be able to network tonight”, Genya’s frown made Y/N chuckle.

“You’ve been frowning so often since we met.”

Shrugging, Genya leaned in discreetly. “I can afford a few worry lines. I’ll just erase them later.”

Playfully rolling her eyes, Y/N smiled brightly. She would not allow Kirigan to dampen her mood. He can stay on his side of the room and she won’t spare him a single glance.

“I’ll test the waters”, Genya promised, “If I find anyone that we can work with, we can test their loyalty later.”

Glancing over Y/N’s shoulder, Genya’s eyes widened ever so slightly.

Frowning lightly, Y/N glanced at what has her so perplexed only to huff in frustration.

“Black suits you”, the Darkling compliments her. Holding out a hand for her to take, he glances at his open palm before raising his brow. He’s challenging her.

Looking around, she realizes everyone’s waiting for her reaction. As he told her once before, they may not be a love match, but their arrangement must seem successful to the unsuspecting eye.

“Dance with me and pretend they don’t exist”, his voice softened and she couldn’t believe this is the same man who so cruelly baited her, branding her as foolish earlier. How can he act as if nothing happened when she was still reeling from it? Not that he’d know, she always put care in every move she made around him.

She placed her hand on the palm of his, holding her breath as she chained her gaze to the abyss in his. There’s no going back, she thinks, nearly shuddering as he places his free hand on her hip.

“I thought you were gone by now”, she mussed. Choosing to take control of the conversation, she kept her neck straight as it secured a proper distance between their faces.

“We had a slight delay”, he said, “I’ll be gone tonight.”

Humming, she swallowed thickly. Avoiding looking at others, she remained in a staring match with her husband.

“How did you sleep?” The Darkling smirked, watching her eyes narrow at him.

“Quite well. Did you enjoy sharing your bed with someone else?” While her voice seemed cold and unattached, her words were anything but.

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy there?” Pursing his lips, he nearly laughed as she stepped on his foot. “I’ll take that as yes.”

“I’m merely concerned how it would look if word of you sleeping elsewhere got out. I prefer my pride and honor untouched and if you choose to find a lover, I should assume you’ll be discreet.”

Licking his lips, the great general didn’t laugh at her or sneer. There was no angry squinting or vile words. For once, he had a serious expression on his face that had nothing to do with the army or their arguments.

“I’m not the kind who would seek a lover while married. Even if the marriage is a mere arrangement.”

Scoffing, she clenched her jaw as he pulled her waist closer to him. 

“How many lovers have you taken?”

He raised a brow, “That’s a horrible question.”

“Because you lost count?” She narrows her eyes, the lips he found himself so fascinated with formed a thin, red line.

He doesn’t respond, so she tried again, “Why have you not married before?”

Now he looked amused, “That’s even worse!”

Shrugging, she smirks, “Well, ask me a question then! If all mine are so awful, let me hear yours.”

“Do you think I’m a very good liar or a very unlovable being?” Slowly pulling her body flush against his, Darkling looked deep into her eyes. “I’ve never loved anyone and I’ve manipulated everyone who has fallen in love with me. So?” Inhaling sharply, he watched a disarray of emotions cross her face as he asked again, “Liar or unlovable?”

“A liar. Because you are lying, not just to me but yourself.” Her breathing is shallow, strained even. “You have a heart, General, but you’re cowering like a scared little boy instead of just facing the facts.”

“And what are those?” His voice is darker as are his intentions.

If they were alone, she was certain he’d be kissing her lips now. For some reason, it seemed he enjoyed their arguments. He liked it when she fought him almost like he didn’t know any other form of affection.

“That you care. You care and you hate yourself for it.” Stopping their dance, she managed a faint smile. “But don’t worry, I’m not spending my time waiting for you to accept it.”

Brushing his fingers across the left side of her face, he cocked his head ever so slightly, “Is it possible you’ve got this all wrong? From where I stand, you’re the one who cares – perhaps a bit too much? Let me remind you, this marriage is a sham. You are my wife, but I do not love you, I do not care for you and if you were killed right in this very spot, I would avenge you but solely for the arrangement to remain unsullied.”

Nodding, more to herself than him, she took a step back from him. For the first time ever, she drew back. “For once, we’re on the same page of the same book.”

The music stops. Looking to the man clinking his glass, Y/N’s lips part. She didn’t even realize it, but too often she entirely forgoes breathing in Kirigan’s presence.

Taking a deep breath, she nearly laughs. Kirigan…General…The Darkling. She even called him husband, yet she never even heard his first name. How odd is it to marry a man whose first name is a mystery to you, she thought.

“If you’ll excuse me”, she nods curtly without sparing him a glance. 

Her seat at the dinner table was beside Genya, while Kirigan was placed all the way on the other side of the room. She smirked, satisfied she’ll have some peace during her meal. She never quite liked the table formation in a wide U form before, but she blessed the ones who created it on this evening.

Studying him from afar, she couldn’t deny the attraction she felt for him. It wasn’t some cosmic connection that she hoped she’d share with her husband, rather wishful thinking. Longing for him is out of the question. He may be the most handsome man she had ever seen, but it’s not at all something she’d thank the saints for. If he were less appealing, she’d at least be free of torment his looks bring. The devil is real and he’s not a goat like man as humans believed. There are no horns, no tails – he’s beautiful, a fallen angel, but an angel nonetheless.

“You’re staring at him again”, Genya speaks in a hushed tone, her smile audible.

“I’m not”, Y/N replies, “I simply looked over in a direction and he happened to be seated there.”

“Then why was that look on your face?” Genya raises an eyebrow.

“What?” Y/N asks, incredulous. “What look?”

“You have a certain way of looking at him”, she informs. Letting out an tired huff, Genya explains, “You look at him and it’s like you’re staring at the night sky littered with stars.”

“So?”

Genya looks down before whispering, “You love night skies littered with stars.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N stared at her food for the rest of the evening. One bite after another and her plate was quickly emptied. Her stomach felt like it would burst, but she didn’t care. Most people claim they can’t eat under stress, but she was the opposite – her appetite only grew.

“He’s standing up”, Genya informed her and despite wishing she remained impassive, Y/N’s eyes shot up to where he was sitting.

With a lump at the back of her throat, she watched him as he headed to the door. A part of her hoped he’d be decent enough to bid his farewell, to acknowledge her at least. That part of her needed to be destroyed, she decided. It’s the part of her that would ruin her mission and for what? If she truly wanted to, she could have him on his back and under her. If she wanted him, he’d be hers – at least his body would. The principle she held onto was more important and so, she swallowed thickly and looked to her empty plate in order to stop her weakness from showing.

As she looked away, the Darkling looked back at her from across the room. He felt a strange tightness in his heart and once he saw she didn’t follow him with her gaze, his heart dropped. Furrowing his eyebrows, he kept his gaze on her for a while longer – her beauty was unmatched by anything he had ever seen. White looked good on her, every color did – but black fabric hugging her curves could bring a dead man back to life.

With a heavy heart and frown etched on his face, the Darkling turned his back and left the room, the Palace, the strangest, most beautiful creature he ever laid eyes on.

He carried her in his thoughts ever since. It aggravates him how quickly she’s gotten under his skin. Most of the month before their marriage was finalized was spent in petty comments about their armies or their distaste for one another. She was insufferable, maddening and entirely different from what he expected.

And yet, even then, the Darkling hoped she’d lose her patience and either leave or tell him she loves him. If she left, he’d be free of her and the shackles of an undesirable marriage, but if she told him she loves him, perhaps he’d believe her. If he knew there was ever a possibility of her loving him, he’d dare assume he might be deserving of love – because she may have dubbed him a liar, but he believes himself to be unlovable too. He never saw the point in allowing himself to feel a thing for her when it would be futile, wasted emotions on a woman sworn to hate him.

Once he was done chasing a rumor of a stag up north, the Darkling had to accept it too was a futile. Going after a legendary animal wasted so much of his time that he couldn’t even believe how foolish he’s become too. The stag must not be real after all.

Approaching Little Palace, he felt almost eager to run up to their shared chambers and see her. Even if she’d likely have a few choice words for him, he hoped he could make her blood boil just to hear her speak. He’d never admit it, but he missed someone he could converse with without dying of boredom.

“General”, Genya rushed to Kirigan who nearly growled at the distraction. However, Genya seemed distraught, panicked enough to draw his attention.

“Yes?”

Swallowing thickly, she wiped a stray tear slipping down her cheek. “It’s Y/N.”

His heart stops at the sound of her shaky voice, his jaw clenching before speaking. “What happened? Is she alright?”

“She went for a ride this morning and she hasn’t been seen since.”

Darkling’s gaze hardens as he grips Genya’s arms and shakes her lightly. “What do you mean?!”

“We sent riders after lunch, because I was worried she missed two meals already”, gasping for air, Genya’s tears made tracks, “The snow covered her tracks.”

She left me, he thought. She deemed me unlovable, unworthy. She left.

“They managed to find her mare”, Genya continues through tears, “It was decapitated and left in the woods.”

“Woods?” He frowns, wondering why she’d stray from the meadow and then he realized. He’s the one she rode into the woods with. She must have thought the woods were safe. They were at the time, only because he was with her and he’d never let any harm come to her.

“There were signs of struggle, but the snow is making it hard for us to track them.”

Releasing a visibly shaken Genya, he grunts. Biting his lower lip, he paced before her as his hand ran through his hair. She never saw him so worried, so mad before. He looked like a man walking a fine line – a line between madness and sanity.

“Call everyone”, he orders, “We must find her.”

Exhaling in relief, Genya smiled as Ivan emerged, having heard everything.

“Why would we do that?”

A pause ensues as the Darkling takes a step toward Ivan. “I haven’t made a promise in so long”, he spoke but in truth, it’s been hundreds of years since he made anyone a promise. “I promised her I’d protect her.” His voice was ragged, but controlled. “So I’m making a new promise right here, if they harm a single hair on her head, I will end them all. I will do it with a smile on face and I will bathe in their blood!”

They took her from him and he had every intention of ripping the world apart with his bare hands and for once, the thought of how far he’d go for that insolent woman didn’t frighten him. He barely knows her, he certainly doesn’t love her, but Saints help those who touched his wife.

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Part 6

[onyourhyuck]

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐊ᵃ𝐫𝐦𝐚 [ Season 3 ]

synopsis; • Fast forwarding six years, Park areum is coming back to the journalist industry. A case from thirteen years ago re-opens when Areum finds something suspicious around a drug ring in clubs and her parents car accident from thirteen years ago have suspicious links. However something always trails back to past that she’s never knew about.

warnings; • mafia jeno Au, mystery, thriller, SMUTTT NO MINORS, ANGST, police exo au, romance, park areum and lee jeno are married , minjae and nayoung are cuties, horror (scary death scenes). gruesome graphic detailed language.

Now Part 7 !! || —> Next Part 8.

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Jeno walks into the unground training base where the newly found soldiers were training, under kun and Renjun’s care. These two were fixing these newbies into the finest of men to serve him.

Their leader, their pride and their brother.

Renjun and Kun saw Jeno arriving where they stop the trainees midway, blowing the whistle. Once they heard the announcement bell the hundreds and hundreds on top of each other newbs stand in a straight one single file line.

“Salute the boss!” Renjun shouts on top of his lungs like his life has depended on it. The soldiers hit their shoes together, voice in unison loudly welcoming Jeno. The man nods acknowledging them.

He would observe the soldiers standing still, raising an eyebrow. They seem pretty determined to pass all three tasks.

“What task are you all on?” Jeno interrogated seriously, with his menacing eyes staring right into their souls. The solider up front dares to answer him, looking back at Jeno. “Task two sir!”

He hums smirking. “Your name, soldier?” The young guy does not break single eye contact with the guy he will call his boss one day. “Lucas. Wong Lucas.”

Jeno pats Lucas’ shoulder. “Good luck on your task.” He walks away approaching Renjun and Kun. The older man blows the whistle again. “Go train before the next task is called!” Kun orders.

“What brings you here Jeno?” Renjun would ask with a short welcoming smile. Usually the mafia leader wouldn’t have time to come down and say hello, paperwork really is main job lately. But now, Jeno has managed to finish everything and he could really just admire his base that has grown over the years.

Jeno sighs, stretching. “I finished all my paperwork for once, so i have no more work to do.” Kun approaches the man with a short smile. “That’s rare. Go home, take a bath, I don’t know.” Kun tells.

The man looks over at the time on his watch raising his eyebrow. “No one’s home. I don’t feel like being home alone.” He adds. He then realised he hasn’t seen one guy at work, at all in the base.

He can’t bother areum at work, she will kick him out herself if he were to disturb the only place she actually gets work done at. The children are at school. Jisung and Mina are on their honeymoon, so he can’t play video games with jisung.

Everyone has jobs right now at the base… it’s just him who is free from doing anything.

“Where’s lee haechan?” Jeno questions. Kun and Renjun both look at each other shrugging. Honestly he hasn’t been coming to the base at all, in fact he hasn’t been working here whatsoever.

“He hasn’t been at the base for weeks actually, thought you sent him on a mission.”

Seemingly the mafia soldier has been doing his own research.

Jeno walks away when he got the same answer. This was a slight problem considering Haechan has a very important job in the hierarchy base. Where could he be though?

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Haechan would be deep asleep in his bed. The room hidden away from the sunshine outside the house, it was pure blackness and he was in deep slumber because of it. The boy couldn’t sleep at all last night, actually it was a very specific moment keeping his brain wide awake and reactive.

The tired ball of sunshine was out of social energy, more so hence he was knocked out unconscious to the point he cannot hear his doorbell ring either.

Jeno stands still outside the house sighing, pressing the doorbell again and again. The impatient man was done waiting, he decides to climb over the wall, then jump down and knock on the front door that way.

When he got there to the door he had to wait at least another minute which was no answer. Jeno couldn’t believe he might not be home. He groans half annoyed, he will kill haechan if he slept in and not went to work.

The mafia leader was pretty used to barging into houses that weren’t his, call it work experience because Jeno was surely skill to unlock a door by picking it with a needle neatly and then open in with ease. He got in through the main front door.

When he has entered it seemed like he was home considering he saw shoes at the front door laying there as well as the leather jacket. Jeno raises an eyebrow, the younger boy cannot keep his place clean that’s for sure.

The man walks slowly in every room, no sign of haechan until he opens the door to a bedroom suite. He couldn’t see him first, but he heard loud snores and drooling. Jeno widely opens the door, watching the man sleeping with slight disappointment.

“Ugh this room stinks of smoke.” Jeno adds slightly alarmed. He assumed he burned something here considering how strong the smoke was. He was quick to open the curtains, sunshine erupting in the room like a blazing comet.

Haechan falls from the side and down the bed, upside. His legs and hips resting on the bed but his head hit the soft carpet ground, messy black bed hair and tired under eyes as well as pupils twitching at the blinding sun. The blurry figure in front of him stands still , watching himself

“Short peach that you?” Haechan said, completely love struck with a delusional smile and small squinting eyes. The boy finally rubs his eyes, only to be met with a close up of jeno’s face.

He screams, sitting up but the moment he did the boy hits head with jeno. The two guys shout in pain holding their foreheads, falling on top of each other like a rolling potato sacks.

“Ow fuck.” Haechan murmurs and Jeno raises his head, rolling off the young boy. “Who the hell is short peach?”

“Clearly not you.” The tan boy grumbles out, sitting up. He did not want to wake up to jeno’s face, as much as he loved and cared for him.

Jeno sniffs the air again but the strong stench of cigarettes pulls him to smell haechan’s hair. He gags, shaking his head. “Did you smoke?” Jeno exclaims.

The tan boy tiredly yawns nodding. “Yeah I know I smell,by the way how did you get here?” Jeno stands up speaking, “nevermind how I got here, you don’t smoke in fact you hate it.”

Haechan murmurs, still half asleep. “I made out with a girl who was a smoker.” He explains.

“Was… a smoker?”

“Yeah, I’m her substitute or something.” He croaks out a smile laying back down on the bed, turning round to hug a pillow. Jeno looks at him confused but shrugs it off, he is definitely in love, he thought.

“You have work at the base, get up. You’re late as well.” Jeno adds, leaving the bedroom. Haechan murmurs. “I really don’t want to boss.”

“I can drag you myself then.” He heard him shout from the hallways into his room, this made Haechan roll out of bed instantly, pushing off the pillow and covers. He runs out. “No I’m going don’t worry!”

No one wants to piss off jeno and then get dragged out…

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The constant tapping onto the keyboard brought areum back into reality, she was finishing last touches on a smaller case about the uprise of drug use. She tilts her head, proof reading it all from the top and down to the bottom a few times.

Areum gives a small nod. The article was done and all she can now do is send it to Mr Ahn to post. The woman looks down back on the car crash case, sighing.

She’s stuck on getting leads.

Karina walks inside humming happily a tune, pushing the door gentle to close as she knocks on the glass letting herself known to the journalist. “Miss Park you have a guest today.”

The workaholic journalist scowls, not looking up from the files. “Tell my husband to leave, I’m busy. He’ll only distract me.”

“It’s actually detective Baekhyun.” Karina mentions a name that Areum has been avoiding for a few weeks after the wedding incident. The woman sits up with head lifting at Karina, awaiting for an order on what to do. She gives a fake smile.

“Invite him in.” Areum tells, not pleased about it but maybe she could get some help.

Karina walks out and the next moment Baekhyun walks inside himself, closing the door and then roams around the room with intentions of curiosity. The detective side tracks on the book shelves and awards Areum has won.

He whistles. “I am surprised you let me in.” Baekhyun spoke honesty. Areum looks at the detective with a slight glare, when he sat on the couch watching Areum who was at her desk.

Areum huffs. “What do you want detective, I’ll be civil for now.”

“I’m here to see if you have any clues or leads for the case. I’m here to assume that you do not have any, especially with that frown on your face.”

The man motions to the journalist who looks away half annoyed that he was correct, it was obvious too. She sits up from the chair and walks to the front sitting next to Baekhyun, trailing along her hand to one of the case files she brought with her from the desk.

“It’s as if they never existed.” Areum admits, frustrated. “I never encountered a case like this before.”

A journalist is nothing without people and that is what areum here is struggling with gravely. Her parents were removed like they were dust and the people that knew them or they knew, even family have been erased from their information. Areum and Jisung were the only known people, but barely enough to question. Baekhyun looks down, he understands and this is what he speculates at the wedding; hence why he asked to team up.

“I told you, if you team up with me you wouldn’t be in this situation.” Baekhyun adds with his know it all persona. Areum scoffs. “It’s my case. Why would I trust a cop who works at a corrupted career.”

“You can’t call me corrupted. I know plenty corrupted journalists.”

She side eyes him before returning to look at the files, flipping through the pages with her thumb. “I just don’t get it.” Areum said, sighing. “It’s as if they poof into thin air.”

“That’s what you call a powerful person working in on it. Maybe many powerful people are in on it.” He trails softly, running his hands together to interlock whilst seriously speaking. “I can’t let them go free, I can’t let you know who free.” Baekhyun spat.

Areum’s eyes flicker with a slight sparkle glint in them. She puckers her lips in defence. She knows exactly what he means; it boils her thick blood. “Jeno is an innocent man.” Areum said starting to protest against the so-called man of the law.

Baekhyun gave the woman a sympathetic but provoking pout, he wants to feel sorry for the poor woman blinded by love, but he can’t if areum is this much of a stubborn headstrong fool.

He mocks. “Who says so? Is it his wife who is speaking to me right now, or, is it the journalist who doesn’t convey half the truth the world needs to see and hear.”

He would witness areum going silent but the expression said it all: she was angered, offended and at the same time he saw a small hint of conflicting to prove that she does have some minor doubts about jeno, but she’s afraid how that would make her seem; to accuse and think such bad things about the person you must really love, is very barbaric. Baekhyun said nothing else, he needed to say nothing else, because he said everything he needed to. He got through to Areum just a bit more.

Areum’s breath hitches when Baekhyun has stood up walking out the glass door and then left the company floor. She rushed out the door looking around, by the time she wanted to chase after Baekhyun, to say what ran in her mind, he was gone and she was far too late.

The journalist was pale and stressed once again. Mark approaches from behind tapping the woman’s shoulder.

“Miss Park?” Mark side trails looking at the woman who was gazing at the elevator Baekhyun has took to leave. She turns to Mark wondering what he wants.

Mark grins ear to ear. “Did we get a lead from detective?”

Areum frowns. “No. Keep searching on the computers.” She strictly said walking away. Mark silently cries going on his knees begging, folding his hands to pray to god.

He swore that if he has to type on another keyboard in this life time, he will combust; because his hand keeps on getting cramps and bruises, along with Karina.

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“Why weren’t you at the base?” Jeno discussed side by side when they arrive at their base. Haechan clears his throat, he really has lots of explaining to do.

“Aren’t you going to answer?” Jeno turns around facing the younger man.

Haechan flashes a short smile, a nervous one. “Yeah about that. I have plenty of things to discuss with you. Two things.”

The man nods crossing arms, facing the tan boy who suddenly fell into a series of coma where he was in deep though figuring out what to say or how exactly to explain everything. It wasn’t necessarily easy to tell your boss that you’ve been stalking this person who was spying on you and then your own wife is up to something illegal.

Haechan sighs. “First thing, at the wedding someone was spying on you and areum so i followed the person for a few weeks. She’s suspicious. That’s all.”

“Another thing, Areum is researching a case that we’re both involved in.”

Jeno raises an eyebrow, unable to understand either problem. Who would spy on them? For what reason? Why was Areum researching something she shouldn’t be?

“What’s areum doing?” The leader half whispers approaching Donghyuck. He looks at Jeno, spitting everything he could.

“She’s researching her parents car crash case. I suspect she knows a lot more than she should know.” Haechan let’s out and Jeno’s eyes darken. This wasn’t safe for anyone to know.

“She knows it’s her parents, she probably knows it wasn’t a mistake that they died. Shouldn’t you tell her what really happened?”

“No, i can’t. Let’s find an alternative later. Keep spying on that girl alright? In fact don’t come to the base at all, until you find out everything about her.”

“Something tells me i know who she is.”

His Karma Masterlist.

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating, copyrighting and plagiarising my work, thank you. Reblog, comment, like and follow me for more it helps a girl out <3

🥲 lowkey giving my readers trust issues about Jeno rn.

[thefirstknife]

True, but only because they were given more characterisation. Suraya really hasn't been touched since vanilla, while everyone else was given plenty of time to shine and multiple seasons worth of content. Both Devrim and Suraya would've been up there if they got the same attention.

But on that note, Suraya and Zavala have plenty of material together. She already participated in a massive invasion of Earth before and was an instrumental element of our victory. She fought side by side with Guardians in the field and has experience in the matter. Zavala literally called her a Guardian, and reinforced it in Guardian Games when she participated alongside Zavala. As in, they literally did activities together.

"Thought it was 'only for Guardians.'"

"Semantics," Zavala said. He stood over a map laid out on a wooden table. "And that was before you pushed us into the lead for Lost Sector clearance." He pointed at a place on the map. "What do you think? Our next point of attack."

She also decided to participate for Titans:

"Right." Hawthorne grinned. "You know, maybe 'we' Titans have this thing in the bag."

"Oh, we do," Zavala said, studying the map. "We most certainly do."

She led the Vanguard into the City for the final assault and made plans with them directly. She was involved with saving people and escorting and protecting refugees during the Red War.

She was compared to Guardians multiple times by different people:

The one with Zavala was while she was fighting with him side by side in the middle of a sieged city and after she saved his life. Like, he was about to be crushed by a Legionary and she blew the enemy's head off.

This woman would not immediately jump into action to protect the City and Earth from an invasion? :

No shot. If anything, the story with Amanda in Defiance is a rehash of Suraya's story from the Red War. Imo, it would've been more fitting to expand on Suraya instead of repeat basically the same thing but with a different character.

Also important to note that Suraya is Devrim and Marc's adopted daughter. Eva's assessment which pretty much entirely fits within this season's story and embodies the word "defiance":

Suraya Hawthorne is, in my mind, the definition of doing what you think is right regardless of the consequences. She knew it was right to help struggling families, she knew it was right to not put Devrim and Marc in harm's way, and she knew it was right to give them some peace of mind by staying close. That is the kind of true courage I have always admired.

She is mentioned as being frequently in contact with her dads so neither of them mentioning her during an invasion on their home is out of character. Her relationship with Zavala and Devrim could've been expanded to be equally interesting, since she already has strong ties to both of them. Her story could've fit perfectly in a season about the Earth being invaded by Shadow Legion, given her expertise the last time Earth was invaded by effectively the same force.

But if there were some technical constraints or some other reasons like availability of her VA/willingness to recast her (which is understandable!), I think she at the very least deserved to be mentioned a single time in a lore tab or a voice line or a bounty text. Her existence was literally not acknowledged at all. Devrim did not make a single comment or expressed worry or questioned how she's doing experiencing the same thing that happened 5 years ago.

The only thing Amanda has over Suraya is her ties to Crow, which I believe is the crux of the issue in a lot of different ways and which is a whole other conversation. But even with Crow, Suraya could've filled basically the same slot for him and perhaps even better. They just had a throwback to how Uldren used to be a spotter for a sniper in a tab about Crow and Devrim; who else is a sniper? Suraya. They could've added more of that with for example the fact that Suraya has a bird and Uldren used to keep birds. And Crow is also obviously tied to birds. Suraya could've been an equally good mortal human friend to Crow as Amanda.

The point is that the potential for more depth in these other relationships also exists, if one were to choose to write about them and expand on them. But they were not chosen, which is not a huge problem on its own; as I said, Suraya's story is over and we're not in dire need of any new answers about her. But the same can be said for Amanda. Expanding on Amanda was a choice they made. That choice could've been made for Suraya as well.

I don't find this a huge problem overall, but it's definitely something that's on my mind as very odd. Again, the potential is there and the ties and relationships are there as well. And I'm most certainly confused about zero mentions of Suraya in a season where her dad features prominently for the first time in 5 years. This just doesn't track for me at all and I actively consider it a minor blunder. The rest is simply me thinking about a possible different way this season could've played out without compromising the rest of the characters involved or the rest of the plot. Genuinely nothing much would have to be changed to swap the two characters. Purely speculative look into another option for this season and what could've been told differently!

I think they're quietly writing Hawthorne out of the game with how the past few years, the community treated her as the "Clan meme dialogue vendor" :(

Honestly, yeah, feels like she will remain just a vendor.

To be fair, Suraya's story is over for all intents and purposes, but on the other hand so was Amanda's. None of these characters HAVE to return and do things actively in the game anymore, but they CAN. We're not exactly losing any important plot threads if she's not in the game, but it's also a shame because she could be used as a side character the same way Amanda was!

Especially in Defiance. I honestly think that Suraya would've been a better choice rather than Amanda. Devrim is there so she can work alongside her dad! Marc is frequently mentions so there's a family story and they're all mortal humans so there's the whole danger they tried to convey with Amanda. Suraya is also much more closely connected to running heroic operations in the EDZ in the middle of a war; it's what she's famous for. Suraya going off in the field makes more sense than Amanda, the pilot, doing so.

And ultimately, while I don't want Suraya to die, Suraya dying and being hinted at becoming a Guardian makes more sense. Suraya was shown multiple times as being close to Guardian values. Zavala called her a Guardian in the Red War! And she asked to participate actively in Guardian Games, which Zavala allowed! Now that the season is over, obviously we didn't get Amanda to become a Guardian... for now. But the possibility exists for that to happen at some point, if they want to do it. It would, again, make more sense with Suraya. Especially if they're so desperate to remove her. The only issue is her status as a vendor.

There could be a lot of reasons to go with Amanda rather than bring back Suraya, a lot of which are about resources and technical problems so I understand. But I definitely don't understand not giving Suraya a nod in the lore this season. Truly odd.

[echo-of-sounds]

who cares if it’s cliche?

-Aizawa x gn!reader-

cute gif

This was a commission for @seraphicghost​! They asked for a fluffy/sweet scenario with the reader confessing in the rain plus a kiss. Thank you so much for the commission! This was super cute to write!

“Here’s your beer, boys!” Nemuri set the bottles down for Hizashi and Aizawa. She scooted in beside you, chirping, “And here’s your Sex in the Driveway.”

“Thanks,” you droned, choosing to ignore her suggestive eyebrow wiggle. She wasn’t one to let anyone live anything down, and now that she noticed, it has only gotten worse.

Hizashi chugged his beer, then slammed it rather loudly. “Alright! Sho, I’ve shown up at work high, I’ve had a one-night stand with Nemuri, and I’ve never been on a rollercoaster.”

“The former.”

“What? How’d you figure that out so quickly?!”

“Hizashi,” both you and Aizawa said, telling him to control his volume. Aizawa finished flatly, “You can’t not talk about everything you do. You’d tell me something like that. Not to mention how useless you are high. The entire school would’ve noticed.”

You hid your smile behind your drink. The faint smirk that lifted Aizawa’s lips fluttered your chest, spinning into your stomach. If only he let himself smile more, experience happiness more, then you could see his handsome smile more. Dark eyes flicked to yours, flustering your heated heart further.

You had to look away and drink some water. You were an adult. He shouldn’t be making you flashback to high school crushes and wistful, young romance.

The game continued for a few more rounds, eventually petering out. Nemuri leaned against you. Alcohol swarmed from her sigh. Pink flushed her cheeks, sticking hair to skin. She mumbled into her glass before finishing it, “I think it’s time to head home.”

“I’ll get a ride.” You clicked on your phone, and it wasn’t long till it beeped: “Car’s here.”

Sooner than you could even move a leg, Hizashi jumped up, swooping an arm around Nemuri’s waist. “I’ll bring her home. You two have fun.”

“Hizashi,” you called after him. He didn’t acknowledge you as he escorted her outside.

They just abandoned you with Aizawa, who was already looking at you when you glanced over. You went to take a drink. The empty glass prevented that. Lemon slices and ice taunted you, laughing that your last barrier between you two was gone. You set the cup down with a sigh.

Shouta nodded at it, “Want another drink?”

“Sure.”

You were once again beaten to your feet; He stood and took the glass. “Same thing?”

“Yeah, another Sex-” Your voice flatlined upon meeting his eyes. Despite the shadow under them, the red in them, and the heavy brow above, their sudden sharpness took your breath, completely unlike their usual dull and dry tone. The change nailed your brain useless.

“More sex?” His lips lifted ever so slightly. When no sound escaped your hanging mouth, he goaded, “More sex then.”

You slumped in the chair, holding your too-fast heart, replaying the bumbling. Saying ‘sex’ while being within two feet of his face, able to discern the bristles of his beard, a crack in his bottom lip, how attractive- Stop. If you couldn’t grow up and say something to him, then don’t bother thinking it.

A blue drink was placed in front of you. It was only your second, yet combined with the tickling in your neck and the bite in your chest, it felt like you were four or five in.

Shouta retook his seat across from you. Whatever you were feeling, anxiety or infatuation, that weighed your heart, lightened with his soft smile. It reached up to a soar when he asked about your most recent patrol.

Thankfully, the conversation from there flowed smoothly. You could keep up with no fumbling and simply enjoy your time with him. And you even got to see a couple more smiles, though they were faint. Every single one made thoughts echo inside: Just ask. It’s not that hard. Just ask! It made it difficult to focus on his words.

Once you finished your drink, your body, while light, lagged tired. You spoke through a yawn, “I’m gonna head out, Sho.”

“Need a cab?”

“No. I actually think I’m going to walk. It’s a pleasant night.” You stood and zipped up your sweatshirt.

He mirrored you and fixed his scarf. It wasn’t his Hero one, just a simple dark gray one, still allowing him ample room to nuzzle into it. Plus, it made him look reasonably fashionable compared to how he typically dressed. He grabbed your wallet from the table, holding it out for you, “I paid for the drink upfront.”

“Shouta, you didn’t need to do that.”

“No big deal,” he shrugged it off.

Yes, it was. If the others were here, you doubted- No. You knew he wouldn’t have done that.

You accepted your wallet and his kindness, muttering on the way out, “Thank you.”

The stroll home started quietly. Gusts blew your hood around. Shouta maneuvered to the outside of the sidewalk, so he was between you and traffic. Your elbows bumped every few steps. Neither of you commented or changed positions, letting it keep happening. If anything, you wanted to step closer to feel the emitting from his body.

Water dripped down the back of your sweatshirt, startling you. The single droplet increased to a steady rain in seconds. You hugged your hood and yourself. He nudged your arm and nodded to a nearby drugstore. It wasn’t much. But it was shelter.

Inside, Shouta slicked his hair back. Pale fingers combed through thick black, unveiling a sharp jaw and lovely scruff; too stunning to always hide under a mess of hair. The wet strands struggled to fit into an elastic. With enough finagling, they finally pulled into place, leaving room for the darkened line on his cheekbone to stick out. Just like his eyes did…

Which were staring at you. Dammit. You turned into an aisle, searching for anything interesting that wasn’t him. All it would take was a handful of sentences then he would know. If he reciprocated, all would be grand; your worry was for naught. However, if he didn’t, the plague of dread that’s accompanied the crush would crash. Never knowing felt like the better option.

You walked the main aisle. There were pool toys, makeup, hygiene, sex toys that you vehemently avoided, fearing Shouta would see the smallest glance towards them. A pair of fleece socks got your attention. The inside was incredibly fluffy and thick. The outside had kitty pawprints designed all over them.

“These are cute,” you smiled and showed them to the approaching Shouta.

He grunted and continued. It didn’t hide the fact you knew he thought them cute as well. Cats were the only things he gave into.

You combed the rest of the rows of items. Not one thing piqued your interest enough to buy. You searched for Shouta, finding him at the checkout, buying a pack of gum and some migraine relief pills. He lifted his brow.

You answered the silent question, “Didn’t see anything special.”

“Not even the cat socks?”

“If I’m still thinking about them in a few days, I’ll come back for them,” you smiled.

After thanking the cashier, your walk home resumed. The rain had stopped, leaving everything glossy and smelling of the earth. It lifted the air between yours and his shoulders.

Thick fingers extended a piece of gum. His eyes remained on the sidewalk when you took it and thanked him. The fresh mint sent a little chill down your back, frosting your mouth as you watched him, thinking, ‘Now was a perfect time. No one’s around. You just need to say it. A few sentences and you’re done.’

The instant your mouth opened, rain poured, loud and heavy. Your hood provided sparse protection.

Shouta grumbled into his scarf, “So much for a nice night.”

“Sorry… But you didn’t have to walk with me, you know? You could’ve called for a ride.”

His eyebrows scrunched with a groan.

“Here’s your turn, anyway. Get home fast,” you called over the pattering, nodding towards the left turnoff. The top of his apartment peaked out over the smaller buildings.

“It’s late. I’ll walk you home,” he grumbled again. His voice carried much less complaint this time and more concern.

Both of you picked up the pace, fast-walking down the sidewalks and hustling across the streets.

Only at your door did you face Shouta, not caring about being soaking wet anymore. He was closer than you expected, nearly bumping into his chest. You looked to his mouth, unable to make it to his eyes, unsure if you wanted to see them this close. You surprised yourself with how steady your voice sounded, “Do you want to come inside? Drink something warm?”

“I’m alright. Just wanted to make sure you got home alright.”

“I did. Thank you.” Your legs didn’t move. It’d be a whole lot warmer, calmer, dryer inside. “I know Hizashi drags you out to these things, but I still hope you had fun tonight.”

“I did.” His flat face gave you no emotional indicators.

“Good, I’m glad.” You said your goodbyes, yet your feet stayed put. Water soaked through all of your clothing. Goosebumps pricked down your arms. The rain vaguely obscured the handsome features you’ve been ogling at, wishing to call them yours.

He spun and took five steps away before you mustered, “Shouta?”

He faced you, waiting, half scowling, probably, hopefully, due to the rain.

“There’s something I’d like- There’s something I want- I want you to know. It’s okay if you don’t- If you’re not on the same page as me. I just- just…” Just say it. It was only a few words. You sucked in, preparing yourself mentally, emotionally, and physically for the absolute worst outcome, then spoke as confident as you could, “I just think you’re- I wanted to tell you that I’m-” Your heart heated as you finished, “I’m interested in you… more than a friend.”

The downpour built. You could no longer see his face. His mouth mumbled something. Unable to hear, you shuffled close, wiped water from your face, and asked him to repeat himself.

Shouta closed the tiny gap between your chests. You could only look at his mouth. This time though, you wanted to meet his eyes. It was the damn rain preventing that.

A finger lifted your chin. Instinct lowered your eyelids. The rain ceased on your face as lips connected to yours. They pressed unexpectedly sweetly, only to curl into a smirk and pull away.

You matched his smile, struggling to hold in the laugh, “A kiss in the rain, Shouta? Don’t you think it’s kinda cliche?”

“Who cares?” The hold on your chin tightened a bit and guided you back to him. All the anxiety bubbled up, popping and releasing as a giggle. Weight freed from your shoulders. You cupped his cheeks, kissing back with new excitement.

[tomthesoftie]

her hidden crystal tears

❧ synopsis: keeping a relationship under covers isn’t an easy feat. when a popular, successful jock of a college, who has many obsessive fans, dates an average student, they decide that it’s better to keep their relationship secret due to safety reasons, but when the jock starts to become more ignorant of how their s/o is feeling, what might happen to their barely stable relationship?

❧ pairing: jock!tom x fem!reader

❧ genre: angst

❧ warnings: lots of angst (?), petty girl fights technically harassment, crying, pent-up emotions, unhealthy coping

❧ a/n: this is an unedited fic, as always and I didn’t know how to end it because I had two endings in mind. I might write both endings (angst and fluff) or maybe I’ll let you guys suffer lmao I’m kidding I originally was writing a blurb about the reader hiding their emotions/hiding their tears by feigning happiness, but I ended up writing like a 2500+ word fic lmao. also if some shit seems wack, it’s because I posted this on my phone.

alternate fluff ending here: let them flow

masterlist                     prompt list                     add yourself on my taglist!

Swerving through the large crowd, you found yourself a seat on the filled bleachers, squeezing to fit in the front rows to spot your boyfriend. Looking about, you located your brunette partner jogging into the field arms raised in the air, pointing towards the crowd you were hidden in. He waved his hand mindlessly, eyes scanning the ocean of screaming schoolmates and “fangirls.” His gaze finally fell on you, and his face lit up, bringing a pink haze to your cheeks as he blew a kiss in your direction. The girls sat beside you screamed out, pretending to catch his kiss and sending one back. 

You and Tom decided to keep your relationship under covers, due to the overly obsessive “fangirls.” Both of you knew it would be the best option to keep you safe. If you were ever injured or threatened by one of his “fangirls,” Tom wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. 

Tom held the leather ball in the crook of his arm, with the other pushing his way through the attacking team. Calculating his success, he dove into a touchdown, scoring him and his team the winning point. 

The anticipating crowd jumped up, cheering loudly and hugging one another, whereas the visitor team’s crowd let out a loud, mutual sigh of disappointment. 

You jumped out of your seat, screaming out your lungs as you stared, wide-eyed, at your beaming boyfriend. His teammates had lifted him into the air, tossing him about. You giggled as he caught your eye, slyly winking at you. 

Lost in your own world, you almost ran down to where Tom was before you saw a hoard of girls jumping and reaching their arms out to grab at him. Frowning, you walked away from the crowd to retreat to the warmth of Tom’s car. 

You scrolled through the collection of images you and Tom had had together, warmly smiling at the memories. You let out a breathy laugh, selecting on one specific memory: Tom’s head laid on your lap, eyes shut, and lips puckered lightly as he let out even breaths. 

The car door beside you opened, shaking you out of your train of thought. 

“Hey,” your eyes were met with the blue pupils you weren’t expecting. 

“Haz?” You looked behind him, hoping to find your beloved boyfriend. 

“Tom — um — he told me to drive you back to the dorms, said he would be heading to the celebratory party,” Harrison explained, eyes shaking with concern and sympathy. 

“Oh, I understand,” your smile not quite making it to your eyes.

“He was being hoarded by his,” Haz hesitates, “fangirls. He didn’t want you to get involved.”

“It’s all good, Hazzy. No need to worry about me,” you let out a feigned laugh. 

You stepped into the warm building, waving Harrison goodbye. Another football victory, same schedule. 

You go to Tom’s game to support and cheer him on, Tom wins, you avoid him, Tom’s “fangirls” hoard him, you wait in Tom’s car, Harrison comes instead of Tom, Harrison brings you back to your dorm while Tom goes to his party, you fall asleep in your own arms: the ‘Tom’s football victory’ schedule, named and created by you. 

To say the least, you weren’t fond of the last half of the schedule. You always were left alone to celebrate Tom’s victory on your own, while Tom was doing who-knows-what at the afterparty. 

In full honesty, you were slowly growing tired of hiding your affection for one another. You didn’t know how much longer you could hold onto this style of dating. If the pair of you were going to date, you would date publicly and however you wanted, whether it meant risking your safety or not. Besides, you weren’t some helpless girl that doesn’t and can’t protect herself.

The next day, you woke up with an aching head and puffy eyes. Groaning, you looked into your mirror located at the corner of your room. You flinched at the sight of your pink, tear-stained cheeks and tangled, mop hair. Pushing yourself off the soft mattress, you stumbled into your bathroom, prepping a warm shower to start your day off fresh.

With your laptop and notebook resting in your arms, against your chest, you made your way to your next lecture. You walked sluggishly across the large campus, occasionally catching a glimpse of passing football team members. 

A specific group you walked past caught your attention. You saw the familiar brunette curls in your peripheral vision, immediately making you turn your gaze towards it. You saw his warm smile as he chuckled with his group of friends, some of his “fangirls” giggling along with the group. 

There Tom stood, laughing and joking about with his peers, radiating happiness. He was basking in the attention he received from his friends and “fans.” 

You tried to catch his eye, and you swore you did for a split second, but he only walked past you as if you weren’t even there. Not even a hidden smile or wink of acknowledgment was sent your way. 

Your walking came to a stop as you frowned at your boyfriend’s back. You wanted to shout out his name, call for his attention. You wanted to nuzzle into his chest, breathing in his scent. You wanted to look into his chocolate-pooled eyes, see the twinkle of adoration as he stared at you. Nevertheless, you couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything with Tom in public, for you were just another girl on campus, trying to get by, and Tom was the successful jock with a bright future ahead.

You walked into the large room, taking a seat, conveniently, in front of Tom. This time, you were the one to not spare him a single glance, albeit he probably wasn’t expecting or looking for one. 

You tried your best to listen and focus on the lecture, but the consistent whispers behind your back began to nag at your patience. You leaned your down further into your notes, as if it could fix the slowly kindling fire in you. Checking the clock, you saw that only five minutes of the lecture had passed, and your professor had barely said anything. 

“Five minutes? I swear it felt like half of the lecture had gone by. And the professor. I swear he had just said like tons of important information,” you muttered to yourself under your breath, catching a few students’ gazes. 

You gently pounded a fist into your temple, forcing your attention onto the lined sheets of paper on your desk. You expected to see notes, not illegible scribbles. You silently groaned, switching the sheet for a new, clean page. You took a deep breath and began jotting down the key points of the presentation that was being projected onto the large whiteboard. 

A feminine voice cleared their throat beside you, “Excuse me.”

You looked up from your work, a glare on your face as you were pulled out of your focus once again.

“Can I help you?” You asked, irritated. 

“Uh, yes, you can. You can help me by moving yourself to that seat over there,” she pointed at an empty seat across the room, “and giving this,” she placed her hand on the desk, atop you notes, “seat to me.”

You scoffed, “And why should I?”

“Oh, honey,” you cringed at the nickname, “Tommy, here,” she nodded towards Tom, “shouldn’t have to suffer by looking at your terrible hair. Like, honestly, do you even care for your looks?”

You were practically fuming in your seat, but to avoid trouble, you responded with a monotonous voice, “I’m sure “Tommy” can take care of himself. Spare us both the inconvenience, and go sit yourself on that empty seat because if you couldn’t tell, I’m occupying this spot.”

“Who do you think you are?” She shouted, hand crumpling your notes.

Furrowing your brows, you grabbed at your notes, hoping to spare them.

“Move your ugly ass before I kick you off this seat,” she threatened, pulling you by your hair.

The professor stopped talking, glaring at the pair of you. You took it as a sign to shut up and not fight back.

Fist clenching, nails creating red crescents in your palm, you stood up, pushing the girl off of you, ignoring her gasp. You grabbed your notes and laptop, turning to see if Tom would defend you, but when you saw his passive expression, you let out a quiet laugh of disappointment, carrying yourself to the back of the room. 

For the rest of the class, you stood in the back, writing your notes with blurry, tear-filled vision. Although you were still in shock due to the event that had unfolded minutes into the lecture, you wouldn’t let it falter how you were doing in school. 

As soon as you were dismissed, you bolted out of the room, heading to your safe haven on campus. 

Not many people, if any, knew about the hidden garden located within the campus’s vast park. You had only discovered it by accident when you were a freshman looking for your way around campus. 

The first thought you had when you walked in was that you were transported into a different dimension. Thinking back on it, you were naive to think that, but you were still justified. Anyone would think such a beautiful place couldn’t belong to the aggressivity and rashness of this world. The variant shades of light green and pastel pink flowers growing between the weeds of grass gave the place a heavenly feeling, followed by the mist that sparkled under the sunlight. 

You dropped yourself at the thick tree’s stump, letting your notes and laptop slip out of your grasp. You cried into your knees, pouring out all of your stresses. Your breaths were short and heaved, occasional hiccups bubbling from your lips. Your sobs slowly lulled you closer to sleep, emotional and physical fatigue catching up to you. That is, until you heard the recognizable clang of the door handle hitting against the wooden door.

“Darling,” the accented voice you longed to hear spoke up.

Quickly wiping away your tears and sniffling away any evidence of your sorrow, you stood up, “Tommy!” A feigned smile lay on your supple skin as you ran over to your boyfriend, embracing him in your arms, “What’s up?”

“Are you alright? I’m sorry I didn’t speak up for you during class. I should’ve told that girl to get her hands off you,” he stroked your hair, “She didn’t hurt you, did she?” 

Letting a pained giggle out, you shook your head, “Nope, I’m fine. You know how strong I am.”

“I really, really did want to speak up, but you know that we should keep our relationship under covers, for your sake,” he spoke gently, placing a kiss on your head.

You scowled into his shirt but kept up your cheerful facade, chirping, “Mhm, safety.”

“I knew you’d understand,” he sighed. His hold on you weakened, “I should get going, though. The group will start to wonder where I’ve gone.”

You frowned, pulling away from him.

“Don’t be like that, darling,” he cooed, “I’ll come over tonight. Don’t worry.”

You let out a sarcastic laugh, “Of course, as you always do.”

His brows furrowed at your sudden mood shift, “What are you on, darling?”

“Oh, nothing,” you chirp, hopping back to the tree, collecting your notes and laptop. “Go ahead, meet with your friends. Leave me behind like you always do,” you murmur the last half.

“Love?” His voice neared you, and you barely registered the stray tears betraying you, rolling down your peachy cheeks. 

Quickly bringing up a hand to wipe the wetness away, you keep your back facing Tom.

“Shouldn’t you be going? Don’t want your friends to worry,” you laughed, lightly. A hand placed itself on your shoulder, the sudden contact startling you. “You scared me, Tommy. You shouldn’t do that,” you giggle, hiding your true emotions, “You know how easily scared I am.”

“Darling, can you look at me?” He asked, quietly, concern lacing his tone. 

“What for, Tommy?” You inquired, nervously laughing.

“You’re acting quite… strange,” he explained.

“No need to worry about me, bubs. I’m as peachy as always,” you quipped, shoulders bouncing in emphasis.

“I’m giving you one more chance to turn, or I will do it for you,” he said, sternly. 

You stayed, unmoving, forcing Tom to turn you with his raw strength. At first, you tried to fight it, but you came to the revelation that there was no way you could overpower him.

When you met his warm, liquid eyes, you felt your own tear up, and suddenly, your shoes were an intriguing sight. 

“Baby, please look at me,” he whispered, hands rubbing up and down your arms.

You shook your head in denial, trying to keep your weakness hidden.

“It breaks me to see you this way,” he lifted your face with a finger to your chin. His thumb moved to wipe away your crystal tears.

“Then leave,” you hissed, weakly.

“W-What?” Tom stuttered at the unforeseen reply.

“I’m tired, Tom. I’m tired of hiding, of you ignoring me and me, you. How long are we going to do this? It’s so stupid, all of it,” you dropped your head again, this time of fatigue.

“B-But, you know why we’re doing this-” you cut him off.

“I know, and I can’t help but think that this was a stupid choice,” you motioned between the two of you, “You’re barely around me, and on campus, you don’t even acknowledge me. On the slim chance I do have you to myself, it can only last for so long. At this point, it feels like we’re not even together.”

“I-I don’t understand. What are you trying to say?” Fear filled his eyes as the pit in his stomach became more and more noticeable.

“I think it would be better if-” you stuttered in a breath, “if we took a break.”

“Why? Just because we’re hiding our relationship? You know why I- we chose to keep it secret,” he rushed out his words, hands gripping yours.

“Do I? Do I really? Today was display enough that even though we act like we don’t know each other, I’ll still get harassed by those “fans” of yours. Not to mention, you saw it all unravel, and what did you do? Nothing. There’s no practicality to keeping our relationship hidden because either way, some “fans” will go overboard no matter who the person. Also, I think I showed that I can defend myself from crazy people when I pushed that girl off of me today,” you spoke, ferocity and resentment spurring you on.

“I know I messed up when I didn’t help you, but I thought about our relationship-” you scoffed.

“So what? Even if we weren’t in a relationship, you should’ve helped a girl out. Especially when she’s getting harassed because of you,” you jabbed a finger into his chest.

“Tell me how to make it better. I want to make it better. Don’t end us, please,” he begged, gripping your hand tighter.

“Stop, Tom. I told you that I want to take a break. Besides, it won’t be any different to how our normal relationship is,” you laughed. Pulling your arm out of his grasp, you walked away, “Now, I won’t have to waste any tears on you anymore.”

[sysmedsaresexist]

Actually 🤓

The isstd doesn't say that. TPA is literally the only one saying that, and people like you parroting it.

It says you're supposed to treat the whole system as a collective, and it goes on to discuss system accountability. I DARE you to find the section in the isstd that says that.

But honestly, I'm going to find it for my followers first, so.

It basically boils down to, use the client's preferred language unless it poses a danger. Yes, including people focused language.

And I quote:

Alternate Identities: Conceptual Issues and Physiological Manifestations

The DID patient is a single person who experiences himself or herself as having separate alternate identities that have relative psychological autonomy from one another. At various times, these subjective identities may take executive control of the person’s body and behavior and/or influence his or her experience and behavior from “within.” Taken together, all of the alternate identities make up the identity or personality of the human being with DID.

It goes on to give a few clinical definitions by different researchers.

Many terms have been developed to describe the DID patient’s subjective sense of self-states or identities. These include personality, personality state, self-state, disaggregate self-state, alter, alter personality, alternate identity, part, part of the mind, part of the self, dissociative part of the personality, and entity, among others (see Van der Hart & Dorahy, 2009). Because the DSM–IV–TR (American Psychiatric Association, 2000a) uses the term alternate identity, this term is used in the Guidelines for consistency.

Clinicians should attend to the unique, personal language with which DID patients characterize their alternate identities. Patients commonly refer to themselves as having parts, parts inside, aspects, facets, ways of being, voices, multiples, selves, ages of me, people, persons, individuals, spirits, demons, others, and so on. It can be helpful to use the terms that patients use to refer to their identities unless the use of these terms is not in line with therapeutic recommendations and/or, in the clinician’s judgment, cer- tain terms would reinforce a belief that the alternate identities are separate people or persons rather than a single human being with subjectively divided self-aspects.

So what this is talking about is... for example, someone religious who believes that some or all of their alters are demons. Clinicians shouldn't play into that. The interplay of religion and psychology is incredibly dicey, but a clinician shouldn't engage with an alter that believes it's a demon and has traits, like indestructible or something. No, the clinician is supposed to help the demon understand it's stuck in this body, and if the body goes to jail or dies, it's game over for everyone, demon included.

Next, we move to:

TREATMENT GOALS AND OUTCOME Integrated Functioning as the Goal of Treatment

This is always my favorite part to show people who haven't read the Treatment guidelines :)

We start:

Although the DID patient has the subjective experience of having separate identities, it is important for clinicians to keep in mind that the patient is not a collection of separate people sharing the same body. The DID patient should be seen as a whole adult person, with the identities sharing responsibility for daily life. Clinicians working with DID patients generally must hold the whole person (i.e., system of alternate identities) responsible for the behavior of any or all of the constituent identities, even in the presence of amnesia or the sense of lack of control or agency over behavior (see Radden, 1996).

Treatment should move the patient toward better integrated functioning whenever possible. In the service of gradual integration, the therapist may, at times, acknowledge that the patient experiences the alternate identities as if they were separate. Nevertheless, a fundamental tenet of the psychotherapy of patients with DID is to bring about an increased degree of communication and coordination among the identities.

You see, that's important, because:

Helping the identities to be aware of one another as legitimate parts of the self and to negotiate and resolve their conflicts is at the very core of the therapeutic process. It is countertherapeutic for the therapist to treat any alternate identity as if it were more “real” or more important than any other. The therapist should not “play favorites” among the alternate identities or exclude apparently unlikable or disruptive ones from the therapy... The therapist should foster the idea that all alternate identities represent adaptive attempts to cope or to master prob- lems that the patient has faced. Thus, it is countertherapeutic to tell patients to ignore or “get rid” of identities (although it is acceptable to provide strategies for the patient to resist the influence of destructive identities, or to helpcontrol the emergence of certain identities at inappropriate circumstances or times).

Then it gives a few more examples of counter productive things, and we finish off with:

Kluft (1993a) has argued that the most stable treatment outcome is final fusion—complete integration, merger, and loss of separateness—of all identity states. However, even after undergoing considerable treatment, a considerable number of DID patients will not be able to achieve final fusion and/or will not see fusion as desirable.

Accordingly, a more realistic long-term outcome for some patients may be a cooperative arrangement sometimes called a “resolution”—that is, sufficiently integrated and coordi- nated functioning among alternate identities to promote optimal functioning.

So no, it doesn't only promote fusion, either.

Anyways. We're so off point. Within the community, alters and CDDs tend to be parts focused, plural is people focused. That's just facts. They overlap and there are always exceptions and people exploring boundaries, but that's the general consensus.

I never said there weren't flaws with the psych system, I said that plural is not a blanket term, it's opt in. As another person said, it's opt in, not opt out. Do not use plural as a blanket for CDD systems. The lowest score on every poll is CDD and plural. There are two other polls, fyi. Tumblr CDD systems don't like to be called plural, and I explained why. I have given you links and history.

Use system as a blanket, not plural.

"System" is the alternative. It is the blanket.

You think I'm arguing about things I'm not. Welcome to tumblr, pwCDDs prefer system, and I explained why.

As for why you shouldn't trust lunastusco, well, they literally just denied a thing I linked in my first post. Like... it's right there?? The person who first coined plural is linked in my post, explaining why, and lunastusco really just said, "nahh, that's not true." Would you like my debunks of LB Lee's articles? :)

God sysmeds are often so sure that they're special for their system being formed from trauma and how hard it is after going through trauma, and like

Trauma IS hard. But not everyone who has experienced trauma also has DID/OSDD. If trauma was the unifying factor here, why would so many people who have PTSD or have otherwise experienced abuse or traumatic events be ableist and shitty about systems? Who do you think is more likely to support you as a system: a singlet who has experienced trauma and knows NOTHING about DID/OSDD other than what they've seen from books/movies/etc (which is most people), or another system who happens to have been formed through means other than trauma?

Also not everyone who has DID/OSDD even wants to call themselves a system, so yes, systemhood IS an identity -- because even people with DID/OSDD can choose what terminology/framework they identify with.

"Plural" is an inclusive descriptor. Even only looking at people diagnosed with DID/OSDD-- it would be incorrect to call them systems if they don't consider themselves systems, while "plural" is a better way to include people with DID/OSDD who don't identify as systems but understand they are multiple people/facets/alters/parts/whatever.

That last part, the plurality, is the only thing that everyone with DID/OSDD have that makes it possible to understand each other. Traumatized people without DID/OSDD are not going to understand. But plural people without DID/OSDD might.

As a last note, incorrectly defining endogenic as a "system without trauma" means you don't understand trauma. There are many types of trauma people often experience without realizing. Medical trauma, religious trauma, trauma from the fucking COVID-19 pandemic-- the list goes on. I'm not sure anyone can really go through life without experiencing trauma at one point or another. Which would mean "systems without trauma" probably don't exist, sure-- but that's not the definition of endogenic. Endogenic systems just become systems first and may experience trauma later.

So nope, the trauma isn't what makes you special. Guess again.

(Signed, a system diagnosed with DID.)