#and I used it to make a few characters but then when I was trying to use it to make some characters

[gallusrostromegalus]

I did not care at all for Aizen Sosuke when I first read bleach. I found him boring, and worst, unthreatening.

So it's pretty jarring for me that I have been OBSESSED with him in your AU. I'm rotating him at great speed

Walt Disney was a jackass who was flat-out wrong about a lot of very important things, but he employed a great many geniuses of storytelling, and there's a piece in Disney Animation: The Illusion of Life by Frank Thomas and Ollie Johnson that discusses a key feature of Disney Studios Character Design:

"Of all characters, villains are the most fun to develop because they make everything else happen. They are the instigators, and always more colorful than the Hero. They may be dramatic, awesome, insidious or semi-comic, but they MUST be appealing. Almost any story becomes innocuous if all the evil is eliminated, but we do not necessarily gain strength by being frightening. we want a character that will hold the audience and entertain them, even if it's a Chilling Type of Entertainment."

And I've found that to be an important principle of character design, especially the kind of canon restructuring I do.

Aizen had a LOT going for him in canon- for all of Bleach's other faults, Aizen's conspiracy and THE REVEAL are spectacularly constructed and executed. I legit screamed and threw my mug across my dorm room when I read it in the manga the first time. He's also conventionally attractive and the translations I was reading gave him the speech patterns of Every Douchebag In Your 101 Political Theory Who Thinks He's The Smartest Man In The Room, which made him a terrific combination of Unfortunately Charming, Menacingly Competent and Engagingly Obnoxious.

...But he falls flat in a few key places.

Aizen's reasoning could be MUCH more sympathetic- After all, he is RIGHT. Soul Sciety does suck ass and all the options kind of suck. Who designs a universe like that? An asshole who needs killing, that's who. The best kind of Unhinged Madmen are the kind who spell out their reasoning and you realize that there but for the grace of Not Having Super Powers Go I. Canon!Aizen makes a few Good Rhetorical Points, but seems to lack any personal connection to his all-consuming plan.

Another issue is that nearly every villain with A Plan has a clear end goal AND a lot of the menace is drawn from the fact that the plan *could* work. Aizen's plan for betraying the court guard and then killing them off before proceeding into the Royal Realm to Kill God sorta falls apart when it's clear he planned to use pretty much all his accumulated forces dealing with the court guard and doesn't seem to have a plan for the Even More Powerful Royal Guard, let alone God. For how meticulously planned the rest of the plot is, the last two VERY IMPORTANT steps are just handwaved.

So I sat down and started with the plot beats Aizen MUST hit, and tried to imagine what kind of guy would he have to be to get there? And I came up with this:

Sosuke Aizen is a fundamentally good man with genuinely good intentions who is really trying his best for the whole world.

Think about it- what lengths would you NOT go to if you think you found a genuine shot at Fixing Everything Wrong With The World Forever? We all talk about killing Hitler if we found an actual Time Machine- would you do it if your only chance was when he was a baby? Would you kill an infant if it meant you could stop World War II before it starts? Of course you would! One small life for over 75 million? You'd be insane not to! What if you found out that you could prevent the future extinction of Humanity by killing your best friend today? Ten Billion lives? For theirs? It's simple, really- Hell, it's your Moral Obligation to do that if you were SURE!

-And Aizen IS sure. He is absolutely, totally, completely sure that He Can Save Everyone if he just gets rid of that idiot sitting on the throne of heaven. He's seen the plans! He knows where the gate of heaven is! It's So SIMPLE he just has to get inside, and he knows EXACTLY how to do it, yes it'll be hard and there will be... unpleasant parts but. IT. WILL. WORK.

He is of course, insane.

Aizen didn't have One Bad Day that set him irrevocably on the path of madness. It was a succession of catastrophic disappointments and realizations that he was living in a fundamentally irrational world that made irrational thinking look sane. The Catastrophe that befell his family, working for the central 46 and later the court guard and seeing how the organizations were inept to the point of abuse or corrupt to the core, learning that The Actual House Of God is a place he can just? Go to? Anyone would start thinking you were just a handful of white lies and homicides away from Fixing Everything, Forever.

Not only is Aizen insane, he is nowhere near as smart as he thinks. He is smart- He does have a knack for being able to guess just what will spur someone to action or make them recoil in fear. But mostly he gets extremely lucky Many, Many, MANY times. On some level I think it gives him Confirmation Bias that this is what he's supposed to be doing. Aizen is also nowhere near as smart as (nearly) everyone else thinks he is. His bizarrely good luck makes him look like a hyper-competent genius when really it was really the catastrophic failure of Soul Society as a Society that let a merely mediocre conspirator to evade detection for so long.

Being that he is at most, mediocre, he had to have Outside Help, specifically Gin's emotional support and Tousen's Competence- and if there's a part of the fic that stays true to canon, it's this.

Gin is Aizen's emotional rock in Canon. He's the ONE guy that Aizen genuinely trusts, and considers his 'my only real partner' in his scheme. There's more than one occasion in the manga where Aizen more or less asks Gin "Is this actually a good idea?" and Gin backs him up every time.

...Which is more than a bit at odds with Gin's later stated goal of "I did all this to kill you at your most vulnerable to protect rangiku" . It never rang true to me. So I started thinking why on EARTH Gin would be backing Aizen up like that, and realized there was a hole in my world building that he slotted into nicely :)

On the other hand, the entire fic was started because I didn't like how Tousen's character arc ended, so you can imagine how much he's changed.

But in canon, TOUSEN DOES ALL THE FUCKING WORK.

Lab work? Tousen.

Supervising the arrancar directly? Tousen

Actually getting victims for the Hogyoku experiments? Tousen.

Altering all the archives to keep Aizen's plot hidden? Tousen.

Sending all the Orders allegedly from the central 46? Tousen.

Making sure Unohana believes Aizen's fake body is real? Tousen.

Managing all the day-to-day operations at Las Noches? Tousen.

There's even this little exchange, which is Tousen's first appearance in the Manga:

Aizen establishes this entire meeting is a little fake-out a few pages later with "now isn't that a convenieint time for the alarm to go off?"

which makes him look like he's investigating, but he's also going "Good job on disrupting everyone with the alarm Gin!" It's ballsy of Aizen to do a check-in on his plan with his main nemesis in the room, but also his style.

I think the same thing is happening here with Tousen. To make sure Ukitake wouldn't raise a huge fit about the proposed execution of his beloved lieutenant, which might fuck everything up for Aizen because Ukitake is one of like, three people Yamamoto will listen to (sort of).

...So he had Tousen poison Ukitake to keep him out of the way.

ALL. THE. FUCKING. WORK. It's even in his name! The characters for "Tousen" Refer to a legendary scholar the emperor of China sent out to discover the secret of immortality- only to kill the scholar when he returned with that secret. The character for "Kaname" means "Necessary/Vital/keystone" or "to organize/take account of". His name LITERALLY means "Scholar who is essential for the plan (that we're going to kill later)"

Another thing Kubo did well in Bleach: his name game is Off The Fucking Charts.

-but I digress.

In AEIWAM, it's much the same only this time Aizen sees this very dangerous witness who is immune to his illusions but also extremely snart and capable young man and instead of risking being caught out by the one damn guy who can see right through him, opts to Curse Kaname into doing as Aizen says, and doing all the fucking work of this conspiracy against his will.

It's Not Nice, but Aizen genuinely thinks he's doing Kaname a favor by subjecting him to this degrading and incredibly painful servitude- I mean, Aizen's only other option was to Kill him to keep his silence, and isn't it wonderful that you get to help fix the universe? You're the one always going on about Justice, I don't understand why you didn't jump at the chance to mete out some Divine Justice.

An Excerpt from the captain's meeting in between the Massacre that made the visored and Zaraki's arrival, when Kaname realizes Yamamoto is 100% serious about his promotion to captain of the 9th and goes to throw up in the garden. Aizen offers to go check on him while Unohana very politely reads the general the riot act:

---

"You broke your toy Aizen." Kaname coughs.

"…I really am sorry for running you ragged like this. I really shouldn't have gotten so mad about you hiding the the hogyoku- it was very petty of me." The bastard sighs, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face, entirely genuine.

Kaname stayed on his hands and knees, weaving slightly as another wave of nausea flowed through him, powered by disgust and rage.

"How about this- I've got a lot coming up with the new job, training Gin and disposing of Kiganjo- So how about I promise to not give you any orders for a while? You will have to keep our arrangement a secret and not interfere, of course, but other than that, you're free to do as you please for- a year and a day is traditional isn't it? No, that's not going to heal by then- Oh, would you look at that!"

Kaname didn't have the strength to offer his usual rebuttal that he won't look at anything, ever. The sides of his head tingle like his skul was being pressed between two enormous hands made of static electricity.

"It's 11:11! Alright, I won't give you any Orders until 11:11 am on November 11th, 1911. That's easy to remember! What do you think?" Aizen continued cheerfully, patting his back and the Curse nails.

"…I can't." Kaname groaned. He could scream if he had the energy, but due to Aizen's Illusions, nobody would hear him. "I actually physically can't think. Please…"

"Of course! You really are such a help to me, it would be a shame to lose you. I'll even amend our contract, so you don't get paranoid-" There was a sizzling sound and a new stroke of hot pain up Kaname's spine as Aizen did something to the wretched Bakudo. "There. No compulsions for eleven years and a day. What do you say?"

Kaname grimaced, but dropped his head. Save the energy to fight another day. "…thank you, Aizen-sama."

"Good man! Let's get you on your feet." Aizen beamed, putting his glasses back on and offering him an arm.

---

He genuinely thinks that he's doing everyone a huge favor and if they don't get it it's because they're just not smart enough, but it's alright, He's a Benevolent God and they'll appreciate all his hard work the next time around :)

Aizen is a man who is FULL of joy. He loves what he does! He actively takes pleasure in it! And I think that's something that REALLY delivers in terms of sympathy AND horror for him. Who *Wouldn't* have a great time actually fixing the universe? He's a good man who enjoys doing good works, and this is the greatest work of all!

It also Delivers on the Horror when I get to write the deliciously fun scenes where Aizen is Elbows-deep in a novel War Crime and waxing poetic about how GREAT this is, or being confused why the people around him are reacting with fear. Don't you want to make everything better too?

[slurmpinheimer]

from @cyber-harpie !! spit that shit homie!! I thought this deserved to be seen because it brings up a lot interesting points—and I do agree with this, though it got me thinking again. I would like to add a few things to my initial statement because analysis and talking about Kim is fun;

(WARNING: MAJOR KIM-RELATED YAPPAGE BELOW)

I’ve watched several play throughs where (especially at the beginning of the game/if they have low psyche) people aren’t sure of Kim, or even go so far as to call him annoying, a buzzkill, or an asshole. At first I found myself getting really defensive about this. Obviously not to the point that I made any hate comments or anything, that would be silly— But just in my head, automatically dismissing it because I love him and didn’t want to hear it. I couldn’t imagine anyone disliking him, instead of thinking deeper and considering *why* people might come to these conclusions.

I believe the bits we get from Esprit and Empathy support my initial point that Harry is the perfect narrative device to meet Kim through. If I remember correctly, Kim was written specifically to find Harry funny, and Harry’s skills let us see that. and that’s IF you succeed the checks, or if you’re dedicated enough to save scum to see other possibilities/go through Fayde to see what other options might have held.

Like, before I learned about the end of the Homosexual Underground thought line, I certainly had my suspicions. I definitely thought Kim was at least queer-coded and headcanoned him as gay, but that thought trail is behind a legendary Composure check that I spent like 10 full minutes save-scumming. I had low motorics on my first run, and I only tried so hard because I had been spoiled and knew that it gave a thought called “Homosexual Underground” and needed to see where that led with my own eyes.

That’s just one example too—There’s several times that Kim Lore is behind hard checks (Ace’s High/Low, that tidbit about him smoking weed lol) or things he just refuses to elaborate on without specific circumstances. Plus there’s all the stuff that you can learn when you play a different quest line. I’ve had several people tell me that going through a fascist ends up with Kim actually being pretty open about things you don’t learn about in other questlines. I don’t even know all the details of that yet because I’ve been so busy doing the other quests and achievements that I haven’t finished a fascist run yet.

My thought process with all this is that without seeing Kim through the lens Harry, who works with him almost constantly for a week straight in a situation where deep and meaningful conversation is not just encouraged but *needed* to build a repertoire and ultimately solve the case—Not to mention the patience and care Kim treats Harry’s situation with—I can see how someone would look at Kim from the outside and find him to be… (anguish at typing out this word) …mid.

So yeah. On the surface level; Kim is a cop. He can be condescending and uptight, sometimes leading into lecturing people (something he himself admits). He plays his cards close to his chest, with both his moralist beliefs and even more so his sympathies for the rebellion—Which can make him look a bit like a fence sitter. He can be emotionally unavailable towards himself and others, making him hard to read and sometimes appear cold.

But past that, he is a beautifully crafted, deep character, and the perfect foil to the chaos that is Harry. He is the man that reaches out to shake your hand even though you ghosted him two days prior. He will pat you and give you a handkerchief when you throw up. He can be the man that sticks up for you time and time again, not just because he needs to in order to solve the case, but because if you really try, he believes you’re a good detective at heart. Past suicidal rants and nervous breakdowns, he encourages you to keep going.

He has been beaten down, ground and polished to a smooth finish by mutiple facets of oppression—from his glasses, to his race, his sexuality, all fundamental parts of himself that he cannot change. From years of working in a high-pressure, volatile work environment with low pay and little benefits other than the small satisfaction of completing a case, only to dive headfirst into the next one.

He pushed aside his lofty dreams of the skies to be down with the rest of us in the dirt and mud, trudging, struggling through life until we all inevitably burn away the fuel reserves and are nothing but smoke, a memory in the mind of fire.

Beyond that carefully constructed exterior, past his wall of professionalism (and habit of using his notebook as a shield) hides a goofy nerd, a lover of crosswords and cars, of silly radio stations, and a deep appreciation for beautifully bearded muscular men. He is an expert user of sarcasm and master of cryptic jokes, some even philosophical or political in nature. At his core, he wants to make things better for the people around him. He wants to believe he can make a difference, no matter how long it takes or how small the change is. Even if working for the RCM destroys him before he can see it come to fruition.

He is wonderful. He is amazing. He’s probably my favorite character all of fiction, and I don’t think there will ever be a day in my life that I stop loving him. That’s pookie you’re talking about. I’ll always have space in my heart for him.

He will live on as long as we do, as real as The Man From Hjemdall is to Roy because Disco Elysium *made* him real, handcrafting him, giving him life between margins and pixels. And that is worth everything.

Kim Kitsuragi is a fascinating character because there's not that much fun or interesting or compelling about him. And yet somehow over the course of playing Disco Elysium the game rewires your fucking brain around him. He's the middest man you've ever seen in both appearance and personality but at some point he says something kind to you or something critical of you and you feel like you just got hit by a truck and you need his approval like you need oxygen and like how tf did this happen. what are you

[p0orbaby]

Request😍: y/n and alessia or leah (you decide! find your tumblr side and aaalll the stories of them. It leads to jealous alessia/leah bc of y/n being with other girls (like getting jealous when your partner cheats in your dream). Reader has to handle the situation and in the end manages to make less/leah focus on all the fluffy/spicy stuff there is about them. If you want to make it smutty (what we all love hehe): they eventually get inspired by tumblr and choose another story (you can decide which of all the good alessia/leah x reader smut on here) to reenact. Thank you!!! (If you dont want to write this feel free to repost for another writer, also you can switch the roles who is jealous, i dont care:)

i amended this a little, pls don’t hate me

it would be harsh to call this a crack fic but i honestly giggled the whole time writing it 🤭

-

You find Alessia on the sofa, her face illuminated by the blue glow of her phone screen. At first, you think she’s watching one of those oddly specific TikToks she loves—something about cats playing table tennis or an American teenager ranking their favourite crisps. But then you notice the furrow in her brow, the way her teeth tug at her bottom lip. Her expression is equal parts confusion, disbelief, and mild offence.

“Everything alright?” you ask, setting your keys on the counter.

She doesn’t answer immediately, which is a bad sign. Alessia always greets you the moment you walk through the door, even if it’s just to ask what you’ve brought for dinner. Instead, she tilts the phone slightly so you can see the screen.

“Do you know about this?” she asks, voice clipped.

You lean over, squinting at the screen. The webpage is clunky, its layout straight out of 2012, and the title reads something absurd like ‘Sunlit Smiles and Shadowed Hearts’. Your name is prominently featured in the summary, alongside a few other recognisable ones.

“It’s fanfiction,” she says, answering the question you haven’t asked yet. “About you”

You blink. “About me?”

“And other people,” she adds, her tone sharp now, like the edge of a too-clean knife.

The penny drops. “Wait—what?”

She sits up straighter, turning the phone to face you fully. “Look. This one has you with… God, Tooney. And this one—oh, this is just brilliant—you’re married to Ona. Married! Like we’re just some passing fling”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, which, given her expression, would be a tactical error. Alessia doesn’t do jealousy often, but when she does, it’s like an overdramatic romcom villain plotting their revenge.

“Well,” you say carefully, “at least they’ve got good taste?”

“Good taste?” she repeats, incredulous. “One of these has you sneaking off with Mary behind my back during a post-match interview!”

“Creative, though,” you offer.

She glares at you, tossing the phone onto the cushion beside her. “This isn’t funny”

“It’s a little funny,” you say, sitting down next to her.

“It’s not,” she insists, crossing her arms. “Do you know how many of these there are? And how many don’t have me in them at all? Like I’m just some side character in your life?”

You try to suppress the grin tugging at your lips, but it’s no use. “Less, you do realise this is all made up, right? None of it’s real”

She huffs, her cheeks pink now. “I know that. But still. It’s insulting”

You reach for her hand, gently uncrossing her arms. “Alright, let’s look at it this way. I’m obviously very popular. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Not when you’re popular with everyone except me”

“Oh, come on,” you tease, squeezing her hand. “I’m pretty sure there’s stuff about us too. The fluffy, romantic, borderline inappropriate kind”

Alessia hesitates, her gaze flicking to the phone. “You think so?”

“I know so,” you say confidently. “Because we’re the superior couple. Clearly”

That earns a small smile, though she tries to hide it. “You’re an idiot”

“And yet, here I am, fully committed to proving my devotion,” you say, reaching for her phone. You type in a search, scrolling through pages until you find what you’re looking for. “See? Right here. This one’s about us”

She leans over, peering at the screen. Her eyes scan the words, and slowly, her frown starts to fade.

“This is… cute,” she admits reluctantly.

“Exactly,” you say, draping an arm around her shoulders. “So, no more being jealous of fictional versions of me, okay? They don’t get to go home with you. I do”

She turns to look at you, her expression softening further. “Fine. But I’m still not over the Mary thing”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Noted. I’ll make it up to you”

“You better,” she mumbles, but there’s no real bite to her words anymore.

It’s only later, as you’re cooking dinner together, that you catch her sneaking glances at her phone again, her lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. If she’s reading more of those stories, you don’t mention it. Some battles are better left unpicked.

[mandosaur]

Morningstar (The Salesman / Reader)

Fandom: Squid Game

Pairing: The Salesman / Reader

Summary: Extreme graphic content warning. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Read at your own risk.

“My friends and I are about to play a game. One you know well, darling,” he explains. He uses the gun to push a strand of his hair back innocently.

The gun prompts your memory. You feel your hands begin to shake.

Russian roulette.

Of course. He is terribly fond of this one. You’ve played with him on a few occasions, and it doesn’t get easier. Each time he makes you play it with him, you feel the familiar squeeze in your chest of panic.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” your benefactor turns back to the men, “And one. I’m sure you’ve all heard of it, yes? Little star, will you demonstrate?”

Female reader is present during the first Russian Roulette scene.

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, canon character death, explicit sexual content, gun play / gun violence, and gore. Dead dove; do not eat.

Word Count: 7,794

Estimated Reading Time: 28:20

At this point, it’s not much of a surprise just how low your threshold for what is normal and abnormal has fallen. Your walls have been forcibly brought down. What might have scared you years ago has become something mundane. You don’t even blink as you enter your apartment to find two people tied up and gagged.

The sound of the door opening makes everyone snap their heads towards you. You hesitate at the entrance, eyes taking in the scene before you.

Two men are tied up in your living room. One is young and covered in a sheen of sweat. He screams as he sees you and looks desperate. He seems to mouth, “Help,” over and over through the gag in his mouth. His hands reach out for you as if pleading with you to do something.

The second man sits opposite of him. He’s older, gruff, and his eyes are full of alarm. He moves his hands like he wants you to back off and he mouths at you to run. It seems he wants you to save yourself from whatever threat is in the room with them.

A low chuckle sounds from somewhere in the back of the room. Your attention is drawn to the man you missed upon your first entry. Understating floods you as he steps into the low light of the room.

“Ah, little star,” comes a cheery, bright voice, “you’re home early.”

In the low light of the living room, you can make him out. Your benefactor. He’s standing in his business suit in the middle of the two restrained men. He holds something up in his hand that glints in the lighting and sends a low shiver down your spine.

A gun.

You close the front door quickly behind you and latch it. A breath hitches in your throat and you drop your coat and bag by the hallway. You hope your neighbors haven’t seen anything yet because you’re not sure how you can explain this one.

The two men make a noise. The youngest is frantic, muffled words and pleas getting lost along the rubber gag, meanwhile his companion is straining against the rope that binds him trying to find a way out. You ignore the way the sight of them makes your stomach heave and instead focus on your benefactor.

He’s turned to you now with the gun still aimed at the ceiling. His smile is wide, too many white teeth, and his eyes have something glinting within their depths. You know that look well. He wears it every time he’s about to play one of his games.

You’ve known this man for years now. You met him when you were just a university student in your second year barely scraping by. He had met you on the subway and his too wide smile had shown razor sharp when he had offered you a red and blue piece of paper.

You’re not surprised at whatever scene you have just walked in on. Heaven knows he’s shown you worse.

“Friends of yours?” Your voice cracks on the last word and you awkwardly hang by the hallway unsure whether to approach or leave.

This happens sometimes. You’re not sure what shady business your benefactor is involved in, but sometimes it follows him home. You’ve grown used to him ordering you to leave when his friends in red show up or when a car pulls up front waiting silently for him to enter. Whenever that happens, he usually orders you to leave your apartment for a few hours until he sends you an all clear message. You’re not sure if your presence has inconvenienced him somehow, and, quite frankly, you don’t really want to know. Despite the way this man has twisted your perceptions of right from wrong, you aren’t too keen to watch whatever is about to happen with these men.

Your benefactor beckons you over with a single tilt of his head. He turns back to the men with a flourish. His voice is still bright, loud, and clear. He takes your interruption in stride as if it was insignificant.

“Come, little star, join me,” he orders.

Silently, you do.

The men grow quiet at the sight of you slotting yourself next to your benefactor. The youngest one sobs and squeezes his eyes shut at the realization that you are with him. The hope of escape evaporates as he sags and cries freely into his lap. The oldest clenches his fists tight and pins you down with an ice cold glare that sends a shiver down your spine.

You look away from them both and instead turn to your benefactor.

“My friends and I are about to play a game. One you know well, darling,” he explains. He uses the gun to push a strand of his hair back innocently.

The gun prompts your memory. You feel your hands begin to shake.

Russian roulette.

Of course. He is terribly fond of this one. You’ve played with him on a few occasions, and it doesn’t get easier. Each time he makes you play it with him, you feel the familiar squeeze in your chest of panic.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” your benefactor turns back to the men, “And one. I’m sure you’ve all heard of it, yes? Little star, will you demonstrate?”

He pushes you forward firmly with hand holding the gun. The cold metal stings as it presses against your back.

You swallow and extend your hands in front of yourself. You also know this one. You’ve played it with him on occasion although it’s usually when he’s feeling more playful in bed. It’s never really done with a weapon.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” he calls out. Your hands move at the beat. At the end, your right becomes paper and your left a rock. He extends his own hand and you see he’s chosen scissors, “Minus one.”

Your right hand falls away leaving your rock. You tap his scissors once and he drops it obediently.

“Well done, little star,” he praises. His voice drops to that low, seductive murmur you like. Despite the situation at hand, you feel a little flutter of excitement singe through your blood.

“When you lose a round, you play a round of Russian roulette. I’m sure both of you are familiar with it. You take a gun and load a single bullet in the revolver. Then you spin it around until you don’t know where the bullet is. The losing player takes the weapon, presses it to their head, and pulls the trigger. It’s a game of a chance. Your odds of surviving are 1 and 6. Those are good odds, yes?” He spins the revolver and presses the gun to his head.

Your mouth grows dry with worry as he pulls the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

A breath releases from your lips slowly in relief. He shoots you a wink with his lips curled up at the corner. He enjoys the moments he can make your heart skip a beat in fear.

“Again.”

This time he sets the gun down and extends both his hands towards you. You do the same.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

Your hands become two rocks. His left becomes a paper and his right another rock.

“Minus one.”

You jerk one hand behind your back and he beats you with his left. The revolver is spun again and he hands you the gun silently.

Fear clenches its cold fingers around your stomach. As always, your hand shakes when you take it from him. You’ve never been a fan of this game, but you don’t want to disappoint him. His eyes are watching your every movement, and you know he won’t tolerate disobedience. If there’s one thing he hates more than anything, it is when you cannot do as you are told.

You press the barrel of the weapon to your temple and pull the trigger before you can second guess yourself. Dying doesn’t scare you. Living without him is far more terrifying.

Click.

A breath of air passes through your lips. You don’t have time to register your relief before he takes the weapon back and gives it another mighty spin.

“See, gentlemen? 1 in 6. My darling and I have both survived,” he taps your shoulder indicating you to step back. You move behind him and press yourself to the wall.

The two men are still shaking. The youngest lets out a noise of pure terror as your benefactor hums and raises the gun. The eldest glares at you from beneath his dark eyebrows. Idly, you wonder what he sees when he looks at you.

Does he see another captor deriving sick amusement from the torture or perhaps just a bystander watching it all from behind his captor’s back? You bite the inside of your cheek at the thought.

The truth is, this dark and dangerous world evades you. You don’t really know what it all means. You’ve spent the last few years dancing across the edges of it but never truly venturing forth. Even now, you don’t really know what it is that is happening or who exactly your benefactor is besides a savior.

Two years ago, you were a college student in your second year with the weight of the world upon your shoulders. Your home life had always been poor, an indebted dead father and an absent, broke mother, but your studies were the area you excelled at. You had managed to win a full ride to one of the most prestigious universities in Korea. The world of poverty you were born in was slowly coloring into rose golds and glimmers at the prospect of more.

Then your world had ended.

In your second year, you lost your scholarship. The burden of all the expectations on your shoulders had broken you beneath their weight. You who had always had good grades had suddenly burned out. Your test scores began to slip and your marks lowered across the board. Emails began to flood your inbox from the academic board warning you that you were now on academic probation and your scholarship hung in the balance.

The stress of being unable to raise your grades made them drop lower. You were so scared to fail that you failed at a faster rate. Eventually, a single email had appeared warning you that you had lost your financial aid.

In a puff of smoke, everything was gone. Your university account was locked, you were dropped from your classes, and the university warned you’d have a month to pay for the tuition before you were permanently withdrawn from the registrar.

You hadn’t had the strength to tell your mother. She was always so fierce and stoic that you knew nothing but reproach would follow. She would berate you until you were in tears then disown you if she found out. Not to mention the fact that she didn’t have the funds to pay for it all off.

You were stuck. You had some savings but not nearly enough. Even the shitty part time jobs you had been able to find waitressing and working overnight hadn’t made a dent in the tuition. How could you possibly pay for a full degree with little to no savings?

The world had seemed so bleak then. You’d fallen into despair and waited until the moment it all came crashing down. When your mother called, you feigned still being a student all while rushing from place to place looking for a way to earn some cash.

And then your benefactor had found you.

Like the North Star, he’d shown the way for you. He had approached you after a long shift at work while you were dead tired. Your fingers had shook at the sight of your bank account still too low to make a dent on anything. Your rent, your loans, and everything else had eaten up what little you had managed to scrape by. The tuition was still too far away. You’d begun to sob quietly when he had cleared his throat and introduced himself.

To you then, you thought he cut a striking image. He was handsome, charming, and his too white teeth stretched into a smile. He had offered to play a game with you. Ddakji.

He offered you a choice. If you won, he’d pay you a sum. If you lost, you’d pay him back with your body.

While a part of you had grown weary, you were desperate enough to do it. The won he offered wasn’t a lot, but it could pay for a few textbooks or maybe a part of your loans to allow you more room to breathe. As for you paying him back, fine. He was handsome enough that you figured it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you ended up on your knees in some alleyway before him. The desperation had killed your pride a long time ago.

Without second guessing, you had taken the red slip of paper from him and played several rounds. During the game, it became apparent you were good. Really good. He never got a chance to win. You beat him at every round.

Every time you won, his charming gaze grew darker and darker. By the end, his eyes were pitch black and his smile was all sharp teeth and razor edges. Somehow, you had beat his challenge without even trying.

A card had emerged from his blazer pocket with an offer of a different game you could play. You had only glimpsed some shapes before he had suddenly snatched it back out of your hand. As if deciding otherwise, he took it back and offered you an alternative to the game. His pupils were blown wide and his fingers had snagged a strand of your hair to play with.

He had offered to be your benefactor. A star like you, he claimed, didn’t deserve to burn out. He had sat down then next to you and explained he knew who you were. Your name and information had left his mouth rapid fire.

He knew your name, what university you went to, and the exact amount needed to complete your studies. He knew you had lost your scholarship and how much your mother was banking on you graduating to elevate your socioeconomic standing. He also knew your rent was due soon and the window to enroll for classes for the next term was growing closer.

It was then he had presented a new offer. He’d be your benefactor. He’d pay for it all out of pocket. Your rent and bills would be paid, he’d pay for your tuition and even any further post grad studies if you wanted, and he’d give you the life of luxury a star like yourself deserved if only you agreed to be his. You were interesting, he claimed. No one had ever beaten his challenge before. He felt like you’d make a thrilling playmate.

Alarm bells had rung in your head then. Every nerve and neuron had fired all at once warning you of this man. No one offered all of the answers to your problems freely. His proposition was also chilly. You were not too dangerously naive. You knew just what kind of “playing” he meant just based off the way his eyes kept picking you apart-

But you were desperate. The weight of it all was suffocating. You didn’t know how to claw your way out of the hole you’d found yourself in, yet here was this handsome man offering you everything you could ever want.

You’d taken his offer. He had extended his hand and you had accepted it.

The very next day, your problems had all disappeared. An email had arrived from the university happily letting you know your tuition had been paid for in full and offering you to re-enroll in your previous courses. Your landlord had sent you a message thanking you for paying for the next year of rent in advance and been very shocked that you had even sent extra to cover utilities. Plus, a big delivery van had arrived in the afternoon bearing several packages. Textbooks for the new year, a new computer for homework assignments, and some nice clothes had been left on your doorstep all with a note from your benefactor.

By the time you had finished unpacking every gift, your doorbell had rung again and your benefactor was outside your doorstep waiting to collect on your end of the deal.

And you had paid him in full.

You’d welcomed him into your apartment with all it entailed. He was fascinating. A thrilling mystery and exciting to be with. It had started small. Little stolen moments here and there in your living room or bed. Then it had escalated.

He’d trained you to be his perfect companion. He decorated you in the clothing and jewelry he liked best. He taught you all the little games he liked to play. Games that made your eyes roll back in pleasure or teeth grit in pain.

Before you knew it, he owned you completely. You’d taken cruelty at his hand. Thanked him for the insults and kissed his hands after the beatings. You’d let him cut you with knives and lick the blood afterwords. You’d played Russian roulette until the gun clicked 5 times and he’d decided it was enough. All of it you’d done for him.

He was a drug. He took care of you at a time when you’d felt abandoned. A light in the darkness. The morning star burning bright.

In the time you’d been with him, he’d broken down your barriers. You’ve learned to take his cruelty and fashion it into love. A part of you yearns for him, aches at the very core of who you are to be his forever. He no longer scares you. You’ve take it all. Played Russian roulette until he’s grown bored, accepted the thought of dying by his hand, and learned to love his rough edges and manic phases as long as he lets you stay at his side.

Perhaps this is what this man sees now. A girl half his captor’s age standing pretty at his back somewhere between cowering and leaning forward into the abyss. Maybe that’s why his eyes grow full of hatred and he levels you with a glare that makes you shirk back into the shadows of the room.

Your benefactor continues after a brief pause.

“Your odds of dying are 1 in 6. Your odds of surviving are 5 and 6,” he calls out. He presses the barrel to his head and it clicks empty a third time. A shrill whistle leaves his lips.

The men cower.

“Shall we begin?” He motions for you to take a seat. You hop onto the table at the back where a record player sits. You turn it on and music floods the room adding a nice backdrop to the game.

Your benefactor shoots you a grin at the top of his shoulder before he takes his place between the two men.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

The men jump into action. The eldest raises his trembling hands. A rock and scissors. You raise an eyebrow as you see the youngest has been paralyzed with fear and hasn’t moved.

Your benefactor clicks his tongue disappointed. You wince. He hates when someone refuses to play.

“You didn’t play. You broke the rules for the first round,” he comments and raises his hand, “Disqualified.”

Muffled shrieks sound from the two men as the gun is pointed at the disqualified player. You bite the inside of your cheek and press your legs together in anticipation. A spark of arousal ignites within your blood. You like this side of him, you realize. It is terrible and twisted but oh so thrilling. Your arms prickle with gooseflesh and your fingers cinch around your clothing wishing desperately you could wrap them around him.

A click of the gun echoes followed by screams from within the gag. Empty.

A silence descends as the younger man hyperventilates. The older man sags against his chair in relief.

Your benefactor offers the gun for you to spin. His eyes are ablaze with excitement. He loves this and he knows you love that he loves it. He can see through you in a way no one can or ever will again.

You spin the barrel for him and the game continues.

The second round, the younger man wins. The eldest screams open mouthed as the barrel is pressed to his temple.

Another click.

You watch with mild interest as your benefactor dabs at the sweat gathering on the oldest man.

“Don’t be so nervous,” he reassures, “Like I said, your odds of survival are 5 in 6.”

You recognize those words. He’d said the same thing to you the first time you’d played the game with him.

He’d introduced you to it early on in your arrangement. You’d sobbed and screamed every time he’d pressed the gun to your forehead. You’d thought him crazy then, absolutely insane, and you’d begged him not to kill you.

He’d licked your tears and groaned at the sight of you so afraid. Danger excited him but fear drove him mad. He’d grown even more aroused with your terror. He’d pressed the gun to your head again and again ordering you to remain still and repeated the odds as if numbers had meant anything to you then.

You’d played ten rounds miraculously surviving each one. When he’d finally had his fill, he’d set the gun down and taken you again. That time, you couldn’t deny that the boneless feeling of the adrenaline crash after such a big fright wasn’t thrilling.

You hated the damn game. It scared you and made you want to faint. Every time you waited for that click felt like torture, but you liked the after. Liked the relief of survival and the way he grew even more excited at your reactions.

You bet he’s excited now. With his back to you, you can’t tell, but you suspect he’s straining against his pants.

It’s not the danger that gets him going, you know. It’s the fear.

And panic runs rampant in this room. It dances around the edges and leaves a hazy sheen. You clench your thighs together again and suppress the urge to make a sound. Perhaps you’re a little too much like him. You briefly wonder if you’ve always been this way, if maybe his presence unlocked some hidden recess of your mind you always buried beneath propriety and morality, or if he has corrupted you to the core and damned your soul through his proximity.

“Let’s play again,” he calls out. He spins the barrel again and his wrist snaps up. He moves like an announcer to a game show. Movements sharp and crisp.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

The men move.

“Minus one.”

Click

Another scream. The youngest squeezes his eyes shut as the gun is moved away from him.

A weary sigh leaves your benefactor’s lips. You recognize the boredom that descends over him. He’s a man of extremes that flicker faster than light. One moment he can be terribly excited and the next terribly bored.

Now, it seems he’s grown uninterested. He moves away and towards the table with the rest of the bullets lined neatly in a row.

“It’s a little boring, isn’t it?” He directs the question at you.

“Hm,” you make a noncommittal noise.

You know what’s coming. Your fingers snag the bullets one by one and extend them towards him.

This is the part of the game you absolutely hate. Russian roulette is terrifying enough with the odds of 1 and 6, but 5 in 6?

The one time he had ever wanted to play it with you, you had adamantly refused. You’d cried and begged him not to terrified at the thought of dying in such a twisted way. He’d watched you cry for over an hour amused as you’d pleaded with him on your knees not to make you.

In the end, he had relented. He’d taken your face in his hands and kissed you humming that he had changed his mind. His voice had been nonchalant as he had remarked that it was better if your pretty brains didn’t end up splattered on the wall after all, and that had been it. He’d abandoned the hope of the game and never brought it up again. You’d played Russian roulette normally from then on when he felt adventurous, sometimes without spinning the barrel every round, but that was the extent of it. He’d never pressed for a more extreme version.

Except now.

Whatever these men have done, he does not care if they live or die. This is purely for his entertainment. It’s all one big game.

“Let’s reverse the odds, shall we?” He takes the bullets from you and loads them one by one except for the last one.

The men beg and plead for mercy. Your benefactor ignores them as if they haven’t said anything.

“Your odds of death are now 5 and 6. Your odds of living are 1 and 6. Let’s continue,” He doesn’t wait for them to agree. He takes his place at the front and looks towards you expectantly, “Darling?”

With a jolt, you realize he’s giving you the honors. You clear your throat and straighten up.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” you call out. You’ve done it a thousand times before, “Minus one.”

A tie.

You blink and the game continues. Over and over, the men tie. Eventually, you get bored of referring the game.

And then the tie breaks.

The men choose different options. It’s a win-lose situation. You and your benefactor lock eyes just as the song on the record hits its crescendo.

The eldest is going to win. You’re certain of it. All he needs is to move his hand with the scissors back. The youngest could win too, but he looks too scared to piece together the fact that victory is so close.

Deciding to close out the game, you call out one final command.

“Minus one.”

The youngest screams and the eldest closes his eyes. You lean forward to see who’s won and then raise your eyebrows.

Your benefactor clicks his tongue in disappointment.

“Too bad, you didn’t take one away. Disqualified.”

It happens before you even have time to blink. The gun is raised forward and a tiny scream escapes your mouth.

Bang

Blood and viscera splash on your carpet and walls. The youngest lets out his loudest scream yet and descends into tinier little screams of pure terror. Your benefactor hums and straightens. Before him, you can see the eldest has died.

5 in 6.

The record ceases its playing and you pause waiting for any indication that someone has overheard. Thankfully, your walls are pretty thick and your neighbor moved out last week. You suspect this is why your home was chosen as the venue for this little game.

Your benefactor hums and removes the remaining bullets from the gun, all but one. He wipes the blood from the barrel and hums a song under his breath.

“Congratulations, you’ve won,” he remarks to the other man.

The man is bent over his chair in agony still screaming. Whoever this man is, he was important. You know he has sacrificed himself for him. Briefly, you wonder who they are.

Bile floods your mouth at the sight of his corpse and you force yourself to look away. Instead, you focus on your benefactor. His fingers trace down your face and you see there’s some blood that stains them. You suspect some of the blood is on your cheeks and hair likely from the splatter.

“Thank you for the assist, little star. You’ve always been very good at this game,” he murmurs. He leans towards you and you adjust yourself to accommodate him. Your legs open for him to slot himself between them and your hands go to the lapels of his jacket.

He presses his mouth firmly against yours. You meet his kiss with a burning intensity. Your fingers card through his hair and his hand goes to the back of your head to press you closer. His teeth snag on your bottom lip and copper fills your mouth. A pained squeak leaves you before he swallows it down and pushes you closer.

It’s a while before he draws back. Your lungs burn and you’re sure your mouth is swollen. This close to him, you can feel something press against your core. He’s hard. The game has given him an edge of excitement. Your mouth waters in anticipation.

“Good girl,” he praises. His fingers swipe at your bleeding bottom lip. He licks at the blood on his index finger and meets your eyes as it comes away clean. His pupils are blown wide with lust. You imagine you look the same.

He knows what that praise does to you. You hold him close as he leans forward. His hands grip your thighs and he yanks you until you are leaning over the edge of the table. Your legs hang limply before he helps wrap them around his waist.

He is hard. He’s straining against the front of his pants and you automatically tip your hips up in anticipation. A gasp leaves you just as a growl resounds from the back of his throat.

He presses his mouth against a pulse point in your neck and bites down just as hips roll again.

“Did my little star enjoy the game? Is that why you’re so eager now? Hm,” he murmurs it against your skin and his lips tickle.

It’s embarrassing to admit it out loud. You close your eyes as his fingers slip beneath your skirt. They slip underneath your panties and find your excitement already beginning to gather.

He chuckles underneath his breath and offers them to you.

“See that? Taste yourself,” he orders.

You take his fingers in your mouth and swipe your tongue along his digits. The taste of you is sharp and raw. You can feel your core clench against nothing in anticipation.

He forces his fingers back into your throat. You protest as he hits the very back and tries to get you to gag. Your hand goes to his wrist to try to shove him off and he smacks it away.

“Ah, ah, all the way.”

The feeling of your gag reflex being suppressed makes your eyes water. You squeeze your thumbs hoping that old wives tale works.

He likes teasing you like this. His favorite thing in the world is when you cry. He often does whatever he can to get tears to pool at the corner of your eyes. Nothing gets him off quite like it.

A sound registers behind you both. It’s the man from earlier. You’ve completely forgotten about his existence too drunk on the feeling of lust.

The man is bent over with pure repulsion and disgust written on his face. His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s gagging. You don’t know whether it’s because of the gory sight of his friend in front of him or from your display.

Either way, your benefactor withdraws his fingers from your mouth giving you a chance to breathe. He tilts your head towards him and you meet his eyes. His eyes are pure black, lust clear as day, and he stares at the thin string of saliva that follows his fingers as he withdraws them.

“Ah, ah, don’t look at him. Look at me, little star. Eyes on me.”

You do.

Your heart is a humming bird in your chest and the way your core is clenching around nothing is uncomfortable. Desperately, you want him. Audience or not, you need him in that very moment or you feel like you will die.

“Please,” the plea leaves your lips before you can think. Your mouth moves to his neck to find a nice spot to sink your teeth into. His skin tastes like salty sweat and copper. He has blood specks all over him. You trace them with your tongue and the taste leaves you reeling.

He backs away a little and something cold presses to your mouth. The gun.

Your breath hitches in nervousness as he motions for you to open your mouth.

“Why don’t we show our guest how we play Russian roulette, hm? Teach him how it’s done?” He smirks and moves the gun further into your mouth.

Fear courses through your veins. The gun tastes of gunpowder and blood. You’d gag in revulsion if you weren’t already gagging from the feeling of it pressing against your throat.

“Put on a show, little star,” he urges, “Show our guest how we play our games.”

You know what he wants. You close your eyes and move your tongue around the barrel swirling and licking at the cold metal. You imagine your mouth wrapped around him and suck your cheeks in the way you would him. It’s vile and dirty and oh so tempting.

With him pressed so close, you swear you can feel him twitch against your core. Still, you continue. Obscene sounds fill the room as you lick and suck alternating between the two in a rhythm that you know would drive him crazy.

Click

The gun clicks empty. You realize with a flash of fear that he has pulled the trigger. So distracted by your actions, you had forgotten you were playing a deadly game.

He mistakes your momentary lapse in attention for fearlessness. He withdraws the gun and puts it in his own mouth tasting your saliva.

Click

It’s empty for him too. He pulls it out and uses it to trace down the front of your blouse. You feel your heart pound against your ribcage as it moves lower and lower.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. The gun traces down and underneath your shirt. The metal kisses the skin and he sinks his teeth right into your neck leaving an ugly mark you’ll see tomorrow in the mirror.

You sigh against him and move your fingers to his front. He lets out a pleased grunt as you slip your fingers into his pants and trace the shape of him. You want him so badly and aren’t above begging.

Still, he isn’t quite done.

He moves the gun down to in between your legs and the metal teases your entrance. He swipes it back and forth a few times teasing you. You moan against it and roll your hips expertly trying to get any sort of relief from the tension.

There’s a coil in your stomach ready to burst. The anxiety from the loaded weapon combines with your arousal creating a dizzying mixture. He’s gotten you hooked on the feeling of danger. He once promised he’d ruin you and by God has he. You’re too far from grace now. You’re so wrecked and damned that you doubt Satan would even want your soul now.

He’s absolutely ruined you for all men. How on earth could any man give you any sort of pleasure now? How could you want anyone else now that you have tasted him and found heaven in the stars he makes you see when he brings you over the edge?

You know what he likes. You want to bring him pleasure, so you move yourself against the damn weapon meeting his thrusts of it.

It isn’t enough, you want him not the damn thing. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck and meet his eyes. Both of gazes burn with lust.

He’s panting against you, you realize. Both of your shallow breaths are mingling. He’s as turned on as you are. Still, he doesn’t give in. He wants to show you off, show off the control he has over you.

You won’t run. You won’t scream. You won’t cry or beg. You’ll take the scraps he gives you and obediently play his game. If he tells you to play with him, you will and you’ll thank him for it.

His hands shake as he moves the weapon against you. He’s reaching his limit. You groan out his name, his real name only you are allowed to use, and close your eyes.

“Please, please, please, I need you,” you beg. The weapon provides some friction but it’s not enough. You want more. You want him to take you. Nothing else compares to the feeling of him deep within you. No other man or your fingers could ever make you feel the way he does.

Click

The gun clicks empty again. With a shock, you realize he’s pulled the trigger while it’s inside you. Horror floods your system and you hide your face into the crook of his neck.

He’s pulled the trigger 3 times without spinning the barrel. That’s 3 times either of you could have died. Some more bile climbs up your throat and some of those alarm bells ring again. You had thought he’d gotten rid of your self preservation long ago but every once in a while those pesky instincts swim back to the surface.

For a brief second, you imagine saving yourself. You imagine shoving him off you and bolting. Maybe you’d make it to the door while he gathers his bearings. With the gun only loaded once, he might not be able to shoot you in time.

You could flee into the night and disappear. There’s enough cash in the jewelry you’re wearing to escape. Either you disappear from Korea entirely and forget all about this dangerous incubus in between your legs, or you go to the police station and reveal everything you know. Either choice would let you be free of him. You could run now and save what’s left of you-

But the thought disappears the moment you hear the sound of his zipper.

He’s set the gun down on the table beside you now and is freeing himself from his pants. Your mind goes blank with the promise of pleasure and all thoughts of salvation evaporate.

You widen your legs and move your garments to the side allowing him access. With how aroused you are, he slips in with ease.

The stretch of him makes you sigh. You dig your fingers into his coat and hook your legs together welcoming him in deeper. He wastes no time burying himself to the hilt.

The table rattles and bangs against the floor as he thrusts into you hard. He’s close to his own limit. His eyes are closing shut and the tempo he sets is brutal. You cry out and arch your back at the feeling of him pounding into you.

Whether it’s the game or you, he is close. He’s been close this entire time. You know neither of you will last long.

You meet his thrusts with a roll of your hips and your back arches. Pornographic sounds leave your mouth and you hear his own hisses and grunts in your ear. He’s so, so close. He’s unraveling with every deep, hard thrust.

“Yes, that’s it, little star, yes,” he bites into your ear and increases the force of his thrusts. The table bangs against the wall and you’re sure the damn thing will break from the force. Fuck, he’s going so hard. You can feel the tip of him kiss your cervix with every thrust. Tears well at the corner of your eyes and you squeak at the impact of his every move.

“Please,” you babble. Your vocabulary has been reduced to that one word. You move your leg just up a little and he hooks his hand around your thigh and bring it up higher. The new angle has him hitting a spot deep inside that no one but him has ever managed to find before. You feel yourself begin to shake as stars dance before your vision.

“I’m going to-so tight-“

He bites into your neck and you feel sharp pain. When he moves his head, you can see blood in his mouth. It stains the skin of his lips and runs down the side of your blouse. You know you’ll look ghastly by the time it’s all done. You’ll be covered in bruises and bite marks, but it will all have been worth it once you hit your peak.

“Fuck! You were fucking made for me, fuck,” he swears again. His hips begin to stutter. You know he’s close and your own mouth opens in a silent scream. He hits a spot in you that has your vision flashing white. Your mind blanks of all thought as you arch into him and dig your nails into the back of his neck.

“Daddy,” you gasp.

That word drives him mad. He grips you impossibly tighter and all but folds you over as he looms over you. His thrusts increase into a force that has the wood of the table creaking and splintering. You cry out in pain and pleasure as he begins to falter. His eyes roll back into his head and he groans.

“Fuck-darling-I’m going to,” he bruises your cervix as he begins to fall apart. He’s all but breaking down before you, “Call me that again-fuck.”

You’re about to hit your peak. He’s so deep inside you that he’s all you can think of. Unimaginable pleasure fills you and you babble.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy-“

In the end, that’s what does him in. With a final, guttural sound, he buries himself all the way in and falls apart. His eyes are rolled back and he spills into you. It’s burning hot and painful. You hit your own peak right after and your vision turns white. A burst of feedback fills your ears and you’re boneless.

He rides out his climax making you hiss at the overstimulation. Finally, he stills.

Quiet fills the room except for your shared breaths. The man behind you is shaking and looking away horrified by the display. You must look absolutely wrecked to him. A vile display of psychopaths covered in blood and feet away from a corpse.

You don’t care. No one could ever understand the pleasure that comes from damnation. You don’t mind being perceived as something hideous if only the man before you finds beauty in your darkness as you’ve been able to love the monstrous thing that lurks within him.

The cold barrel of the gun presses against the underside of your chin. A forceful kiss is pressed against your mouth and you meet its intensity and fervor with your own.

“Beg me,” he orders. His voice is gruff, husky with his release, but commanding all the same.

You don’t have to feign the fear in your voice.

“Please don’t,” you gasp, “We’ve played enough rounds.”

You tremble as he presses the gun deeper into your chin. His mouth is curled up in a lazy smirk satisfied and satiated. You’re not afraid as you regard him through the misty tears spilling from your eyes.

He leans forward and licks them one by one collecting the salt on his tongue. The sound that leaves his mouth at the taste is infernal.

He takes your offering of tears and accepts the sacrifice. A trade for your life.

Silently, he moves the gun away and aims at the ceiling.

Bang.

Plaster rains from the ceiling as the bullet goes flying. You scream in terror at the realization that he could have killed you. Some of the haze of pleasure dissipates leaving behind the terror that you feel every waking moment at his hand.

The man before you screams and begins to sob. Full blown hysteria follows and he begins to beg in earnest again pleading to be freed.

Your benefactor tosses the gun down at the ground bored and offers you one final kiss before he withdraws. He slips out of you and you make a sound at the feeling of emptiness. He’s left you feeling hollow and already you ache to have him again. You’re an insatiable thing ruined by his hand.

He zips himself back up and uses his hand to fix his hair. There’s sweat on his face and he moves away to gather himself again. You slide off the table on shaky legs and feel his spend run down your leg.

The table is broken now and you narrowly manage to move before it falls on one side and breaks. You both ignore the noise of the record player shattering as you take a moment to breathe.

In through your nose and out through your mouth. You ignore the scent of gun powder and the way your shoes squelch with the blood on the floor. Your hands adjust your skirt and blouse with shaky fingers.

“You should feel lucky,” your benefactor snaps his fingers, “You survived and you got a nice show out of it too. No one plays this game like my little star, but you managed to beat the odds.”

He’s speaking to the man. The man is still full body trembling and sobbing. He looks so pitiful with tears running down his face and snot dripping from his nose. You look away and make a face at the feeling of more spend running down. You’ll need to clean yourself up.

Your benefactor straightens up and you feel jealous at the way he can always look so put together. If it weren’t for the little specks of blood on his face, you would never be able to tell he was so ragged moments ago. You’re sure you must look like a mess with your clothing in disarray and the bruises already forming on your skin.

He scoops the gun again and offers it to your mouth. You know what he wants. It’s a ritual.

You kiss the barrel as a thanks for letting you live another day then his fingers for introducing you to something so wicked. The corners of his mouth twitch up in a smirk.

“Good girl.”

He slings the thing in his jacket pocket and scoops the bullets into his hand. Nodding his head, he dismisses you.

“Now go clean yourself up, little star. I’ve still got some business with our guest. I’m going to be out late tonight,” he calls out.

You don’t need to be told twice. You move on still shaky legs and whisper out a declaration of love. Like always, it goes unanswered. Shrieks sound from the man as he is hefted out of the chair as if weighing nothing and dragged off into the night.

You watch your benefactor disappear out the door carrying the man out into the chilly air.

You never see him again.

[rainbowsky]

In all my years of being a GGDD fan, I don't think any year has ever been better than this last one.

In the past I have watched them struggle and face incredibly difficult situations, be forced to spend almost all of their time apart, and deal with scandals and setbacks.

2024 was a year I could never have dreamed of for both of them. Watching them both thrive so well, take charge of their careers and their lives to a degree never before seen, and to have so much time for their personal lives - it's all I've ever wanted for them.

And you can see how well they are thriving, how much happier they are, how much healthier they are, and how much of themselves is stamped on every single thing they do.

I frequently see fans spinning negative fantasies about them, and it makes me sad. As if there isn't enough pain in the world, why generate more in your own mind?

A lot of turtles tend to overly romanticize 2018 and 2019 because they were the years that The Untamed was filmed, promoted and aired, and that's where a lot of our favorite GGDD content was born. I think that's rather self-centered and shortsighted. If we take five seconds to remove our rose-colored glasses, surely we can see how difficult those years were for them.

Yes, they got to work together for a few months, they got to spend some fun time together promoting The Untamed and even got to be somewhat open about their affection for each other in front of a crowd, but outside of that summer dream, they were both in pretty precarious positions in their careers, and both of them faced a lot of really gruesome anti attacks. Neither of them had very much control over their careers or their choices, and their management situations were atrocious.

We don't even have to talk about 2020. That was an incredibly difficult year. GG was the focus of one of the worst cyberbullying and nearly career-ending scandals that's been seen in that industry. He was being threatened, the people connected to him and the brands that he dealt with were being threatened.

Any time he tried to do anything in his career, whether it was an appearance or an endorsement, antis would come out in droves and protest until it was shut down. There were active organized hate campaigns whose entire purpose was to destroy his life and his career. People were trying to infect him with COVID, and there were other threats upon his life. Multiple times online hate campaigns tried to spread the rumor that he had died.

He couldn't go anywhere without people following him and chanting hateful slogans at him and trying to infiltrate the hotels he was staying at. It was terrifying.

DD was constantly overworked, exhausted, always on the move with barely any time to come up for air.

They had to spend most of their time apart, including some of the quarantine time, when DD was isolated so that he could begin filming LOF, right when the worst of the scandal broke. GG's grandfather died, and he faced so many personal burdens.

They did get some fun times together of course, and there were some huge successes for both of them, including GG's spectacular comeback at the end of the year with his sea of red for Tencent All Star Night. Even turtles worked to help ensure he had his red sea.

And GG and DD got to clown around and be silly as well, and they made a real effort to show us that they were getting through fine, they would be okay and that they were still the same people, still able to be happy. We got so much candy that year, and so many great LRLG messages as well.

But that was just a sign of their character and strength. Make no mistake about it, that was a difficult year.

The intervening years between then and now have been a bit of a mixed bag. There were a lot of COVID frustrations (scheduling issues, Kafkaesque hoops to jump through, inability to travel outside the country, risk of ending up in a prolonged lockdown, inevitable health stress), they had to spend a lot of time apart and there were more and more crackdowns on the entertainment industry, on the queer community and on fandom culture, which made things feel positively dismal and oppressive - at times even scary.

However, it's undeniable that things have been gradually improving for them. They've both been building more and more autonomy and control in their careers, and building more respect from audiences and within the industry. They've both been prioritizing their personal lives more and more. And yes - they've BOTH been looking happier, more relaxed, more balanced.

I've talked about that a fair bit over the past couple of years. Most recently in this post.

Looking at 2024, they have had so much more free time in their lives, have been able to spend so much more time together in the same city, have spent time with each other wherever they were filming, and even got to travel and spend some fun downtime outside of China.

They are in such powerful positions compared to even a couple years ago. They have made great connections and worked on some amazing projects.

GG has been working with some of the top directors on some of the most anticipated projects in C-ent. He recorded an entire solo album and several music videos, and did all of that on his own time and on his own dime, and released it to critical acclaim and massive success with audiences.

He has been the talk of the globe in fashion circles and entertainment circles, and has been the face behind some of the most successful and exciting campaigns for some of the most prestigious brands in the world.

He got to travel a lot outside of China, and build on some of the great connections he's made over the years. He got to spend time with his parents traveling Europe!

He's given us so much incredible content with his vlogs and photo sets. It's just mind-boggling how much he's given us over the past couple of years.

DD took initiative to propose and participate in a documentary series where he got to explore interesting locations and engage in some of the most extreme outdoor activities. What could possibly be more exciting for someone like him?

He got to work with a team of conservationists who are fighting to save pangolins, and filmed a documentary there as well. Knowing him, that has to be one of the most rewarding things he's ever done in his life.

Both documentaries were highly acclaimed and award-winning.

Speaking of awards, he debuted as a film star and has been nominated for all of the top awards in China both for his film work and his drama work!

He has signed a new contract with his management company that will certainly have put him in a very powerful position in the company as their top breadwinner. He has been exceptionally successful with endorsements, holding more endorsements than anyone else in C-ent.

He got to play tennis on the top of The Great Wall with one of the top players in the world (regardless of how much I despise Djokovic).

He got to be an Olympic torch bearer! He is the ambassador for multiple high profile organizations and projects.

He earned his auto racing license, joined a racing team and finished in first place in his first ever auto race!

Make no mistake about it, they are both now solidly calling the shots in their own lives and careers, they are living their best lives, and they are both happier than I have ever seen them in all of these years.

And much more healthy! Just take one look at them and you can see how much healthier they both are. They've been playing a lot of sports and doing a lot of active outdoor activities together, and it shows in how much happier and healthier they are.

Frankly anyone who can't see that has their head stuffed firmly in a moist dark place.

I urge everyone to center GG and DD in all of our fandom explorations, theories and interpretations. The reality is that the more that they get to focus on their own lives and careers and personal freedoms, the less candy and CPN we're likely to see. We should be happy for them rather than try to spin sad tales about it.

[tuttle-did-it]

If you see the tags, I've seen Father Brown and it's... fine. It's fine. I don't think it's a very good show. And whilst I have nothing against Mark Williams or anyone else in the rest of the cast, no one on that show makes me want to watch any more. I don't care about any of the characters or the world they live in. Father Dowling was a more entertaining show in comparison for me. And generally speaking, cosy mystery shows are not the best tv in the world. It's an engaging lead that you need to pull it off. The rest is window-dressing. If the lead is delightful to watch, and the show even half-way written and directed, you'll have a fun murder mystery show. I have yet to find that here in UK. And forgive me, I just don't think Mark Williams is engaging and fun to watch. So it makes the whole show not enjoyable for me.

I don' felt the same way about Sister Boniface. It's fine. I just done care of I ever e another episode. I stopped enjoying Death In Paradise when Ben Miller left, honestly. I have seen eps every time they do a cast change to see if i enjoy it again. I do not. And the cast is far too young on DiP for what I'm looking for. I want an older detective who potters around the way Fletcher, older Perry or Ben Matlock did. With older guest stars. DiP had a few great older guest stars-- Peter Davison comes to mind as one. But I don't enjoy DiP as a show because I don't enjoy the main characters. I did when Ben was there. He it's not there, now. I try every time they soft-boot with new characters. I haven't found any others I like.

Harry Wild is probably the closest show in UK/IRE that I've seen that fits the bill. Jane Seymour is older, she is engaging, she is fun to watch. I wish her surrounding cast were a bit older as well, but she's fine. It's the closest I've found, here.

Also, as much as I love a lot of UK/IRE tv, my favourite character actors have, by and large, been American. Maybe it's because I primarily watched movies from 20s-50s-- especially in my formative years-- and US-based tv from 1950-1980. So the majority of my favourite character actors were getting older and appearing in these 80s/90s US cosy mystery movies/shows because they had worked with the main lead of the cosy mystery show (who was older).

Hell-- Dame Diana Rigg had her own cosy mystery show for a couple of years. It was fun. It was UK-based. So it can happen. I just haven't seen it happen in many years.

Also, I know ACD and Agatha Christie established the cosy mystery style, but the cast majority of tv shows I have enjoyed of this genre are American. Although I have a LOT to criticise America for (trust me, neither of is have the time or energy for how much I can criticise America for) they took the cosy mystery genre and perfected it-- those of the 80s/90s in particular were a lot of fun. There are a lot majority of UK-based things I prefer far more over US imports. But I have yet to see a UK-based murder mystery show that is as fun to watch as Murder, She Wrote, Matlock, Perry Mason and Columbo. All of our (UK/IRE) best actors had moved to the US in the 70s/ish, anyway. So I still got to see Patty McGoohan on cosy mysteries-- but it was Columbo. Patty Macnee was guest starring on Murder she Wrote several times. He wasn't working here in the UK. By and large, I think the US has done better with this genre -- especially when it comes to dotty older people-- than Britain. Which is hilarious to me on many levels.

(No, I am not talking about all the dozens of MSW/Columbo rip offs such as the Hallmark murder mysteries like Murder, She Baked. Are they cosy murder mysteries with aging guest stars? Sure. Are they remotely watchable? No. Not At all. Unless you are very drunk and making fun of the show instead of watching it to enjoy it.)

I have seen Father Brown. It's not enjoyable to me compared to Father Dowling-- and certainly not in comparison to the giant shoes left by Columbo, Ben Matlock and Jessica Fletcher to fill.

I know Matlock is being rebooted with Kathy Bates. I love Bates. She is delightful. But I'm tired of reboots. Give her any other fucking name. Kathy Bates deserves her own show without being forced to compete with Andy Griffith's shadow.

Same goes for Jamie Lee Curtis. She is rumoured to be doing a reboot if MSW. JLC deserves her own cosy murder show. Forcing her to compete with one of the biggest legends of all time in cosy mystery genre is entirely unfair to JLC and to Angela Lansbury.

Anyway. What I'm asking for is a cosy mystery with an engaging older lead that I want to watch every week. More Cannes Anne wheelchair's and false teeth. Ideally, with a decent writing team. DiP is no longer that for me. Father Brown has never been that for me. Am I glad it fits the bill for other people? Sure. Does it fit what I need? No. Harry Wild is the closest and even that has not entirely satisfied my itch.

You know, it's genuinely sad to me that aging favourite character actors no longer have any fun murder-mystery tv shows to guest-star as murders on.

[leonenjoyer69]

New oc dropped: Mr. Lovell Roser, Medicinal Necrobotanist!

A quick summary!!! (His full character sheet and successful experiment will be under the cut :3)

New OC dropped, a Lodger this time!! This is my new guy Lovell Roser, a Medicinal Necrobotanist at the Society :33 his work consists of: general herbal healing of wounds and sickness, treatment of infection or bodily rot, and the slowing/reversal of death by integrating plants into a dying or passed life form!! Basically, he wants to make flower-zombies. Most of his experiments result in creatures suffering from a rabid state, but he mayyyy have succeeded on bringing one man back..

Otherwise!! He's a very paranoid, partially apathetic dude. Most of his empathy is saved for his plants and the people he likes, but he can still usually throw on a friendly or caring act. Sometimes however, he does tend to go more blank, quiet, and oddly jumpy. He doesn't tend to let himself express any negative emotions like anger, always trying to keep an upper hand on his weaknesses unless something reallyyyy gets to him.

So!! To express his emotions, he relies on flower language and gifting flowers and bouquets, feeling that they speak more words than he ever could. So, he's gifting flowers constantly, for good and bad. Otherwise, he's generally enjoyable-- or at least tolerable-- to be around. He also does journaling for a bunch of different things, mainly on plants and his fears.

I think at the Exhibition he'd show more of his healing stuff, kinda just... Skirting the whole "resuscitation via plants" thing under the rug for a bit. To be honest, he doesn't even really like the other lodgers knowing he experiments with that stuff, but most of them are at least surprisingly supportive. High society, however? Definitely not supportive. Anyways, yea, he'd show his little salves and powders and tinctures, also showing the stuff to fight infection and rot, probably explaining how wow!!! These everyday flowers and herbs have so many benefits!!!

And then yea, full character sheet and his "son" Proteus (made by @sunset-sunbun ) under the cut!!!

Name: Mr Lovell Leocadius Roser

Age:28

Pronouns: he/him

Science: Roser studies something he calls "Medicinal Necrobotany", which consists of; general Herbal healing of wounds and sickness, treatment of infection or bodily rot, and the slowing/reversal of death via integrating plants into a dying or passed life form. To the general public, his work only seems to consist of healing salves and powders and tinctures, which he's commonly visited for. However, his work certainly goes much deeper than that. He aims to bring back life, much like Frankenstein, but with the use of flora, seeing if once someone becomes one with nature, they can also be brought back with it. Most of his experimenting is on deceased animals, trying to intricately fuse roots and nerves and make the flora a part of the body, which brings it the energy to come back. Any "successes" so far have ended in an almost rabid, zombie-like state, leading to him having to constrain or put down the creature. However, he has experimented on a few human bodies, and one *may* be successful..

Personality: a paranoid, plant loving dude. Definitely has empathy issues towards people, unless he's closer to them. Most of his empathy is for his plants (and ofc the people he likes). He usually seems somewhat cheerful, fine to talk amongst people and feign empathy with people he's less close to, but sometimes he seems more blank and jumpy. It's usually best to just leave him be when he's like that, unless you're closer to him. Otherwise, he tries not to outwardly express many of his negative emotions, always trying to keep an upper hand on his weaknesses, so he never really shows his anger or annoyance unless something has *really* gotten to him. Somehow, this doesn't stop him from still being an asshole. (Some of the lodgers have also probably seen him cry at least once though, a damning combination of paranoia and sleepless nights tend to set him on edge and one good spook can have him tearing up.)

When he has trouble articulating his feelings, he tends to fall back on flower and bouquet meanings, since he feels they mean much more than words. He also uses this as an outlet for his negative emotions, gifting flowers that have negative symbolism. So, all in all, he's gifting people flowers *all the time*, whether for good or bad. He also has a fear of spirits, specifically malicious ones, so he tends to keep protective plants on him at all times (lavender, ferns, sage, and his 4-leaf clover necktie pin), and when experimenting he's insistent on having his full body covered.

All in all, he's *generally* enjoyable to be around, or at least tolerable, usually more of a listener unless a topic of plants or medicine crops up, then he tends to ramble. Most of his free time is spent tending to his plants, experimenting, wandering the society, or journaling. The journaling ranges from plant and flower information and meanings (which he has logged extensively), slave, medicine and tonic "recipes", experimental logs, paranoid ramblings, and suspicions/gossip on people.

Backstory: As a kid, he lived more in the country, somewhat separated from society. This lead to his initial interest and curiosity in plants, as he spent most of his time outside among nature. His father was a kindly working man, though a bit emotionally distant, and his mother was sickly and snappy, leading Roser to prefer being out of the house. He started reading books of crazy scientists and monsters, which began to cause paranoia, though his curiosity tended to override his fears.

He became fascinated with herbal healing, reading and learning of flora's many uses, and became specifically curious about bringing things back with nature when he first came across a deceased animal, partially reclaimed by nature. He noticed how the plants prospered around the decay, and began to off handedly wonder if that Bloom of life could bring someone back, like how Frankenstein made his creature, except without electricity. He eventually went to university for anatomy and surgery, but he eventually switched to botany and horticultural classes. He made herbal medicine as a sort of side job, mainly experimenting with things, and a few years after university he found the society.

Lodger relationships: he's closest with Tanis (despite his fear of spirits), Doddle, Flowers, Rachel, Bird, and Archer. He's quite neutral on most of the others, but he's a bit intimidated by Maijabi, Cantilupe, and Ito (despite occasionally supplying her with things.) The main exceptions to that neutrality lies in Helsby and Griffin, who have caught Roser in a prank one too many times (and disrespected his lovely plants.) Roser is usually regarded quite well, especially since he's the main person to go to for any medicinal or healing reasons when potions are either unnecessary or just distrusted. Additionally, he won't admit it, but Roser has occasionally used Griffin or Helsby as a sort of test subject for new concoctions. Additionally, he's very half and half on Jekyll, of course greatful for the home he's been able to make in the society, but not very close to the man. There's just something off about him, but Roser holds no ill intent towards him. Hyde, however? He quite dislikes. Hyde has bothered him and messed with him and disrespected his plants enough that Roser gets annoyed at the mere sight of him, surprisingly snappy towards the blond.

His "successful" experiment: he somewhat succeeded in bringing back one human body, old name unknown to him, but Roser's called him Proteus, after the Protea flower, which symbolizes transformation. He's very cautious with Proteus for a good while, but it eventually gets a bit better. Proteus can't talk, and he's partially held together with poppies and carnations, as well as a general mix of other flora and fungi. He's usually quite out of it, not always responding to sound stimuli, but he's also seemingly not aggressive or prone to lashing out. Proteus is Roser's pride and joy, and he makes sure to care for him the best he can, pushing aside any fears or paranoia. He treats Proteus like a son, in his own silly way, making sure he's fed and hydrated and not rotting, testing him to see how he responds to things and how well he can still function. (Proteus's character and design was also made by @sunset-sunbun so once again big thanks to Sunny for Roser's flower zombie son!!!!)

Extra stuff: he made the little strap that holds his lavender himself and put one on each waistcoat. Not only to protect him, but also to showcase to people that he's not the most trusting. He's also allergic to bees! So all of the pollinators in his room are mechanical ones (made by Flowers (or his boyfriendddd)). He has these frequent premonitions or gut feelings that something is going to go bad. If they're not strong enough, he tends to try and ignore them, chalking them up to mere paranoia, but if it's stronger he tends to give into it, warning those who will listen or who he feels is in danger. He's felt dreadfully drawn towards Jekyll for a while now, and despite feeling quite neutral about him, Lovell has been trying to slip him warnings and protections.

If you read all of that, tysm :33 proof again that I cannot leave my characters simple or partially developed, I go ALL the way

He also!!!! Has a boyfriendddd-- a fellow Lodger named Vasily (who's @arsieu s OC :D) I love them sm. Also art by Arsie ofc

[wendichester]

could you pls write about reader attempting to bake a pie 🥧 but dean and sam already know it’s not going to be good because while reader is skilled in many things, cooking/baking isn’t one of them but they don’t have the heart to tell her no, that is until reader leaves the room and they spit it out cuz it’e awful 😂👩🏽‍🍳

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🥧༄⋆ baking time,

summary. who knew homemade pie could be so... tasty?

pairing. dean winchester x reader x sam winchester

wordcount. 641.

You’re in the kitchen, humming to yourself, as you carefully follow the recipe you found online. Sam and Dean are sitting at the table, watching with a mix of concern and confusion. They’ve been through this before—your attempts at cooking and baking are... let’s say, a little less than successful. But neither of them has the heart to tell you this probably isn’t going to end well.

Dean leans back in his chair, eyeing the pie crust you’ve just rolled out. “You sure you don’t want some help?” he asks, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

“I’ve got it!” you say, flashing him a grin that could only be described as pure determination. “You two just relax. I’m going to bake the best pie you’ve ever tasted.”

Sam glances at Dean, but before either of them can get a word in, you’ve already started dumping ingredients into a bowl, mixing them with an intensity that has Sam’s eyebrows knitting together. “Uh, maybe you should double-check the recipe? You’re using... a whole stick of butter, right?”

You glance over your shoulder, laughing. “That’s what it says. I’m not skimping on the good stuff.”

Dean coughs, trying to hide his grin. “Sure, sure. More butter never hurt anyone.”

The smell of baking fruit and sugar fills the air as you continue your work, oblivious to the concerned looks Dean and Sam exchange. At one point, Sam swears he sees you accidentally spill an entire jar of cinnamon into the pie filling.

Dean shifts in his seat, his eyes darting between you and the pie. “You sure this is the best way to do it?” he asks, hoping you won’t catch on to his barely disguised panic.

You flash him another confident grin. “Relax, Dean. I know what I’m doing.”

When the pie finally goes into the oven, you stand back, hands on your hips. “There. Now we just wait.”

Dean and Sam look at each other, both clearly thinking the same thing: This is going to be a disaster.

A few minutes later, the timer goes off, and you skip over to the oven, pulling out the golden-brown pie that’s, well, kind of slanted on one side. But you’re beaming. “It’s perfect!”

Dean and Sam exchange a glance. “Looks... uh, great,” Sam says weakly, forcing a smile.

Dean clears his throat, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, if you like your pie with a little... character.”

You’re so excited, though, you don’t even notice. “Okay, I’m serving it up now.”

Dean looks at Sam with wide eyes as you put down the plates, one slice in each. He leans in as soon as you turn your back, going in for a third slice. “Uh... maybe we should... I dunno, have a little taste test first?” He grabs a fork before Sam can protest, and takes a cautious bite.

Sam watches him, a little horrified. Dean’s face scrunches up, his eyes watering. He chews a little longer than necessary before spitting it out dramatically into a napkin. “I—I don’t think this is supposed to taste like that.”

Sam hesitates, then gingerly picks up his own slice. He takes one bite and immediately follows Dean’s lead, spitting it out. “I think I’ve had better pie at the bottom of a dumpster.”

But neither of them has the heart to tell you how awful it really is. When you turn back around with a plate of pie, you see both of them smiling with strained expressions.

“Best pie ever,” Dean says, forcing a smile.

Sam quickly adds, “Amazing. Really, I’m impressed.”

You beam, obviously proud of your work. “I knew you’d love it. I’ll make it again next week!”

Dean and Sam exchange a glance, both of them silently agreeing they’ll never, ever let you bake again. Not unless they want to die from cinnamon overload.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles

[dindjarindiaries]

Hunter was trying to be a good older brother to Crosshair and a good father to Omega in The Return, despite a few moments of weakness, through protectiveness, observation, and supportiveness. He ultimately succeeded in his objectives.

The Bad Batch S3E5 "The Return" will always be one of my favorites because it doesn't shy away from the complexity of the family's dynamic after 1) losing Tech, who was often a peacekeeper/mitigator, and 2) regaining Crosshair. While I, and many others, wish the former was explored more, it does an excellent job of showing us even more about these siblings' dynamics than we even knew before.

As always with any analysis, this is a disclaimer that you may view this episode in an entirely different way due to various biases, one of the most notable being based upon your own favorite characters and your own life experience. All I ask is that you read through carefully before chiming in with any counterarguments!

The line of dialogue that most of my argument here hinges upon is from Hunter about midway through the episode, just before his and Crosshair's fight.

"I know you."

Going back to the very beginning of the episode, we see Hunter and Wrecker sitting and waiting for Omega to wake up. Crosshair's clearly not there, and when Omega asks about their brother's whereabouts, Wrecker says he wasn't there when they woke up, before Hunter adds this.

His face is clearly displaying concern, even though his words are reassuring. He's no doubt worried about Crosshair, too, but like he says later on: he knows Crosshair. He knows what to do when Crosshair's upset, and that the sniper wants/needs time alone, hence why he and Wrecker didn't go after him. Hunter is trying to reassure Omega, who isn't as familiar with Crosshair at this point, by insisting that this is how he adjusts to change. It's important to note that there doesn't really seem to be any hostility radiating from Hunter (or Wrecker) towards Crosshair here.

In fact, the duo only gets up and goes to check on Crosshair once Omega's involved. This proves something else that's important to understand for Hunter's character in this episode: he's wrestling with both his concern for Crosshair and his protectiveness over Omega, and that's because of this moment from season 1:

Because of Crosshair telling Hunter in S1E15 that he had his inhibitor chip removed, without the context of when, Hunter has to assume for Omega's safety that this was Crosshair acting of his own accord. This is because, if Hunter's to be a reliable protector of her, he always has to be as cautious as possible with those she's surrounded by—and unfortunately, in this case, that includes Crosshair.

(Remember that, even as the sergeant of Clone Force 99 and the eldest brother/caretaker of their family, Hunter's priorities have shifted since the war ended; Omega now comes before all else. He says this as early as S1E7 to Rex, when they had only had Omega for a short time. This is now at least a year after those events, which means that sentiment's only grown stronger for Hunter, especially after losing Omega to the Empire for six months.)

Because Crosshair is smart and also knows his brothers just like they know him, he comes to this conclusion himself. This is why he's not surprised when they start watching him and Omega from a distance, and why Crosshair insists it's because "They don't trust me."

Then, Echo arrives, and they start making plans to go to Barton IV. This is where we see Hunter's protectiveness of Omega really shining, along with some interesting glimpses of Hunter's concern/curiosity about Crosshair and what he went through.

The fact that Omega and Hunter have the same expression here... that's intentional. Omega is but a mirror of her brothers, and always has been ever since she met them. She and Hunter are literally displaying the same amount of sympathy and concern for Crosshair here.

Now, this look from Hunter that's immediately after Crosshair's done talking is read as anger from a lot of people, which is understandable. To me, though, especially through this lens, it looks more like Hunter is coming to a conclusion. Hunter can tell that Crosshair knows more (and has gone through more) than he's letting on about, but he doesn't care that much about getting the intel that Echo no doubt wants. Hunter just doesn't like the fact that Crosshair won't open up about what happened to him.

It's important to keep in mind that as Hunter and Wrecker were watching Omega and Crosshair before, they undoubtedly saw Crosshair's target practice going poorly. Hunter would certainly make note of that, and thinking of his physical struggles along with hearing this... well, yeah, Hunter's gonna have a serious pondering face, because he wants to know what's wrong with his youngest brother so he can help him. But because he knows his brother, he knows that he has to keep his space for now and be mindful.

Once plans for the trip to Barton IV come up, Hunter proposes that he goes with Crosshair and Echo, again proving that Hunter isn't really trying to avoid Crosshair. In fact, Hunter only expresses any concern when Omega wants to join, and we all know why. He's worried about her and doesn't want to risk it, which he says plainly.

It's clear, though, that Hunter is still worried about Crosshair being so close to Omega, too, especially if they're going to an Imperial hideout. Hunter has trauma from that moment in S1E8, and it's not easy for him to see past that, as much as he does still care and worry for his youngest brother. Again, he has to suspect that anyone is capable of hurting her, aside from the brothers who've been protecting her alongside himself the entire time.

Crosshair even acknowledges this when he and Hunter pass one another while packing up the night before.

(I'd like to note that, in this moment, Hunter's the one who moves to accommodate Crosshair's path. To me, that's more evidence of the fact that Hunter is keeping a safe distance from Crosshair to let him process, but because Omega's there too, he's also keeping a watchful eye on him. He's really torn between the two.)

"Don't hold it against him," Crosshair tells Omega. Why? Because:

Crosshair understands that most, if not all, of Hunter's moments of caution towards Crosshair have everything to do with Omega and her safety, rather than Hunter being angry at Crosshair. Hunter doesn't like that Omega's going on this risky mission, and he really doesn't like that it's happening with Crosshair there, when he hasn't even told Hunter everything that happened. How is he supposed to properly protect her (and Crosshair) without knowing all the details?

(And how sweet is it that Crosshair agrees with Hunter's take on Omega coming with them?)

They get to Barton IV, and there, we get one of Hunter's moments of weakness, when he's really giving in to his protectiveness of Omega and his frustration/worry about having such few details about Crosshair and his falling out with the Empire.

(But first, let's quickly acknowledge Crosshair emerging in his old armor, and the fact that Hunter, Wrecker, and the others kept it. Hunter (and Wrecker I believe) both lost pieces of their armor during their search for Omega, no doubt either losing them in dangerous situations or selling things to get by, but they never once touched Crosshair's kit—even when it would have been really easy to sell his things before selling their own.)

Because the base is empty, Hunter starts to worry that it's a sign of something bad. Remember, just because Hunter is the level-headed sergeant and leader of the group, he's not immune to trauma. Imagine how traumatizing Eriadu and all his failed attempts to find Omega with Wrecker were for him, especially with him literally being a tracker. The last time they were all together like this on a mission was when Tech died.

So, Hunter gives into that protective sense and challenges Crosshair, because now he needs the details. He has a sense that this place is notable to Crosshair, but not how, and if he wants to protect Omega, who is his main priority, he has to find out. He's also getting more and more frustrated that Crosshair won't talk to him about it.

This can be evidenced by one of their exchanges. It's only after Crosshair brings up his cell again that Hunter insists, "I get the feeling there's more to this place than you're saying." And... well, Hunter's right. This is a place of trauma for Crosshair, and Hunter's no doubt picking up on that. After being reminded of Crosshair's imprisonment, Hunter has to ask, he has to press, in his mind, for the wellbeing of Omega, Crosshair, and the rest of his squad.

Again, Hunter doesn't like operating off little information to accomplish all these things. He's a protector at heart, and he always has been. Crosshair not giving him all the details he can remember (likely because of his own trauma) makes Hunter feel even more on edge, and that's why he lashes out a bit more at his brother, questioning him about why he didn't mention the raiders before.

Unfortunately, with Crosshair deflecting to avoid his own hurt, Hunter takes the bait and engages, leading to their exchange of "Just following orders?" "If you're scared, why don't you wait on the ship?" Thankfully, Echo steps in and breaks it up, which gives Hunter time to clear his head again. This is Hunter's first biggest moment of weakness.

Now, we're getting to one of my favorite sequences: Hunter watching Crosshair from a distance inside the depot.

Hunter clocks Crosshair's discomfort right away after Echo says that Crosshair's words about the base serving its purpose "Sounds familiar." Again, it's easy to understand why people might read this as Hunter being angry or cautious, but to me, it looks like Hunter's just trying to get a read on why that particular exchange sent Crosshair away, and what exactly he's looking for.

Wanting to figure out more so that he can help Crosshair and thus help them all in this very moment, Hunter quietly follows Crosshair, and that's what leads to him seeing Crosshair pick up Mayday and the other regs' helmets.

(Hunter lurking in the back right. I'm obsessed with this shot.)

Remember, Hunter is observing this as someone who remembers Crosshair not wanting anything to do with the regs. He antagonized them perhaps the most out of any other in the squad during their arc in The Clone Wars, and he even told Hunter in S1E15 that the Batch was superior to the regs, and to most other soldiers in general. Hunter seeing Crosshair treat these reg helmets with such reverence is such a strong indication to him that something major has shifted for Crosshair, and it had likely happened on this planet.

But Hunter, again, knowing his brother, remains a quiet observer. It would've been easy for him to engage here, but he recognizes that Crosshair needs this moment to himself. Hunter even leaves him to it after. Would someone who really didn't trust Crosshair at all whatsoever turn their back to him like that? What he does is give his brother privacy, and acknowledge that he needs to know what happened... but this isn't the right place or time to be pressing him about it.

Danger is lurking, though, and Hunter's desperation to know the truth so he can be better equipped is growing. It hits a peak when Crosshair, prompted by Batcher's barking, checks the perimeter by himself. Pay close attention to how Hunter reacts to Crosshair's exit.

It isn't really anger in this expression. Wrecker's behind him is certainly one of concern. Hunter instead looks determined, and that's because he's about to pursue Crosshair to start getting answers. He's tired of not knowing, and because the stakes are starting to rise, and the evidence is all around him. Hunter decides that he's given enough space and now has to push Crosshair to talk to him.

Because, as Hunter's about to say in a few seconds, he knows Crosshair. He knows, and from what Echo says later, he's always known how to get Crosshair to talk, and it seems that it often involves some fighting and bloodshed—because Crosshair has a harder time opening up than his other brothers.

But Hunter will be damned if he doesn't try, especially now that Omega's safety could depend on this information.

Now, at last, we're at the pinnacle moment of the episode for these two characters: the fight, and another moment of weakness for Hunter. He reminds Crosshair that he knows him, and he demands this time to know what exactly happened here.

Hunter, because he knows his brother, has to push Crosshair (literally) to get anything out of him. He doesn't want this to be simple bickering like before. So, Hunter goes for a low blow. He knows that Crosshair values loyalty above all else, so he brings up Crosshair's disloyalty to both the Empire and their own squad, knowing it'll hurt him enough to get some real responses out of him.

Then comes the physical shove. This is a clear demand for Crosshair to start giving answers.

But look at how Hunter's expression changes as he waits for Crosshair to talk.

His brow softens, because Crosshair's hesitance to say or do something right away is evidence of the fact that it's something really, really serious that happened. At the end of the day, he's just worried for his brother. He wants to know, needs to know, so he can help him. It almost looks like he's pleading for an answer here.

And Crosshair does answer truthfully, revealing that he killed Lt. Nolan. Hunter is obviously shocked, and he even has a somewhat guilty reaction to Crosshair saying "after they betrayed me", because, I mean, we all know Hunter's been harboring guilt for leaving Crosshair behind.

That's when Crosshair digs his claws in to protect himself, too, also going for low blows against Hunter—starting with Hunter ignoring the warning Crosshair had sent from Tantiss.

(What's really telling to me here is that Hunter doesn't once defend himself when he easily could have. He could have told Crosshair that he was the only one who wanted to listen to Crosshair's warning, but that his and the rest of the squad's desire to try to save Crosshair ultimately won out. But he doesn't. He just takes it.)

Hunter only starts to get really angry when Crosshair gets Omega involved.

Hunter turned Crosshair's loyalty against him, so Crosshair turns Hunter's protectiveness against him. Imagine being a protector like Hunter, who's even more fiercely protective of Omega, and being told that after months of desperate, worried searching, you're the reason why the person you care the most about went through their worst bout of suffering.

Yeah, that stings. Especially because there's truth to it, the part about his jealousy towards Crosshair being the one to free her instead of himself. Hunter no doubt felt like he had failed as Omega's protector by losing her to the Empire, and not only that, but the brother he left behind had to be the one to bring her back to them.

(I also think that, in reading between the lines in this entire part of Crosshair's argument, he could even be insinuating that Hunter's shouldering the blame for Tech's death. If he knows the details, then he knows that ultimately, Hunter's the one who approved the mission. "You ignored it", in reference to Crosshair's message, could mean that both Tech and Omega could have been safe if Hunter had simply made the right call. It may not have been intentional on Crosshair's part, but I could easily see Hunter thinking that, especially if he already felt guilty about it.)

No wonder why these two are about to fist fight in the snow. Their ugliest, scariest monsters have finally come out.

And that's when the scary monster comes out, too.

(I love the symbolism!)

Hunter immediately snaps back into his protector mode. He warns Crosshair to move, but also physically shoves Crosshair out of the way and takes his previous place, making himself the one who's closest to the threat.

(Hunter does this a lot with his squad, by the way.)

They focus on getting to safety, and then figuring out a plan with the others to get the wyrm back outside the perimeter. This is when Hunter insists that they have to make sure the wyrm is drawn out that far so that they're not trapped inside with it, and Crosshair volunteers to take it on his own. But Hunter's not okay with that.

You would think that Hunter would want to be as far away from Crosshair as possible after what just transpired, but he doesn't. Instead, in this moment, Hunter is assuring Crosshair that he doesn't have to do things alone anymore, that they're brothers at the end of the day, and he wants to help. I think this is Hunter's first true attempt at making a truce with Crosshair, and attempting to extend his hand to him.

Of course, Crosshair snaps back asking Hunter if he's sure that's what he wants, and that leads to a moment of tension—but notice that, unlike the other times, Hunter doesn't retaliate. He understands with more clarity now why Crosshair's lashing out. Crosshair's hurting.

So, in teaming up with Crosshair here, Hunter knows he can mend what's most important to Crosshair by proving it with his actions: loyalty.

If anything, what Crosshair lashing out here and what Hunter going with him proves is that Crosshair's mostly hurt that he's lost the loyalty/trust of his brothers. When they get out there and Hunter's trapped underneath the ice, left to rely on his brother for guidance and rescue, it allows Crosshair to mend that sense of loyalty and trust. He can earn it back.

Not because Hunter necessarily needs him to do that, although it certainly is helpful, but because Hunter knows that Crosshair needs that. Crosshair needs to feel reliable to them again.

That's what's so perfect about Hunter's safety literally being in Crosshair's hands here. They're able to banter the way they likely would've during the war, and Hunter doesn't hesitate when Crosshair extends his rifle to pull him up and get him out of the hole in the ice.

Hunter gets proof that he can indeed trust Crosshair with his life again, and Crosshair gets that proof, too. Because, at the end of the day, they're just an eldest and youngest brother. Youngest siblings (I say as a youngest child myself) are often looking for validation and trust from their older siblings, especially the eldest. This display of trust must've been so, so validating and healing for Crosshair.

That brings us back to that first line of dialogue I highlighted: "I know you." Hunter knew Crosshair was hurting like this all along, and while he was struggling between his protectiveness over Omega and his concern for Crosshair, he was finally able to make his brother's journey to healing happen.

We then get the nods of mutual trust, understanding, apologies, and forgiveness, before they sit in peace together.

(This is one of my favorite shots in all of Star Wars. I mean, come on.)

I love how the shift in their dynamic is evident enough that everyone recognizes it once they get back. They hug it out with Wrecker, and then we shift into one of the most meaningful dialogue exchanges we'll ever get between them.

Now that Crosshair's laid more of his vulnerabilities out on the table, he seeks reassurance in Hunter. Again, youngest siblings so often just want to feel validated by their older siblings, especially the eldest. Crosshair's looked to Hunter to lead him and guide him his whole life. This is why the guilt's so evident when he comes clean about making mistakes with the Empire.

It would've been so easy for Hunter to say yeah, you did make mistakes, you did hurt us and many innocent people. Instead, Hunter says these simple few words that carry so much weight:

Hunter takes on that burden with Crosshair. He lets his own vulnerabilities show by saying, yeah, I'm with you there, there are things I wish I hadn't done, either. He then gives him reassurance and hope by saying that they can forge a new path forward, that they're not tied down by who they used to be, nor what bad decisions they made.

Hunter is putting them on the same level here, and for someone like Crosshair, who probably thought his brothers would never trust him nor accept him the way they used to because of what he's done, this means everything.

(I also feel like Crosshair really needed to hear the "I have regrets too" line from Hunter in particular. He needed a hint that Hunter really did regret leaving him behind, even if it was the best/safest option for the rest of the squad at the time. You can certainly still regret doing something, even if it was the best option at that time.)

In summary, The Return is about not just a return to Barton IV, but a return to who Clone Force 99 used to be. Crosshair's return to his squad, the return of their trust in him and vice versa. A return to the familiar.

Hunter didn't handle this perfectly, nor would anyone who was in his shoes with all these complicated relationships and trauma, but he did his best. Even while caught between his concern for Crosshair and his fierce protectiveness of Omega and the members of his family that he had left, Hunter still found a way to make things right. He completed both objectives.

For as much as Crosshair needed to have the trust of his family back, Hunter needed the reassurance that he could still keep his entire family safe on missions like these. He needed to know he could still take care of them, physically and emotionally.

And he succeeded.

[contact-guy]

okay I wanna talk about writing this a little bit!

-In the last lines of the comic, Holmes is recalling this conversation.

-There's a part in Granada Holmes (The Hound of the Baskervilles) where Holmes takes off his glove to shake Watson's hand. There was something so intimate about it, I wanted to capture that when he writes the letter.

-For that drawing of Watson standing looking out at the Falls, I kept thinking of a line from Lord of the Rings. It's when Samwise thinks that Frodo has died. He leaves the body, determined to carry on his mission, but stops for a moment to look back. "He peered out at that high stony place where all his life had fallen in ruin." There may be one or two commonalities between the things I like okay?!??

-Also for that drawing, that canon line "who was to tell us what had happened then?" shook me to my core when I first read this story. I knew I had to work it in somehow. What happens to the narrator when his protagonist dies?

-More canon lines - Moriarty talking about an "engine tearing itself to pieces" and "the days of the great cases have passed" are things that Holmes says himself.

-There's an instinct to drawing comics that makes me love making them more than any other medium. When a character is going to go through something complex, first I make sure that I can draw them experiencing that emotion. If I can't draw it, then there's probably something wrong and I need to write a bit more. Here are some sketches I did as I was ideating (which ended up being used in the comic):

-I was agonizing a few months ago about how to do this story, how to bring Holmes to the brink of the cliff and then bring him back. Sometimes when I'm stuck I just freewrite to see what comes up, trying to step through things from the character's perspective and see what makes sense. Here's some of this that I kinda think slaps:

When he survives…

He didn’t expect it. He was fully prepared to die. And he almost steps over that cliff, he does. Because he’s written himself into the end of the story. He’s written John the perfect ending.

But he doesn’t. Some animal part of his starved and neglected body, the part that kept him from falling in the first place, that kept him fighting. Is it the part that was loved and nurtured by watson? Some lingering love keeps him from following Moriarty. Hands that touched him in tenderness and love, now holding him back.

So everything since then has been trying to portray that in the most effective way possible. thank you for reading!

THE FINAL PROBLEM - part 9

This update comes with a content warning, which you can read here if you're so inclined.

THE FINAL PROBLEM - part 9 of a few more - part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 - part 8.

This is in the Watson's Sketchbook series!

[astracora]

Turning Point - Part 3

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Angst, Loss of Arm, Lots of emotional struggle with disability.

Word Count: 3811

Written: 5th January 2025

Notes: Pre-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. I'm not going to go into every detail of adapting to a prosthetic, there's a lot of stages. For anyone curious, MC uses a multi-grip prosthetic, that relies on electric signals from their residual limb to help communicate movement, using a specialised (fantasy) metal because it's adapted for their job. Also the general adaptive time for one can be up to a year, (even longer depending on how much it needs adjusting and how much active support you have). I'm cutting it down to six months overall (though they continue to learn better ways to use it going forwards). On account of the LADs world having stuff like... AI Robots that can have a conversation with you in the streets, and magic powers. I don't know how long this will be, or how many parts. I have a horrifying number of notes... I guess we'll see how long I can go before my brain shuts down.

Now Playing: The Line, by Twenty One Pilots

Masterlist AO3

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You spend the next few days going through the motions.

You exist where you should be striving, and you breathe where you know you're supposed to laugh.

It's empty, but the angry beast in your heart doesn't snap and growl and howl. Demanding blood as recompense for an existence you cannot justify.

Looking in a mirror has become… difficult, so when you brush your teeth, or wash your face, too stubborn to let anyone help when your hand trembles, and you spill your things on the floor. You stare down. At the floor, as you go through motions you know like the back of your scarred hand.

There are moments when life bubbles up, but it is short and it is tired and you only feel it when you have others around you to bring it out. To ease life back into a hand that's become a claw. Smoothing the stretching torn skin, and tending to broken nails.

You go through the motions, because they wait for you on the other side of the door. If you cannot live for you, you will always live for others.

Sometimes it is all you can do, to motivate your broken heart to beat one more day.

Zayne comes with you to the hospital, to check in with your specialist. A warm older woman, who reminds you too much of Gran to not make you feel like you're seeing ghosts. It's a feeling mixed with guilt, and a small amount of fear. Unbidden but lurking. Everytime she, Meredith, touches you, an ache sparks in your heart.

A memory like static hits you, and you have to steady your breath and your heart with a firm hand before you can resume listening.

If you can even be said to be listening.

You're checked over, made sure that your injuries haven't been made worse by your isolation and lack of care. You're lucky, you're told. That someone found you, that they came to you, brought you back to the hospital.

You want to snap back that luck doesn't tear your arm from your shoulder.

That you're not lucky. You're not brave.

You're not anything.

Zayne is commended for his sutures, and his quick care, he barely responds, hand firmly in your one. Squeezing, loosening his grip, squeezing. Self comforting himself as much as he is comforting you. You return the gesture, staring out the window. Trying to take yourself somewhere else. Somewhere without white walls, and terrible motivational posters.

Somewhere where this ghost of your grandma isn't hovering over you. Where you're not hearing talk about next steps.

Somewhere warm maybe.

His hand grounds you, keeps you tethered. Part of you wants to release and let yourself float, the other is scared to disappear into the clouds without him. So you stay, and you hold on. Like you're a balloon he keeps around his wrist.

"Let's check your prosthetic fit. It will need adjustments going forwards as you learn to use it."

Static.

You're somewhere in the room, staring at yourself as you nod, a hand on your shoulder as your shirt buttons are loosened. As straps are pulled and tightened around skin. Even half aware they feel raw. Itching and burning against you.

Unwanted. Unwelcome.

It's a distant pair of eyes that gaze at the limb fitted into place, staring at the metal. You blink finally. Clearing your head to look. Just… look.

"Comfortable?"

You think back to the bathroom with Rafayel. His gentle hands soothing dirt from your skin, and his eyes glowing as they look at you. You think to a gentle hand stroking your head as you fall into sleep, starry blue eyes watching you carefully. You think about a crow bringing you snacks, of red eyes watching you warmly over a bowl. You think about a doctor's hand in yours, easing the scars over, like you've done to his.

You think about the pieces of you twisted and bunched and stuffed under skin that fits too tight. You think about the pain of waking up every morning now. Of avoiding your own gaze in the mirror.

You think of a limb you can still see the metal piercing through.

You aren't sure how to answer her. Too many things bundled up in your head, struggling to filter and file and understand which is which.

Zayne gives a gentle tug, looks down at you, forest eyes glimmering. Absently you think you see fear, like you're going to disappear, if he lets you go. Float away on a weak breeze.

It should shame you. Feeling this weak.

You're just so tired.

When he speaks, he soothes with his thumb, pressing into skin and drawing the infinity sign against you, "Is it rubbing painfully anywhere?" He clarifies the question.

The noise filters back a little, giving you a direct pathway to your answer, "The straps. They hurt."

The doctor nods to herself, she writes notes down and adjusts them. "They'll soften over use, you'll need to clean them weekly at least, leather conditioner can help ease the initial discomfort."

The raw rubbing softens a little, still too hyper aware of the feeling, you twitch away from her when she adjusts where the metal and sheath touches your skin. "Does it hurt?"

"No. Your hands are cold."

Her laugh reminds you of Gran too, and you can feel the walls getting closer. You have to hold it together. You have to keep it together.

You can't break down here. You can't. You have to be stronger than this.

It's like there's a lump in your throat. A feeling like you're going to be sick, maybe cry. Maybe both.

You can't be weak here.

"Can we take a minute, Doctor Rin?" Zayne asks, voice calm but cool. Like he isn't really asking, like it's a formality. Respect for someone who knows how to help you.

She leans back and nods, "Of course." She looks over at you and smiles, and it's too warm and kind to not make you flinch back, "Take a few minutes outside."

You can't respond because the lump in your throat is rising.

Don't cry.

With a steady hand on your back, Zayne leads you away from the room, steering you through the corridors of Akso. Out into the courtyards. Where it's quiet. Where no one can watch as you finally crack.

As you gulp, and cover your mouth. Trying to force it down as you hiccup and gasp.

There's a burning in your shoulder, everytime you feel the brush of metal, the chill through the sheath. You feel the cool straps, refusing to take your body heat. You reach up with your hand to pull them off but a hand takes yours. Holds it, as another releases the buckles. Removes the offending thing.

Gently. Carefully. Reverently.

He places it down on a bench, then pulls you closer. Rubbing warm circles into your shoulder and skin through your shirt. You cling to his, trembling until the feeling eases out. Relieved from your confines.

From the woman who brings ghosts to your door.

From the memories of ice cold pain and scorching blood.

"What do you need?"

You shake your head. Too much. You want this nightmare to be over. You want to wake up and things be easier. You want things you can't have.

You want to feel strong. Brave. Complete.

A hand, cool to the touch but accompanied by a warm gaze, turns your head. Looking up, as he wipes tears that have escaped against your will. "Do you want another doctor?"

Yes. No.

Maybe?

The ghost of Gran scares you as much as she comforts you.

Meredith Rin is top of her field. You know that. Logically it makes no sense, to turn down the woman who can have your back, get you through this.

If you want to move forward, you have to try. You have to.

"No." You choke out, shaking your head in his grasp, leaning into his palm, "No."

He seems relieved, face relaxing a little, "Very well, I've read her recommendations, testimonies from patients. I trust her abilities."

If he trusts her, you think you can too. You trust him right now, more than you can ever hope to trust yourself. Scared of ghosts and monsters lurking in the shadows.

Scared of yourself.

"Do you want to go home?"

Yes. You do. You do. You want to be anywhere but the hospital. You're so very tired of hospitals.

It is the feeling of fatigue. The feeling of knowing the corridors better than you want to. Of knowing the faces of the doctors. Of knowing the other patients who visit frequently.

It is not just Zayne that tethers you to the hospital, it is the heart in your chest, the illness in your life, the injuries from your job, and now the prosthetic on the bench.

"Darling." His thumb eases, soothes, wipes at fresh tears, "I'm here."

You think about hospital appointments that Caleb had joined you for. How he'd written notes and focused so you didn't have to. Keeping you tethered.

Zayne looks at you with warm, beautiful eyes, and offers you his stability and his brain to keep you standing. Where you waver.

So you shake your head, "I can do it." You can. You can do it. You're not alone, you can do it.

"If you need to leave, tap my hand twice, alright?" It's an offer to escape, but it's spoken with pride in his voice, as you stand a little taller.

Your nod is firmer than before, and this time when he picks up the prosthetic, you can look at it a little longer. Maybe soon you'll look at it and look forwards.

—-

Rafayel is trying to focus on his work. He has an exhibition coming up, that he would cancel if he didn't have some degree of guilt for the stress it would cause Thomas. He doesn't mind tormenting the man occasionally, but breaking promises… it's not something he can bring himself to do. He's not a hypocrite.

If he waited every year for you to return to that beach, he'll carry out the promises he's made to finish his art.

He's only half paying attention to his canvas, though. Paint on his brush drying in the air, because he keeps looking over at you.

You're sat with Xavier, as you work through exercises to help with balance. He can see the strain in your back. A loose vest worn so you don't rub at the shoulder. You wince, but push.

Rafayel's paintbrush is set to the side, sketchbook picked up, and he works.

You are a vision in charcoal, when you finish an exercise you exhale in relief, before moving on. Every hurdle cleared no matter how tall, has you stabilise. Visibly relaxing, flinching less when Xavier's hands touch you. The prince is careful, gentle and observant.

There's life to his page again, he isn't sure he'll ever show you the sketches of you like this. Scars on your skin, hurting, but he keeps it in case there is a day you ask. So he can show you that you live and you move. That stumbling and hurting is ok.

Rafayel records you in sketches because he values every version of you, and he hopes one day you see that, and believe it.

As you finish for the day, falling to the floor, lying down. Breathing heavily, and worn out fully. He hears a soft laugh, "I'll get some water." The prince heads off to the kitchen, while Rafayel puts his work down, closing the sketchbook carefully, and approaching you. So that he can look at you, upside down, nose inches from yours.

"Hey cutie. Nice work."

You hesitate before smiling. It's not the smile you've worn before, but it's not a fake one. It's just tired. He might not understand the feeling fully, but he knows how hard struggling is. How it drains you. He also knows that no matter how proud you can be, stubborn and biting at the bit to be strong, that he should commend every action.

Even if you huff that it should be a simple achievement. It is not, not some days. Some days, he watches you give in. Some days, you power through better than others.

Today you almost gave up, before getting fiery and angry at yourself. Growling and forging on.

So he will commend you, because he wants you to value the effort.

"You're cute upside down too."

This time you do exhale a laugh, hand reaching up to poke his forehead. You miss, frown, and try again. "You're silly."

He joins you on the floor, lying with his head at yours, his legs up on your sofa. Face turned to you. Neither of you make a move to sit up, it is comfortable to simply lie, and stare up at the dimmed lights. "You're doing well."

A shaky exhale is his immediate answer, but you nod, "I'm trying."

He wants to say that trying is enough, he doesn't know if that's the right thing to say, but instead he reaches over towards your hand, and takes it in his. He can watch as the furrow in your brow eases, frown easing a little. He thinks you're finally trying to rely on them. To find comfort in their presence.

To not feel alone.

"It's hard," You speak, guilt in your voice, like you're confessing a sin. He squeezes, so you continue, "I feel pathetic, and sometimes I feel angry. So angry." You look at him, eyes glistening and he nods, "I want to give up."

"But you don't." He offers, watching your eyes waver, you can't hold his gaze for long, but he knows you're still keeping focus on him. Grounding yourself. "I'm glad that you're working through it."

Your exercises exhaust you, movement is harder now so he watches you fray. You let them handle things, food, cleaning, so you can focus on recovery. Rafayel is pleased, smug almost, that his presence here allows for that. It's a warm heat in his chest, like he's watching the tides, because if he can help you stand up tall again, he'll do anything for you.

You don't speak for a while, simply breathing through, relaxing and calming yourself. He reaches his other hand over to brush hair from where it sticks to your skin, revelling in the small shudder he gets from the sensitivity.

He will always be too sensitive to everything you do.

Xavier sits then, on your other side, and he looks up as you look at the glass in the prince's hand.

You release Rafayel's hand, pushing yourself up, shaking your head at the offer of help, and lean over a little to take the glass. Xavier's hand stabilising your back.

As he watches you, Rafayel thinks about your impatience, to be useful again. Back in the field. To overcome the hurdles despite the fact you wish to give up, he returns to his sketchbook.

With a quick pen, a dagger takes pride of place in the centre of his page.

—---

"We are not eating fish every night."

"Who made you the boss?"

"Variation is important in a diet."

"Fish is good for you!"

"Except for one big one."

You leave your bedroom after a nap, to find Sylus, Rafayel and Zayne in the kitchen.

Sylus has instructions on his phone, as he chops vegetables, while Rafayel is sat on the counter, trying to… you assume sabotage his efforts.

Zayne has his head in his hands, trying to read what you can tell is your treatment schedule. "Can the both of you act your age?"

"Tell that to the fish."

"I have a name, crow!"

You feel the laugh bubble out of you unbidden. The image is so out of sorts, and so ridiculous. Sylus of the N109 Zone, and Rafayel the lemurian artist. Arguing in your kitchen. That's far smaller than either of them are probably used to.

While your doctor sits and grumbles at them, barely trying to keep them from killing each other.

They turn at the sound, three pairs of stunning eyes, focusing on you as you try to cover your mouth to keep the laugh from escaping.

It doesn't work though. You laugh, and you laugh, and you laugh.

It's almost hysteric. Like a collapse, like walls crumbling down, and foundations falling.

It's euphoric. A release of pent up feelings you keep struggling to let out.

It's relieving. Tears flowing with it. Hiccups starting, laughter into sobs, then laughter again.

It's stupid but it throws something off of you. A beast of a burden, clinging to your back. Trying to pull you down.

It settles at your ankles, clinging to you, but you can stand up a little taller.

The monster that lurks, that angers, that demands blood. The creature that tells you to give up. It silences itself, curling up, and slumbers. Not forever. It never leaves forever, but for a little while… it is chased away by the realisation that you have something still to see.

These foolish men, living their lives alongside you.

Sylus' eyes are molten pools of affection as he watches you, lips quirking into that small smile you know intimately. "What do you want, kitten?"

"Cutie will make the right choice!"

As you approach, sitting beside Zayne at the counter who wipes your face as you do so, you smile softly, "I want salmon."

Rafayel lets out a whoop, way too close to Sylus' head, who winces and glares at him.

"You truly are a cat, kitten." He tuts, but moves to the fridge to grab it from the groceries Xavier had picked up earlier before heading off for a mission.

Zayne had given him a strict list of food that are good to eat when you are in recovery… even if some cookies had snuck their way into the list.

You try not to think about how you should be out there with him.

Zayne lets out an exhale next to you, "Finally, that argument is over."

"The doctor was very unhelpful." Sylus inputs, raising a brow at the man.

"As long as it's healthy, I don't mind what you prepare." He pushes the schedule close to you, so you don't have to lean over to watch, "I've been making notes for what we can do at home to help alleviate the time spent in the hospital."

You blink at him, and he pushes his glasses up to smile, "Is that alright?" It's a small nod, you're not sure how to explain to him how seen you feel with them.

It's been a long time since there was security in your life. You wish it had come at a time where you also didn't feel like you're standing over the edge of the abyss… but the safety net you can see below you finally… well… going through the motions is looking less like a chore.

"When do you start your prosthetic training?" Raffy asks, swinging his legs.

You check the documents, because you truly can't remember much of what was said to you verbally, and you'd been avoiding reading them since you received them. "A week."

"I'll send a copy around to everyone, if you're alright with it?"

You nod, it's an easy thing to agree to. You think about them finding you curled up in the blanket. It can't get much worse than that…

"Is your exhibit going well, Raffy?"

The man in question jumps, and you think he looks a little guilty, "I have one more thing to finish, it's giving me trouble, but I'll get there. Promise you'll come see it?"

It's hard to promise anything, caught in jewel eyes, watching them like a shimmering luminescent sea. You don't want to let Rafayel down, if you can't go. If you're too tired. If you're sick. If you just can't bear to be out.

What do you want to do? Plays in a loop in your head. If you can, what do you want?

You think about how Rafayel holds to promises like they mean everything. You think about the feeling you have sometimes like you've broken one without meaning to. You think about how warm his voice is when he forgives you if you can't go out with him because you hurt too much or are too tired, long before now. In a way you can't fake your way through, despite how much you hate letting your body pull you down.

It's easy then. What you want… the picture is clearer.

"I promise Raffy." Because as long as you can, you will. Because he'll understand if you can't. If your body hurts too much, if your fatigue is too great, if you're drowning.

His smile is so relieved, so bright, you almost look away from him.

An artist could try to capture him, and fail a million times over. He is too beautiful, and too kind, to ever be recorded on paper or canvas.

"How come the invite wasn't extended to all of us, fish?" Sylus teases, flicking some water off his hands at Rafayel's face. Who instantly looks like a startled cat in response.

"Why would anyone want you there crow?"

"You doubt my eye for beautiful things?"

"I doubt your taste in anything but cutie."

The man laughs, amused and unbothered by the insult, "Perhaps you should paint them, I'll definitely appreciate the art then."

Despite your nap, as you watch them, as the room is warm, you find yourself leaning into Zayne. Eyes drooping, he adjusts himself to place an arm around your waist, "You should go to bed if you're still tired."

The disgruntled mumble makes him huff a soft laugh, but he allows you to stay leaning into his side, as he turns paper, and reads. "Your specialist's work is very clear." He hums in approval.

"Approval from Doctor Li." You manage to tease, "I'm in good hands."

"You are. Though it took a little while to convince Sylus of that."

The man in question half shrugs as he stirs a pot, "There is no compromise with your health Kitten, I'd drag a doctor from halfway across the world if I had to."

This time Raffy nods, as though it's an obvious thing. To have the money to do that. Or, you think in Sylus' case, the power to do that. You'd be a little worried about the doctor's state of mind though. Kidnapped by a criminal and dragged to Linkon.

"It'll be ok." You manage, though sleep is pulling you under yet again. The net is there, ready to catch you. You feel a kiss pressed against your head, but it is dim and it is far away, and you fall before you can respond.

[fitzjamesbulletwound]

if you ever wanted to hear my every thought on fitzier you're in luck because here it is! this is extremely long so it's going under the cut and if you read it all, i love you

fitzier- shame, performance, and the freeing ordeal of being known 

oh man okay here we go everyone, if this sucks or is too stupid or too anything feel free to kill me

essentially what i want to try to convey here is that the reason crozier and fitzjames go from enemies to friends to lovers is because they both see each other and see themselves in each other in a way that frightens and compels them, hence the early enmity with a tinge of familiarity and desperation to connect thrown in. with the inevitable evolution of their relationship i really think it becomes about learning to be vulnerable with one another, to give each other space to be who they need to be, both to each other and their subordinates, and finally coming to a point where fitzjames, the most performative insecure character in the story (to me), bares his entire soul to crozier, whose own character development allows him to give james the gift of acceptance and compassion in that moment. i’m not going to go episode by episode like i did with my joplittle post but this is more or less in chronological order with maybe a few exceptions idk i get possessed when i write this stuff

the first scene we’ve got to look at is of course the dinner scene. james is absolutely showboating like no other in this scene but in his body language you can see he isn’t confident at all- fidgeting, gesturing, exaggerating, the voice he tends to put on in early episodes prevalent. but when crozier interrupts him you can see for a split second that james was actually excited to get attention from him until he realizes what he’s saying. in the early episodes james craves crozier’s attention and approval so badly because he knows that crozier doesn’t bullshit and he sees things for what they are and isn’t afraid to voice that either and despite the fact that this sometimes makes james uncomfortable as it is not in line with victorian ideals of emotional expression and masculinity, i think james, given the kind of man he is at the start of the story, craves the recognition of a man who he knows would see everything in him. early early early foreshadowing and story weaving for the cairn scene where he realizes “he can tell this man anything. it is possible”

what i also find fascinating about early james and francis is that they still refer to one another in a very familiar way despite the fact that they openly dislike each other- it’s always first name basis even when they’re arguing. also interesting to note that crozier in the beginning will often call him “fitzjames” in front of others when he’s discussing him when he’s not in the room, but later on he makes sure to always use his proper title when he’s talking about him in front of the men- showing james respect even when he dislikes him. i think he doesn’t understand at the time that james’s familiarity with him is an attempt at respect as well (the whole ‘don’t ever call me francis again’ scene). it might be a stretch but i do get the sense that from the very beginning they both tried at being friendly, even just for the sake of maintaining order in command.

when francis says “here technology still bends the knee to luck james” in ep 1 he says it with almost a mentor-like cadence. like yeah they’re both being a little bitchy here but god knows franklin wasn’t giving fitzjames any real or pertinent advice about surviving and navigating the fucking arctic so i find it interesting that crozier almost gently reminds him that yeah they’re making decent progress but that it would be foolish to let their guard down

one of my favorite early fitzier scenes is after dinner when crozier, franklin, and fitzjames are all on deck and fitzjames like sidles up to crozier and looks him up and down and just goes “goodnight francis” with that smirk on his face- he was trying so hard to flirt with him while also being an insufferable bitch with “try to shake the brown study”. but also james lingers so long waiting for francis to say something to him and then shakes his head and walks away to go bitch to franklin about him- i think he is truly hurt in this instance along with being angry and annoyed. and i love that complication because on one hand, i do think that fitzjames thinks that crozier owes him friendship or at the very least recognition because of who james believes himself to be, or at least who he’s trying to be- like he DOES probably see crozier as being beneath him as an irishman but i do think he genuinely wants his friendship and approval as well, for self serving reasons but not entirely. it’s about fitzjames and his desire to be seen by everyone around him in a certain light but also about his desire to be seen specifically by crozier because of who crozier is and how he acts in contrast to everyone else around them

next on the agenda is “dramatic opening shot”... fitzjames girl you are the most dramatic man in the fucking room. the projection is crazy. what this scene reveals most importantly i think is that another thing about francis that james is secretly very envious of is his ability to openly disagree with franklin. there are so many moments later on where you can see that james doesn’t fully believe in what franklin is saying or commanding (the way he looks at him when they realize they are trapped in the pack, the ways he looks at him when he tells fitzjames to escort silna off of erebus right after her father has died) and i think that he envies francis’s ability to challenge franklin and not care what the consequences are. anyway the staredown during this scene is crazy, the tension??

moving on… beginning of ep 1 crozier says “not if fitzjames is with us” in reference to jop saying dinner will be over before he knows it, and at the beginning of ep 2 fitzjames says “do you think francis will honor us with his presence today”- for two people who allegedly hate each other they sure do think about each other and find reasons to bring each other up in conversation a lot! 

ahh the scene with silna’s father- fitzjames is so interesting to me in this scene and really illustrates one of my favorite things about him in the earlier episodes which is that when he goes silent his face journeys are amazing and really convey his true feelings that he won’t say out loud for various reasons. he watches crozier so much in this scene and looks to him for understanding and guidance which is also interesting because i do think that in this scene he’s watching silna, a woman who he probably sees as subhuman and alien, reacting with such grief and tenderness to her father’s death and probably thinking of his relationship with his own father. i know a lot of people speculate that he was just feeling empathy for her there and i do think that’s part of it but i think that to show that in his mind would be to out himself as being “not fully english”. i think i make this point later on in the story too but fitzjames really does that classic white supremacist thing of distancing yourself from “otherness” in order to align yourself with imperialist beliefs and status- he does it with silna and he does it with crozier. sorry this is also turning into my fitzjames character study lol.

the scene where crozier walks out after his big blow up with franklin… i get that james really didn’t have any place to try to hide the fact that he was eavesdropping but i find it so interesting that he decides to turn to face francis and look him directly in the eye. from what we can see of his expression i personally think there was at least a small amount of sympathy there. another attempt to extend friendship and familiarity while actively participating in crozier’s humiliation… god i hate him lol. and the face that james is making when francis first walks out before he turns around is contemplative, not like smug or triumphant or anything like we might expect given how much he seems to dislike crozier at this point. and francis looking back at him… there’s no anger there, just sadness and humiliation and it sucks. i would truly do anything to be able to see james’s face there, in the script it says that crozier can tell how much james heard from the look on his face which like??? could mean so much.

okay the face journey when francis walks into the erebus wardroom after sir john dies… his eyes stay on fitzjames who’s obviously extremely distraught and i wonder if crozier has ever seen fitzjames show genuine emotion up until this point? crozier then looks to blanky, who also looks to fitzjames almost as if to say “look at him, attend to him” and the sorrow and vulnerability on francis’s face when he looks again to james who is of course also showing a vulnerability we haven’t seen from him before. i love the note in the script that fitzjames isn’t used to being this candid or vulnerable in front of a man he doesn’t respect but he does it anyway. and i don’t think he knows how much sympathy crozier does have for him despite how callous he may come across when he says to send out the rescue parties. they both just fail so spectacularly at communication and expression early on, it’s crazy to see

when francis begins reading from the eulogy and stumbles over his words fitzjames gives him a very sharp look… i think he clocks his alcoholism starting to really affect him right away but may also be looking to see if the stumble is due to emotion or the alcohol. ugh and the look he gives him at the end too… it’s so piercing and there’s an anger to it as well. almost a “please prove me wrong but i don’t believe at this point that you will”. because for better or worse now they are linked, intertwined, married and they have to find a way to make it work.

ohhhh the fitzier dinner scene my beloved… “as i climbed the ridge” is such a parallel to james’s chinese sniper story scene!! AND this time it’s fitzjames who derisively interrupts crozier. The parallels, the callbacks… the look he gives fitzjames is crazy when fitzjames says “you should curb that for now” but what i find the most interesting about this scene is that the script makes a point to say that fitzjames was being sincere when he said that to crozier- there is care and concern there underneath the frustration and anger. and then it’s also wild that in that moment, fitzjames clearly reminds crozier of sophia. the way the narrative almost shifts to replace crozier’s love interest (sophia) with his burgeoning relationship with fitzjames is soooooo. i just love this scene because they are both trying so hard to be vulnerable and open with one another but they are both failing so spectacularly just like in the scene after sir john dies. they don’t have the respect and rapport between them yet to back up what they desperately want from each other- a connection. a camaraderie. leadership and capability. fitzjames tries to be sincere in his concern for francis but it is overshadowed by his frustration and anger towards what he views to be a sour outlook from crozier, and crozier attempts to be vulnerable with james by sharing about sophia only to be met with the knowledge that franklin has humiliated him yet again by discussing that topic with other people aboard the ship. and i think fitzjames does truly pity francis in that moment but it also frustrates him that that is the reason he’s here, for love, not for a yearning for adventure or glory- which i would venture to say is why fitzjames is there. fitzjames went on the expedition to prove his worth and francis went for love and they both ended up finding exactly those things from one another i’m dead.

oh and also why the fuck does fitzjames arch his slutty back against the wall when francis walks out of the room like that one scene in hannibal y’all know what i’m talking about. okay and i forgot about the way fitzjames jabs his finger at francis all up in his personal space which is just so unlike him. it is also worth noting that francis doesn’t get angry at this- he actually stills for a second and then continues to tell james what he was going to tell him. again there’s that strange familiarity they have despite the fact that they hate each other at this point. and that’s to say nothing of how they’re sitting in the first place which is so close to each other idk it just seems a little crazy to me?

i also find it so so interesting how james chooses to be honest with francis once he accidentally reveals that franklin discussed the whole sophia thing with him- he could’ve deflected and said like “oh yeah he mentioned it in passing’ or something like that but he chose to tell francis the truth of the conversation! francis really brings out an honest and candid side to james that we don’t see him put on for anyone else and i think it’s because deep down he knows that no matter how shitty, francis is always going to respect being told the truth vs. all of the obfuscating language that is so typical of the time. i think this is also why in the next episode francis insists that everyone leaves after he punches fitzjames and fitzjames is very resigned to it as well- they both know that it’s going to be ugly but they both want to hash out the truth of the situation for better or worse- like yeah they are at each other’s throats and they want the catharsis of screaming at each other because they’re so mad at each other here but i also think they crave honesty and candidness in their interactions- james because he feels like a fake and francis because it’s his nature- but both because it’s what they want from each other. and back to the dinner scene- just another look of genuine hurt from fitzjames when crozier says “keep your pity” plus the whole reason crozier even says that- i don’t think he expects pity from anyone at this point and doesn’t know how to respond to it.

in the scene where fitzjames says they should question silna about the creature crozier makes a point to say he agrees with him- he does this a couple of different times throughout the show and i think it’s a very small but important detail about how even when they aren’t on the best terms he makes sure to show james respect in front of the officers. and like yeah they end up yelling at each other here but i think that’s more james’s grief showing (again he shows emotion in front of/because of francis) and francis’s stress showing as well- that “we’re all exhausted” is very aimed at james but also an attempt to explain his own state of mind. they’re trying!!!!

the lashing scene- i don’t think we’ve ever seen fitzjames actually afraid of crozier but he definitely is here. he’s clenching his hands so hard throughout the whole scene and he keeps glancing at crozier as he allows the lashing to go on and even nervously gulps at one point. i think this along with crozier’s worsening addiction is a huge catalyst for where we find them and their dynamic in ep 5.

and speaking of which- at the beginning of the episode you can really see how their communication has just completely broken down. edward is basically bridging the gap between them and the resentment is growing. i know that the alcoholism is part of it, we can only assume that fitzjames started to keep his distance once he could tell it was getting bad, but i also think a lot of this is fall out from the lashing and how it affected the way fitzjames felt about crozier as stated earlier. and another aspect of the widening gap between fitzjames and crozier is how erebus is the very picture of order while terror is literally and figuratively falling apart 

the fact that fitzjames told collins to watch out for crozier running out of alcohol on terror is further evidence that fitzjames was around a bit to witness crozier’s alcoholism getting really bad and isolated himself after that. he’s angry but he knows it was coming

ugh man the fight scene- the fact that james came himself, alone, to terror to talk to francis as a friend (straight from his own mouth in the script of their argument) about the alcohol issue. even though james is furious and stressed and shouldering the whole expedition, he still attempts to care for francis, it just ends up blowing up in his face and that’s when he lashes out. the way he says “francis” at first before crozier freaks out on him is in such a sincere and gentle tone and just the fucking genuine hurt in his face and his tone of voice when francis tells him to never call him by his first name again. fitzjames cared when francis was at his fucking lowest but still held him responsible and that’s love baby.

the body language is crazy when they’re yelling at each other or i guess when fitzjames is reading francis lol- and the way crozier can’t take his eyes off fitzjames when he’s telling everyone to get out. he’s so ready for this fucking throw down because both of them have been holding this in for so long. crozier is amped up but fitzjames is resigned to finally getting it all out in the open. he wants it to happen and he knows it needs to. even after getting punched in the mouth by him (i don’t think it’s any accident that fitzjames literally bears a scar from that punch and that it comes back open when he’s dying of scurvy) fitzjames still calmly tells everyone yes get out and says what he needs to say. i love the transcript of their argument because it’s so brutal but it really illustrates a kind of fucked up intimacy that we aren’t 100% privy to between them. crozier knows exactly what to say to james to hurt him- telling him he doesn’t have friends, he has admirers and that james has always been mad that he isn’t one, that james is a coward despite the fact that james is facing this down no matter what it takes in order to literally save crozier’s life; and james knows that all he can do is soldier through and lay the truth of what is happening on francis in a way no one else has dared to except for silna minutes before. james really goes out of his comfort zone- being honest and sincere and vulnerable for the sake of the expedition but also for francis. and i’m reading this back and wondering if i’m being too generous to james here but tbh he had every right to be this angry at francis at this point in the story! 

ha fitzjames walks into the “i need to dry out meeting” looking all submissive and contrite… but for real his face is so open and entreating in this scene. he’s still annoyed but he wants so badly for things to go right. and you can see in francis’s expression that he is so ashamed to have to ask him 

mmm and part of fitzjames coming to love and respect crozier is seeing jopson’s devotion to him in this scene… he’s never seen crozier be admired the way franklin was and i think this is a whole new way for him to see him. and just in general here i think that james “reshuffles everything he thought about the man” and he admires crozier for the way he put his humility and vulnerability in front of him finally and admitted to his wrongs, something i also don’t think franklin would ever do and didn’t ever do, to his and the entire crew’s demise. fitzjames followed franklin and looked up to him in the pursuit of his own vanity and the narrative he tells himself to cover the shame, but he learns to respect and love francis because he watches his evolution as a captain and as a man without any of the obfuscating that he’s used to from authority figures. he watches francis claw his way out of his own shame, the shame that drives him forward and i wonder what kind of ideas that gave fitzjames and how it influenced his own decision to share everything about his past with francis later

what i love about the opening scene of ep 6 is that we see how fitzjames’s leadership has been influenced by franklin and francis but specifically how he is acting more like francis- he does do a little bit of the whole “how dare you bring up anything unpleasant” thing when he yells at jirv for mentioning the number of men and when he does the whole “oh it’s just winter, we’ll feel better with the first sunrise, encourage the men with that” thing but it’s interesting because although we’re hearing echoes of franklin here, fitzjames is still trying to be more honest and open to feedback than franklin was. he doesn’t exactly take jirv’s advice on rationing but he does ration a bit. he is doing the whole toxic positivity thing with his “use that to encourage the men” line but he is also recognizing how hard everything has been for everyone and using an actual tangible event to lift spirits rather than referring to meaningless bullshit about god and country. and the simple fact that he seeks blanky’s advice and knowledge is more than sir john would ever have done in a scenario like this. he understands from blanky’s story about ross that he himself hasn’t been doing enough to combat the horror of their situation for the men, he understands that he must do more. even the way he asks ‘what do you mean’ when blanky says ross had no sympathy for the ill. to not care for the ill is an alien concept to him. tt’s so interesting because fitzjames occupies a space not dissimilar to francis’s- he has access and power in the hierarchy of the discovery service but, within his own mind, he is still an outsider. crozier on the other hand is a visible and tangible outsider due to his birth and his nationality. everyone can see it and i think that’s also part of why fitzjames is so antagonistic towards francis in the beginning- the projection goes crazy and in the true spirit of colonialism and white supremacy, james believes that if he can make himself as far apart from someone like francis as possible and align himself with men like franklin and barrow despite sharing way more similarities with francis than he does with them, he can succeed in upholding himself as the vision of victorian masculinity and social worthiness that he so desperately tries to emulate- this is what i was thinking about during the scene with silna’s father where he’s reluctant to fully show his (partial) sympathy to her

the line from the script that kills me is when it says a clock has begun for fitzjames once he discovers the blood in his hair… god it kills me, he knew he was dying for months. for literal months and who knows if he even told anyone but… i do think he had to have told francis at some point. it makes me so sick, it’s literally why the cairn walk scene happens- he knew he was dying, he knew it and one of the last things he wanted before he died was for someone to see him, truly see him flaws and mistakes and vanity and all before he died. and he wanted that person to be francis

gotta include the scene where james tells edward that francis was right about walking out- this is a huge turning point from ep 1

it’s so funny that when crozier and fitzjames see each other at carnival you can tell james is like “oh shit i’m in trouble” but crozier is just slightly amused seeing him like that and even though he finds the carnival strange and sees how reckless it was, he doesn’t chide james or the men about it even though that’s cleary what james is expecting. crozier empathizes with their longing for home and their need to do something happy and uses that momentum to tell the men about walking out and doing his best to reassure them about their chances. the way fitzjames looks up at him and nods along with him- i don’t think we’ve seen fitzjames look at him like that yet up until this point. he is seeing francis for who he can be as a competent captain and we are seeing crozier really step into that role. i also think that francis was relieved that fitzjames saw the urgency in walking out and that he wasn’t going to have to convince him the way he would’ve had to convince franklin. their leadership is finally syncing up here, built on humility (francis admitting he had an addiction and choosing to do something about it, fitzjames admitting how wrong he was about francis and his use of caution and logic) and respect (i do think crozier respected fitzjames for trying to build morale to the best of his ability and i think fitzjames respected francis finally behaving like the captain he needed him to be) 

during the fire there’s a small moment where james is frozen- no doubt from ptsd which he deserves- and francis sends him ahead to look for an exit, telling him to go. he fucking loves him!!!!

poor fitzjames.. like yes the ghosts of his colonial past and all that of course which i will never not fully support him being subjected to but damn. and i don’t think he shrugs francis off because it’s francis or because he’s angry with them, he is punishing himself and francis sees that and lets him do what will help ease his own guilt and pain. tt is a moment of understanding between them i believe- fitzjames showing vulnerability in front of a man he now respects while adding another failure to his own personal checklist he keeps against himself (i can only imagine he does anyway). francis’s attempt to show him care and understanding while not undercutting his usefulness is also such an inspired choice for what he knows of fitzjames. you can really see the care starting to sprout between them here. i can only imagine what the rest of the winter was like but i feel like by episode 7, their dynamic has just completely changed, their entire vibe is different. and their love couldn’t have happened until they left the ships so it came at the worst and best time. 

and by ep 7 their dynamic has just so completely shifted. even the fact that they are supervising the packing for the walk together and this may be real delusional hours but sending edward ahead to make the first camp instead of one of them going is a little interesting to me. i believe he’s technically the next in line for leadership after fitzjames but like did francis and james want to spend time together? with crozier finally dried out and knowing james’s time is almost up? them finally in a comfortable and friendly place? i love their conversation during the packing scene because fitzjames is voicing a concern to francis who calmly explains his reasoning and when fitzjames continues to press his own doubts they remain civil, familiar, acknowledge one another’s thought processes etc. a scene like this could NEVER have happened in episode 1 or 2. i looooong to know what they were like together during the winter after carnival 

you all know i am INSANE about the fitzier hand holding scene, no one can match my freak on this. tt makes my stomach flutter every time i see it. it is my pride and prejudice hand clenching scene. first i want to acknowledge the quote from the script- “at one point, the only thing keeping fitzjames from sliding back into oblivion is crozier’s hand, but half the importance about the act is that fitzjames reached for it.” this KILLS me more than anything else from the script. and honestly at this point in the story i am becoming convinced that james told crozier about the scurvy, they knew the whole fucking time, they knew. they are literally marching to their deaths, against all odds still going, still trying and they are falling in love. the way james gazes up at francis in awe when he sees the offered hand and doesn’t stop looking at francis when he is up on the ridge. crozier doesn’t even turn to look at james, but he does make sure to stop and wait for him and extend the hand that he knows that james needs. Based on honestly even just this alone i am convinced that crozier knew about the scurvy already. there’s no fucking way he didn’t. and then the way james grabs francis’s jacket and holds on while they stare at each other, crozier smiling- it’s so interesting to me because it very much tells of finding an excuse to touch crozier again, as if he was so in awe of the touch that crozier initiated a few minutes before that he needed it again. he was trying to find a way to touch him again in that “this has to be acceptable by victorian standards of emotional and loving expression” way. and crozier accepts it! he smiles, he meets his gaze. there’s triumph there. and don’t think i didn’t fucking notice that the hand that francis keeps is the hand that held fitzjames’s hand and that also held his face when he was dying.

in the scene with morfin, as soon as crozier notices that james is there he makes sure to maneuver over to james so he can place himself between james and the gun despite the fact that he is unarmed and james has his pistol with him. i don’t necessarily doubt that francis would do this earlier in the story but i can say that he does this here as a selfless act of love and protection 

and then the jop promotion scene yay the way james looks at francis with admiration and curiosity when he hands him the promotion letter to sign and the way james smiles at him when he reads it but not just because of that- but because of the words francis uses and the way francis is looking at him, saying someone “has earned our respect (looks to james), trust” and fitzjames smiles and nods- it’s not just about agreeing with him about jopson. this is how fitzjames feels about crozier now and the fact that crozier even in this small subtle way acknowledges that he  DID need to prove himself to james after his behavior during the winter. their dynamic is just so much different now! at the end when everyone is shaking jopson’s hand, fitzjames gives crozier like… the most insane loving soft look… he looks so so happy. i don’t think we’ve ever seen him look like that before.

and now we are at the cairn walk. i again have to say how during this rewatch i become convinced of the knowledge that crozier has to know that fitzjames is dying. there’s just no way he doesn’t. the conversation they have about it does not convey that james is telling him this for the first time. tt more so implies that they both know but don’t speak of it often and james is updating francis with the vital information, the stages he’s at. what made fitzier happen was them leaving the boats, james dying, crozier getting sober, them both laying it all out on the table in different moments of vulnerability- crozier with his addiction, james with his heritage. the way those scenes parallel each other is actually crazy. james is fucking dying, they are all marching to their deaths and the knowledge that they are doing so is slowly sinking in, and all james wanted before he died was for crozier to see him, all of him. even the parts he was afraid to tell anyone, even himself. and francis isn’t even granting him a mercy, he isn’t sparing his feelings. he truly and genuinely accepts james for who he is, how he came to be a part of the expedition. they have both known from the start that beginnings and heritage don’t matter, it’s the actions that people take that makes them who they are. in different ways they both knew that and i think it’s part of what aligned them eventually. and from the script- james realizes he can say anything to this man. it is possible. crozier gives him the space to do it. and just the way they’re laughing and joking and being light with each other- another thing we never would’ve seen in the earlier episodes. okay focusing on some details now- when crozier says “that’s not how i see you” james literally stumbles as if he can’t believe crozier would say that to him. in the beginning of the scene francis gives james space and privacy when he sees him getting emotional about graham and franklin’s deaths and struggling to remember the date of sir john’s death. they communicate with a single glance there, james asking for a moment and crozier giving it to him. the grief on francis’s face when james tells him his latest symptoms. when crozier initially tries to comfort and encourage james… and james can’t accept it because he hasn’t told him everything yet. he doesn’t know if he can. i don’t want to get personal but that feeling that if you only tell part of your hidden sorrow to someone and they comfort and accept you and show you kindness, that feeling you then get that no no no you don’t know the whole of it and if you did you wouldn’t be showing me this kindness, you wouldn’t love me, you wouldn’t respect me. you wouldn’t see me. i genuinely can’t imagine the relief that fitzjames felt when he told francis it all, he told him everything and all francis gave back was love. also we can finally start to really see the bruise that francis gave fitzjames in ep 5. i love when fitzjames literally and metaphorically closes the gap between them. and francis waits for him until he is by his side again. “are we brothers francis” the tears, the attempt to laugh/smile them away until he sees that crozier is with him in this moment and taking it as seriously as it deserves to be. again the joining of the hands, the one that crozier keeps. they look at each other’s mouths, into each other’s eyes, the way francis dips his head to look at fitzjames when fitzjames ducks his emotionally. it’s insanity

when they get back to camp and listen to hodgson’s story and then go to see jirv’s body, they exchange a lot of glances, specifically around the times that hodgson mentions hickey- they are of one mind on him and on how the situation actually played out. james also watches francis a lot in the scene where they go to see jirv’s body. he looks to him for leadership now and doesn’t become irritated by his anger or his candor. this really persists for the rest of the episode - in the scene where crozier is yelling at edward about supplementing the marines all james has to say is “francis” and then basically talks him down from yelling at edward more, another scene i don’t think could have ever happened between them earlier in the story but james knows how to quell francis now. and this is such an interesting parallel to ep 5 when everyone was taking their shit out on edward; this time fitzjames protects him. but anyway- james and francis are just so in sync in every scene in this episode- they back each other up, communicate through glances, emphasize each other’s words and authority. yay<3 

all right you’re all going to have to bear with me on ep 9 because it makes me crazy.

we gotta start with the fucking grief and pain in both of their expressions when they’re taking care of pocock and how this scene itself foreshadows the assisted suicide later

the look of absolute love and faith from fitzjames when crozier is telling them they will keep marching south and the “more than god loves them” scene- this is francis at his most captainly- and james is echoing his hollow vanity stricken words about franklin but really really meaning them about crozier- he says them to no one but himself, there is no performance here and crozier’s words aren’t a false display of empathy and care like franklin’s were for david young and fitzjames sees this. 

fitzjame and crozier are hauling in front side by side- it makes a point to mention that in the script too.

when fitzjames falls… ugh. he hauled until he couldn’t anymore, direct call back to when blanky said ross sat atop the sledges- oh and when francis and fitzjames were caring for pocock together vs ross having no sympathy for illness. when james falls he reaches for crozier without even looking at him at first and you can hear crozier saying “it’s all right, it’s all right” when james is saying he can’t stand the heat. dundy and bridgens are lifting fitzjames up too but when he stumbles, when he reveals his wound, when he stumbles again, he is only looking at crozier the whole time. and the look on crozier’s face is one i don’t think we’ve seen from him yet. i noticed too that he’s holding onto fitzjames with his left arm and rubbing his back with the other before he takes the rope off of him. 

i want to say about the following scene where james is laid up in the boat that i made a joke once to my friend about when crozier reaches into the boat and how it looks like they’re holding hands- but they actually are, it’s in the script. there’s just something about crozier’s face when he talks to fitzjames in later episodes, there’s such a softening of the edges to him, his expression is less guarded and more attentive and earnest. and the call back to their first scene together with the chinese sniper story…. the fucking fondness in both of their eyes as they laugh together, which was probably james’s last time laughing. when crozier says “there’s time” but that’s the tragedy of this show- there’s never enough time. everything happens too late.

james screaming in pain and crozier running to him and barely letting bridgens finish his sentence before he tells them to camp here also in the script during the officer’s meeting right after, they can hear fitzjames screaming in his tent :( i’m honestly kinda glad they left that out.

and here we are at THE fitzier scene. i could talk for hours about this scene. francis is holding james’s hand, rubbing his shoulder. james looks so young and frail and scared here and he uses some of his last words to tell francis he wanted him to live because he knew he wouldn’t be around to tell him that anymore soon. francis shaking his head when he says it as if to say “not without you”. in the script, when bridgens leaves it says ‘he looks at crozier. he looks at fitzjames. he understands”... and later during james’s funeral when crozier says that he had a service with james, just the two of them, peglar and bridgens exchange a very interesting, knowing look. to choose those two to react that way? idk man. fitzier real. but back to the scene- god okay crozier taps james’s chest twice in question and then just barely audible fitzjames says “please”. ugh the sad smile crozier gives fitzjames before he gives him the drug… then he places his hand, the one that crozier doesn’t lose, so gently and lovingly on james’s face, and even in his current state james looks almost taken aback at the gesture. when crozier tips the drug into his mouth his expression softens. i will never ever in my life forget the way james looks at crozier in that moment, the look of gratitude, love, farewell, of pain, longing, childlike fear. (nobody is doing it like tobias). crozier ever so lightly brushing james’s lips with both of his thumbs before he begins to massage it down and carefully wiping the excess away. they never stop looking at each other. dave k said that the service that crozier mentions happened before fitzjames dies and after crozier gives him the drug.

the last thing i want to say about the james death scene is that i was never that invested in the concept of cannibalism as a metaphor for love but fitzjames asking crozier to eat his body and live really really stuck in my brain- just their entire insane journey that i’ve been sitting here thinking about for months- acquaintances to enemies to allies to friends to lovers for it all to culminate in this final scene of fitzjames begging crozier to eat from his body and begging him to give him the final kiss of death all as crozier never once looks away or lets go of him. fitzjames loved him so much he was willing for crozier to desecrate his corpse if it meant francis would live, even without him next to him but crozier loved him so much that he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t add that act to his already impossibly devoted actions.

and the action of hiding james’s body because crozier doesn’t want tuunbaq to destroy it but then it turns out that someone at the very funeral ends up leading the mutineers to tear fitzjames’s body apart themselves. just like jirv not getting to keep the final gift of the seal meat even in death, crozier couldn’t do james this one last mercy even though he tried desperately to. 

and this last part is a bit of a stretch but okay-along with the shirt and the gloves of fitzjames’s that crozier is wearing after his death i think he might be wearing his little neck thing too, so sorry y’all i do not know what it’s called and i’m locked in trying to finish this and i’m not googling it lol. but we see fitzjames wear it a lot throughout the show and francis does sometimes but it’s very much a fitzjames piece so i think it might be his too. and with the funeral scene and the blanky scene, we see the mismatched gloves clearly for the first time but i’m pretty sure the first glimpse is earlier in the episode when they’re hauling before fitzjames collapses. dave k still confirmed they had switched gloves but it really seems that this happened before james died, likely when they left terror camp. i still contend that crozier and fitzjames both knew james was dying and this may have been why they did it. 

and on to the last episode and closing thoughts- in the last ep i was really keeping track of the gloves- he loses them at some point and i wanted to see when and it’s between the scene where he talks to hickey and when he’s chained back up in the tent with diggle. i hope he somehow hung on to them.

i will never forget how my stomach dropped out when i saw hickey wearing fitzjames’s boots on my first watch- the fucking sorrow in crozier’s face. he doesn’t understand the meaning just yet  but when goodsir is cleaning his wounds and tells him they ate gibson, you can see crozier put it together that that’s why hickey has fitzjames’s boots. his expression turns from shock and grief to rage.

hickey really clocked crozier with the shame comment and you can see how it triggers crozier. this is a great confirmation because it really pervades the story and fitzjames’s story as well. they are both driven by shame, by a need to prove themselves but go about it in completely different ways. fitzjames is all bravado, flowery empty words and boasting to cover his origins, his feelings of inadequacy. he aligns himself with the empire and with those in power and distances himself from anyone he knows will be deemed lesser than in the hierarchy in which he exists and specifically pits himself against someone like crozier in order to bolster his own social standing. crozier on the other hand is hardened to his station, he has no way to hide his nationality or his origins no matter how capable he is and how long he’s been going to sea. crozier feels the shame of things like sophia’s rejection and not having straights that they sail named after him but hides it with his bluntness and his lack of decorum when pointing out the truth of a situation. james has everything crozier wishes he did, but crozier is something that james wishes he could be- just himself, despite his societal ineptitudes and barriers. i believe that this basis and the way it melds and breaks down and comes to a way of understanding between them is why fitzier is so strong, and so real and so visceral, especially at the end. honestly there is so much more i could say but i think i’m going to leave it there and just saw that i hope crozier thinks of james from time to time in his new life. i find it hard to believe he doesn’t.

[pretty-sparkle-bomb]

In which, a girl tries to flirt with one of the MHA boys. Part 1

Characters included: Denki Kaminari, Katsuki Bakugo, Eijiro Kirishima

Side Note: The reader is a badass chick 🤤

Katsuki Bakugo

Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t the sweet romantic type to anyone but you. He was the kind of guy who, in public, showed love in his own way—by pulling you into his side possessively, scowling at anyone who looked at you wrong, and grumbling curse-laced insults that somehow still made your heart flutter. In private? Yeah, I’ll leave that to your imagination.

He didn’t need anyone else. He had you. And that was enough.

Unfortunately, not everyone seemed to get the memo.

Like the new girl.

She had transferred into U.A. a few weeks ago, and from the moment she laid eyes on your man, she had been on a mission. At first, it was subtle. Asking him unnecessary questions in class. Laughing a little too hard at his brash remarks. Finding excuses to sit near him during lunch.

But then it got bolder.

She started showing up outside the gym when he was training. Bringing him extra snacks. “Accidentally” tripping in front of him so he’d catch her. Touching his arm and marveling at his muscles.

You could tell it annoyed him. Bakugo wasn’t exactly the patient type, and the way his eye twitched whenever she got too close was proof enough.

Yet, she kept pushing.

One day, she took it too far.

You and the Bakusquad were hanging out in the common room when she waltzed in, making a beeline for your boyfriend.

“Bakugo~” she sang, plopping down beside him, far too close for comfort.

You leaned against the couch, watching with mild amusement as he immediately tensed.

“The hell do you want?” he muttered, clearly uninterested.

She giggled, completely ignoring his irritation. “I made something for you!” She held out a scarf—black and orange, his colors. “I knitted it myself! I noticed you don’t wear scarves, so I figured I could give you one of mine. Now every time you wear it, you’ll think of me!”

You snorted. Oh, this girl was bold.

Bakugo just stared at the scarf like it was an insult to his entire existence. “The fuck? I don’t wear scarves.”

“Oh, don’t be like that!” She pouted. “Just try it on for me—”

Bakugo's eye twitched. "I ain't wearin’ that."

Her smile faltered for a split second, but she pushed on, lifting the scarf toward him. "Just try it on! I promise it’ll look great—"

Before she could finish her sentence, you snatched the scarf right out of her hands.

"Wow," you hummed, examining it. "Soft, warm… a nice shade of orange." You nodded thoughtfully. "You know, I think I know the perfect use for it."

She rolled her eyes at you, her happy-go-lucky personality disappearing instantly. “Really?”

With a sickly sweet smile, you turned on your heel, walked straight to the common room’s fireplace, and—without a moment’s hesitation—tossed the scarf in.

The flames swallowed it instantly.

A beat of silence.

Then—

"WHAT THE HELL?!" she shrieked, eyes wide with horror.

You dusted off your hands. "Oh, sorry. Did you actually think he was gonna wear that?" You gave her a pitying look. "It was just taking up space."

Katsuki, who had been sitting in stunned silence, suddenly let out a loud, barking laugh. "Damn, babe."

Kirishima was struggling to hold back his own laughter. Kaminari? Nearly choking on his drink. Even Mina was giggling into her hands.

The girl looked between you and the burning scarf; face twisted in disbelief. “Y-You—”

"You seriously thought he’d wear something you made?" you cut her off, tilting your head. "I mean, I get it. You tried. A for effort and all that." You shrugged. "But he’s already got everything he needs."

You turned back to your carmine-eyed boyfriend, who was still smirking, and leaned down to press a slow, deliberate kiss to his cheek.

"Right, Kats?"

His arm immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. He rested his chin on your shoulder, crimson eyes locked onto the girl as he smirked.

"Damn right."

The girl stood there, fuming, hands clenched into fists before she finally let out a frustrated huff and stormed out.

He chuckled against your neck. "Damn, that was brutal."

You grinned. "She had it coming."

He squeezed your waist, his voice low and amused. "Shit like that makes me love you even more, y'know that?"

Outcome: Scarf? Incinerated. Girl? Humbled. Relationship? Stronger than steel.

Denki Kaminari

Denki Kaminari had always been a flirt. From the start, he was a natural charmer, but when he met you, something changed. You grounded him. You made him feel loved and appreciated. You weren’t just another fling—you were the one who tamed him.

And when you two started dating, his flirtatious ways disappeared—at least, with anyone but you. Still, his naturally friendly personality sometimes sent the wrong signals, especially to girls who didn’t know any better.

Take a recent example. A new girl had just transferred to U.A. on recommendation. She was pretty, sociable, and quickly made friends with everyone—including you. But it was obvious she had a thing for Denki. She was always flirting with him, running her fingers through his hair, applying lip gloss the moment he walked in, dousing herself in sickly-sweet vanilla perfume so he’d notice whenever she passed by.

But you? You weren’t insecure. If anything, you found her antics hilarious. She actually thought she had a chance. Maybe she missed the lipstick stains on his cheeks and neck. Maybe she overlooked the way he whistled whenever you walked by, how he absentmindedly played with your hair while you talked to Mina, how he cornered you during lunch, hugged you from behind, or kissed the top of your head. Maybe she hadn’t noticed the matching promise rings, the shared bentos, or the inside jokes.

Oh, who were you kidding?

She knew.

She knew, and she was still trying.

One morning, while you and Momo giggled over your new matching nails, you caught sight of her in your peripheral vision. She was strutting over to Denki again. But something was different this time.

There, dyed into her perfectly shiny black hair, was a bright yellow lightning bolt.

And that was it.

You watched as she twirled in front of him, eyes sparkling. “Do you notice anything different?” she asked, her voice sickly sweet.

Denki looked uncomfortable. This girl was a whole new level of delusional.

“Uh, Amai… I have a girlfriend,” he stated flatly.

Her smile disappeared for a second before she stepped closer, recovering quickly. “Well, I don’t see her. Besides, she doesn’t have to know.” She tugged at his tie, pulling him from his standing position so that their faces were centimeters away, but he immediately placed a hand on her wrist, pushing her away. You took off your shoes and quietly strode closer to them.

By now, everyone in the room had gone silent, eyes locked on the three of you, waiting to see what would happen.

“Turn around,” you said, voice flat yet filled with annoyance.

Before she could react, you grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back. Her body arched, and she locked eyes with you in shock.

“Now you see her.”

In one swift motion, you pulled her to the ground and straddled her, delivering a solid punch to her nose. Something cracked. You hoped it was her nose—but then you saw something else.

Your nails.

Your beautiful, fresh, matching nails.

Broken.

“You bitch! You broke my nail!” you gasped in outrage.

Tears welled in her eyes as she stammered something, but you weren’t interested. Instead, you landed another punch.

It took both Denki and Sero to pry you off her—but not before you got in a good kick to her stomach.

Let’s just say one of you ended up in Recovery Girl’s office, and the other got detention for a week.

Mr. Aizawa, being the legend that he was, let you use your phone during detention. What an amazing teacher.

Eijiro Kirishima

You were used to people liking Eijiro.

It was impossible not to like him—he was strong, dependable, kind, and had the kind of energy that made everyone feel included. He wasn’t just a hero in training, he was a damn good person.

But Kanna Fukuda? She wasn’t just crushing on him.

She was competing with you.

Kanna was a Support Course genius—a prodigy when it came to crafting hero gear. And for whatever reason, she had convinced herself that you were just a phase, a distraction, something Eijiro would eventually “grow out of.”

She thought that if she could prove she was more useful to him—more essential to his future—he’d eventually choose her.

Too bad for her, Eijiro wasn’t choosing anyone but you.

At first, you ignored her attempts.

The custom gear. The constant requests to work with only Eijiro. The way she always “just happened” to be around whenever he finished training, ready with some new, “perfectly designed” item that would “enhance his performance.”

She was always hovering. But Eijiro never gave her any attention.

He was polite, sure, but he never went out of his way to talk to her. He never lingered when she spoke. Half the time, he didn’t even realize she was there because his attention was always on you.

And that? That drove her crazy.

One afternoon, in the middle of the U.A. common area, she made her biggest move yet. Eijiro had just finished an intense sparring session, sweat still dripping from his forehead as he leaned back against the couch beside you, resting his hand on your thigh.

And then, out of nowhere, Kanna appeared. How the hell did she get access to the 1A building?

She placed something onto the table in front of him—a brand-new pair of hero gloves.

“I made these for you,” she announced, smiling like she’d already won. “They’re impact-resistant, reinforced with carbon fiber, and custom-fitted to your exact hand measurements.”

Your eyes narrowed. Hand measurements? He sure as hell never gave her those. Eijiro blinked at the gloves, looking more confused than impressed. “Uh… thanks, but I already got a pair.”

“These are better.” She took a step closer, lowering her voice. “You should let me take care of you—I mean your gear, Kirishima. I mean, it’s kinda my specialty, right? I can make sure everything you use is perfectly tailored for you.”

And then, she had the audacity to glance at you—like she was proving a point, like she was winning.

You sat up straighter, a slow smirk creeping onto your lips. “Ohhh, impact-resistant, huh?” You grabbed the gloves off the table, turning them over in your hands. “That’s so impressive, Kanna. Really.”

Her chest puffed up. “I know, right?”

And then, before she could say another word, you used your quirk. A white light emitted and them you ripped the hideous pair of gloves in half.

The room went silent.

Kanna’s smug expression shattered. “YOU—WHAT THE HELL?!”

You tilted your head, examining the torn gloves. “Huh. I thought they were impact-resistant.”

“You—” Her hands shook as she pointed at you. “D-Do you know how long that took me to—”

“They weren’t gonna last,” you interrupted, tossing the ruined gloves back onto the table. “They were never gonna be strong enough for him.” You leaned forward, resting your chin in your palm. “You don’t get it, do you?”

Her lips pressed into a tight line.

You smiled. “You can make all the fancy gear you want, but he doesn’t need it.” You glanced at Eijiro, who was watching you with awe and admiration in his eyes. “He’s already strong enough on his own. And he sure as hell doesn’t need you.”

Kanna looked at Eijiro. Waiting. Hoping. Begging for him to defend her.

But all he did was sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… yeah. Listen, Kanna, I gotta agree with her on this one.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “I really appreciate the effort, but… I already have everything I need.”

And then, right in front of everyone, he turned to you—grinned—and kissed you.

It wasn’t just some quick peck.

It was slow, deliberate, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing your skin—a clear, undeniable claim.

Kanna’s face flushed deep red.

She didn’t say another word.

She just grabbed the ruined gloves, turned, and walked out.

The moment she was gone, chaos erupted.

“OH MY GOD, YOU JUST DESTROYED HER!” Mina shrieked.

“THAT WAS SO FREAKIN’ HOT,” Kaminari howled.

Bakugo smirked, arms crossed. “About damn time. I was gonna blow her ass to America if she continued.”

Eijiro just chuckled, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his lap. “Damn, babe,” he murmured, pressing another kiss against your temple. “That was seriously the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.”

You grinned, curling your fingers into his red hair. “Had to put her in her place, didn’t I?”

He laughed, pressing his forehead against yours. “Heck yeah, you did.”

And if anyone still thought they had a chance with your man?

They sure as hell didn’t now.

[jun-was-taken]

There's no gaming experience that's been able to match it. It's one of those rare experiences where it just so thoroughly hits your resonate frequency your brain starts vibrating.

The game's systems and story are so singular in their theme and thesis. Everything you do reinforces the idea that human connection can overcome even the most fucked up dire situations.

One of the mechanics in this game is you can setup bits of infrastructure that people can see and use in their own worlds. You'll see a conveniently placed ladder here, a perfect save-your-ass-I-don't-have-shit-on-me rope there. Someone was looking out for you. You sauce them as many likes as you can. While you're helping the characters in-universe, you're also the guardian angels for other porters that are literally following in your footsteps.

It starts off small. You pack an extra ladder when you know you don't really need it, just so you can go off the beaten track and bridge a gap. Just for the simple pleasure of maybe it'll help someone. Oh man, that cliff was a real pain in the ass to go around. I'm ganna go back and put the rope I wish was there. The next thing you know, you're loading up your truck with literal tons of raw materials to complete out sections of highway.

You've cleared out everyone's stash of metals and ceramics. You stuff your truck, all 28 XL containers of assorted raw materials, beautifully stacked in the back. You're cruising down the freshly paved highway you just helped create. You have a podcast on and you're swerving spooky ghost creatures. One section done. Then two. Then three. The truck bed is lookin a lot lighter. You get to the last section of highway you planned to finish for that route. Time to cash in those last few containers. It'll be a job well done, clean op, time to dust your hands off. You did the math wrong. Ahh shit. You eye the last few containers rolling around in the back. You look around and spot an old rusted bridge. It's well traveled and loved, but it's seen better days. It's a good distance away but you could repair it with what you have in the back. Your truck is rusted and sparking from all the timefall. But the old girl has no quit in her. She'll always take you to where you need to go. You give that bridge a new lease on life, ready for the next set of muddy boots. Then you head back to the DC, planning your next route all the way to do it all over again. But first, a much needed break for the truck and for Sam.

This game is full little stories like this. I've setup a zipline network which involves braving the sketchiest parts of the world. Fighting through literal nightmare hell zones just to set it up. I booted up the game a few months later. I came back to see that multiple porters not only braved the same hell zone, but they schlepped their own materials to not only make sure it didn't rust away, but even upgraded. They had tons strapped to their backs, fighting like hell just so that the safe passage remains open. It makes my heart swell even as I type this out.

Every playthrough will be unique and deeply personal. Acts of service is the love language that ties every porter together. A simple thumbs up means everything. While I get that it's not a game everyone will enjoy, if anything that I wrote interests you, I hope that you give it a try. It's very special to me.

I highly recommend playing Death Stranding if you got a system to play it on

it’s set in this post apocalyptic world where everyone turns into a nuclear explosion ghost after death and the rain makes you and everything else old and for 30-40 years no one’s been able to do anything to combat it except bunker down underground and incinerate the dead. People are isolated because, wouldn’t you be if your neighbour dying meant your city turned into a crater?

but in spite of this all there’s hope that we can connect people again. The NPCs are relentlessly optimistic that we can manage the explosion ghosts if we work together. So much of it is just, building up small contributions and having them pile up and before you know it, you got something big going on. You’re the big damn hero (a guy with insane core strength who doesn’t die) tackling the (literally) heavy stuff but the NPCs are all eager to contribute whatever they can. Here’s some custom boots. A protoype engine. A non-lethal ranged weapon. A place to stay. A bridge to cross a river. A parcel of materials to build with. A generator just as your truck battery is dying. A good luck charm. A remote operated surgical table. A sign that says Keep On Keeping On.

I think it’s important to remember that the small stuff matters. It helped me a lot during the pandemic. The world is heavy and not everyone can lift 100kg, but we can all do something even if it’s just some words to remind people we’re in it together.

Also, Trump canonically died in a ghost explosion and was utterly annihilated down to the atoms.

[starlit1daydream]

On the subject of Equius Zahhak: hypersexuality and patriarchy.

It's been a hot minute since I promised to write something like this, and I've been meaning to test a new writing style for these big posts anyways - so I'm going to try my hand at explaining my personal interpretation of Equius Zahhak.

Equius is one of my favourite side characters in Homestuck, and though the individual components of his characterisation are intentionally facetious and humourous, all of these components then come together to form a fantastic and deeply layered commentary, however unintentional.

Let's begin with the basics: our introduction to Equius proper.

The narrative makes it clear from the start how you're meant to feel about this guy for starters - he's a creep and a weirdo. Nepeta says as much in their very first interaction on-screen:

This is backed up by the narrator themselves exhibiting a discomfort with him, painting him as a cryptic and eerily observant loner:

Once again, he's making people uncomfortable. Discomfort is going to be a very common theme going forward, particularly once we tap into Equius' personal interests and the justification behind them.

The next sign is when we first see him properly on-screen, and the narrator is immediately mortified by the state of his room and advises us to move on with the story.

So, immediately, any cognizant reader knows what's up. This guy is a joke character. A punchline, a fool, a weird asshole with no redeeming qualities. This is, of course, the intended reaction.

...Which then brings us to the subversions involved with Equius' character. Every single off-putting and strange thing about him is subsequently repainted in a more flattering light by the conclusion of his screen-time.

What begins as an overcontrolling, possessive demeanour towards Nepeta becomes a genuine, albeit perhaps overbearing desire to protect his moirail from harm. The context of him being Vriska's neighbour helps us infer that he's very, very aware of the dangers of FLARPing.

What starts as a bizarre and testosterone-poisoned obsession with strength becomes more of a fleshed-out character flaw. It's an inherent fault that Equius cannot control that brings him more distress than anything else. We'll delve into that later.

This is not, of course, to say that Equius is without genuine fault. You are still meant to find problems with his behaviour, of course you are; the Aradiabot fiasco is an intentional violation of personal agency based around an unhealthy obsession. He allows himself and his moirail to die because of his refusal to disobey the vapid and classist hemospectrum.

Okay, so why is he like this?

I'm glad you've asked. This is where this delves more into conjecture, based around a few different things.

The state of the internet and online culture at the time of Equius' inception; and the ramifications therein.

What we know to be true about the aspect of Void, and how Equius interacts with it.

The added retroactive context of Hussie's handling of queer topics (as a non-binary person themselves!), particularly on the subject of gender identity.

Let's start with point one.

Equius and hypersexuality.

At the time of Homestuck's inception, it was a veritable fact that the internet was overrun with overt sexuality, oft for the sake of shock value as opposed to arousal. Screamers and shock sites like 2girls1cup, goatse, Mr. Hands... (that last one is particularly relevant).

I cite Mr. Hands in particular because therein we get to the use of bestiality as a gross-out punchline. This is what Hussie's invoking with Equius; you're looking at this guy and seeing a gross freak who hangs horse porn on his walls. It's appealing to the fact that:

Homosexuality was considered a funny punchline.

The furry fandom was considered a funny puchline.

Bestiality was considered a funny punchline.

And so, this thirteen year old child hanging gay horse porn on his walls is meant to be played for laughs.

But with the retroactive lens we're looking at this through now? It's not only deeply disturbing for reasons I don't think I need to explain, but it's also a portrait of unhealthy teenage sexuality and the ramifications of exposure to explicit content at a young age.

Because it's a veritable fact that Equius does not understand boundaries and has a deeply flawed relationship with his sexuality. It's the kind of hypersexuality induced by childhood exposure to sexual material, and I would go as far as to call it a kind of CSE.

Need more proof of this? Dave Strider. Bro's weird sex puppets and usage of pornography as a punchline undeniably fucked Dave up, and explains the way he so regularly uses sex, particularly gay sex as a source of humour. Dave is the same problem that Equius rises, played seriously at a point in the story wherein these things are no longer treated so facetiously.

Furthermore, it becomes clear that Equius does not actually understand what he is consuming and emulating. Pornography isn't pornography to him, it's fine art. He's uncomfortable and unhappy with his sexuality because he lacks a label for it and doesn't know what it is he's feeling. This is tied to his Aspect of Void; but more on that in just a second.

This is uncomfortable. It is meant to be uncomfortable.

Equius' toying with casteplay and power dynamics is a clear representation of this frayed relationship - and it also segues into our point about his lack of self-worth.

Equius, the Heir of Void.

The Void Aspect. The Aspect of irrelevance, secrecy, ignorance, simplicity and absence, amongst other things.

The Heir Class. The Class that indicates an overabundance of the player's Aspect that overwhelms them and embodies them.

Equius is he who inherits, becomes and is consumed by emptiness. Because Equius Zahhak does not have a sense of selfhood or self-worth. The inference brought about by his title as the Heir of Void is that Equius is overwhelmed by nothingness.

Combine this with his Dersite status and the consensus on Lunar Sway (Prospit indicating externalisation, Derse indicating internalisation) and you get a very clear image of how Equius' title translates.

An overwhelming, consuming sense of internalised absence and nothingness. This is where Equius' hemospectrum adherence comes in! It's a cover up to compensate for his purposelessness and lack of meaningful identity. He sees himself as being deficient in anything real or of substance, and so adheres to the system placed before him because it is the only thing he feels he understands.

Once again, this is uncomfortable and a real phenomenon amongst teen boys. We see it with Eridan, too; young and confused teenagers with no sense of purpose falling into harmful and bigoted pipelines because they have no sense of direction otherwise.

(In a roundabout sense this explains Tavros' role as well; The Page indicates a deficit in their Aspect throughout the session and so the trolls lacking Breath in the form of directionlessness fits fairly well).

It's almost like watching a young boy fall into the alt-right, or start feed into Andrew Tate-style snake oil bullshit. It's the exact same kind of exploitation on a much larger scale; because it's the whole of Alternian society orchestrated by Doc Scratch.

You know... the Doc Scratch meant to represent online groomers?

So, we've been over about all I can cover about Equius' sexual trauma, lack of boundaries and emptiness/lack of self. So, how does this translate? Particularly thinking on the last point, I'd like to give my two cents about a very interesting headcanon for Equius that's been circulating a lot lately.

Equius, and gender identity.

A transfeminine reading greatly enhances the content of Equius' character, and provides a narratively satisfying character arc and means of development for them.

(From hereon out, I will be referring to Equius by the pronouns she/her).

I've seen Nekropsii sum this up beautifully, and I'll paraphrase this interpretation to the best of my ability; Equius' manifestation of masculinity is akin to a poison to her.

It makes her into a grotesque, testosterone-poisoned freak that physically cannot interact with anything around her without hurting it. It is the metaphorical confusion and fury of dysphoria made literal. It is the emptiness and lack of self that I myself can corrobate as a trans woman myself.

Masculinity is a curse for Equius. Much like quite a few other Homestuck characters (Dave & Jake come to mind), Equius really fucking hates being a guy.

So, this ties into my final point.

How I personally would have developed Equius had she been given the screentime to keep being relevant to the story.

The transfeminine character arc seems obvious. I believe that, if a person would be willing and able to tackle the more obscene and deliberately uncomfortable components of Equius' character, you could make an incredibly raw and interesting portrayal of transition and identity.

What's more; this is corroborated by Equius' closest relationship. Nepeta Leijon, the Rogue of Heart. The girl whose role indicates the ability to share identity and selfhood. Nepeta could very, very easily function as a catalyst for Equius gaining her own identity and being helped through the transition process. It makes an already STRONG and stable moirallegiance all the more interesting and heartwarming to witness.

This is not to say that Equius should not have agency herself, of course; an important part of this development would be the formulation of an independent self without debilitating outside influence. It would be allowing herself not to be consumed needlessly by Void.

Equius, and further relationship dynamics.

Equius' relationship with Gamzee (which I have always read as a one-sided kismesis) is also very important to me. This is not healthy. Equius is using Gamzee as a vessel for her fantasies and lack of boundaries, and through her black feelings she vents out her frustration with her sexuality and intrinsic need to obey and serve someone of a higher caste.

I don't think I need to tell any of you how well that works out once Gamzee goes sober. (I'd rather not dwell on the topic of the Makaras too long; that's something for a wholly separate post - and one that I'm sure would end up being rather scathing towards Hussie).

Finally, Equius' relationship with Aradia. This is also one I feel is unhealthy and once again one-sided. It is the same principle as Gamzee; merely in the red quadrant as opposed to the pitch one. Equius is using somebody as a vessel to vent out her feelings of purposelessness and frustration, and deliberately ignoring the lack of reciprocation.

Both of these connections are similar; and both of them end with Equius getting her shit kicked in.

How one would retool and treat these relationships post-character development is up to them, but I personally think it would be healthier for Equius to step away from both of them. I don't think Aradia would want or need Equius' continued presence in her life, and Gamzee is notoriously terrible at relationships. (We know damn well how a reciprocated blackrom with him turns out, just ask Terezi).

Equius, in conclusion.

That's all I really have to say on this matter; a long-winded and ultimately self-serving wall of text that I'm sure will come off as masturbatory and stupid when I read over it again. That being said, I wanted to lay all of this down in one place.

tl;dr - Equius Zahhak is a complex and interesting character with commentaries on teenage hypersexuality and unhealthy masculinity, and reading her as a trans woman provides an incredibly interesting character arc for her in the long term.

[alextydaisuda123]

"Dance Tower"

So... a new AU?:") ... I don't know, I drew everything on pure enthusiasm. And I was shocked by myself when I realized that... THIS WILL BE MY FIRST QUIET AU! °□° Without any serious plot! This AU will exist purely for fun. Why not. No, I did not refuse dark and tense plots, I just wanted to create something calm. So meet >:)✨️

Dance Tower - this AU will be based only on dancing. Yes, there will be elements of competitions and combat, and only because most of the dances are tied to combat due to the characteristics of the bosses.

Plot? Well, as I said, there is nothing serious there. Everything is simple. Peppino and Gustavo receive a letter from Pizzahead with a simple invitation to the tower to dance, whether they go or stay, it is their choice, their no one forced them. But they went, why not :). And now, let's move smoothly to the characters. And yes, I will say in conclusion that the characters have remained unchanged, but they will have some added facts and details. And yes, almost all the characters will be friends with each other.

Peppino. His dance style is hip-hop with elements of breakdance. He is still anxious and afraid to perform in public, so he dances either only with Gustavo, or alone. But when he receives an invitation, he still decides to go there, purely out of curiosity.

Facts: Peppino has accumulated a lot of scars throughout his life (half of which he does not remember where he got), so he hides them under thick clothes (even in the heat he walks like that, poor thing🥲). Only Gustavo knows about the scars. He can still cook (though he does not have a restaurant at all).

Gustavo and Brick. Their dance style is Flamenco. In fact, Brick initially did not know how to dance, but when he became interested in what Gustavo dances, he decided to learn. Gustavo is more confident in dancing and is not shy in public.

Facts: He tried to learn breakdancing from Peppino, but alas, he realized that it was not his genre, although he knows a few tricks from there that he can perform. He met Brick purely by chance in the tower, when he tried to dance with Noisette, whom he met on one of the floors of the tower. Brick really liked Gustavo's style, so he tied a red belt on himself and asked Gustavo to do his hair :3.

Pepperman. His dance style is ballet, with elements of allegro, boxing or something like that. He has been dancing ballet since an early age, which he really liked. But over time, he added elements of combat to it, which makes his ballet look somewhat sharp and dynamic (which surprised Peppino himself when he took part in a dance with him).

Facts: Because of his additions to the dance style, it is difficult for him to find the music he needs, so he approaches it very slowly, but reverently. He still draws. He tried to mix dancing and drawing before, but he cannot concentrate on anything in particular, so he does drawing separately, namely when he is resting. During dancing, his legs suffer the most, so they are constantly bandaged (jumps and kicks do their job). He has many costumes that he can use in dance. He loves to wear makeup, so he also does his own makeup (sometimes Noisette does it).

Vigilante. His dance style is cowboy country. In his dance, he uses a gun (safe), because it adds more ... epicness to it? Dynamics?🤨...well, yes, something like that. He takes dancing quite seriously, initially not perceiving other genres. Over time, of course, it passed, but he does serious preparation for dancing.

Facts: He has been dancing not since childhood, since he initially believed that he and dance were something incompatible. But when he grew up, he decided to try to find something suitable for him, and since he loved country music, he began to dance in a similar style. That's where his love for the cowboy theme came from. The ribbon on his hat was given to him by PM, as a sign of their relationship and joint partnership in dancing.

Noise. His style is Hip Hop with elements of break dance and ... rap🥲. Well, yeah, why not |:). Has been doing this since childhood. Initially, his family taught him to dance something simple and national, like Harabe. But he quickly got bored and learned something else (nobody forbade him in general). When he fights in a dance with Peppino, he can use random things to win and get more rating.

Facts: Initially, he thought that his dance style was special, but when Bruno himself repeated his tricks, even did better, he softened opinion about it a little. When he met Noisette, he was ashamed to admit that he usually dances when she said that she dances, and he hid it for a long time (they were then able to combine their dances, so everything is generally fine now). He doesn't really try hard on his images😅.

Noisette. Her style is ballet, compatible with roller skating or ice skating (mostly rollers). Her dances are mostly complete improvisation. Still as cheerful and energetic.

Facts: When she danced with Gustavo, she didn't have the goal of defeating him somehow, but just to dance from the heart. She still cooks different goodies, and they turn out quite tasty (if you're really hungry, of course, but Noise will eat everything). Her costume is also some kind of improvisation, since she wanted to diversify the ballet costume. She sometimes likes to arrange a fashion show with PM.

Fake Peppino (Bruno). He has the same dance style as the regular Peppino, only also with elements of improvisation. Initially, Bruno was not conceived as a clone who needs to defeat Peppino, but purely as an ordinary participant, like everyone else. So he wasn't created with evil intent.

Facts: Despite his love for frogs, he asked Noisette and Pepperman to sew him something frog-related, which they did very well (except there were also pants, but they were abandoned due to inconvenience). On his floor, there are many dance machines that he plays (either alone or with friends, if they are not busy). His relationship with Pizzahead is not bad, yes, he does not particularly care for him, but he does not torture him, but simply treats him like a child, whom he can occasionally notice and does not refuse to dance with him.

Pizzahead. His dance style is a little special, namely tap dancing. It is special because for other bosses this genre of dance is "from the old days" (plus the clothes refer to the old days (and to the image of Charlie Chaplin🥲👍)). In this AU, he is not evil, but he can sometimes get along with other bosses because of little things or because of the thirst for victory in some contests or simple competitions. But someday he will have to admit his defeat. And so, he is a simple smiling fool, nothing more.

Facts: The reason why Pizzahead invited Peppino to his tower is because he saw him on TV purely by chance. He admired his movements (even if they were constrained due to Peppino's insecurity) and decided to invite him as a friend. Of course, he did not expect Peppino to come, but he was prepared for his appearance in advance. His cane serves not only as a dance element, but also purely to maintain posture, since he has minor back problems due to his tall stature. He has a bad habit of tap dancing at night, which keeps others awake. Oops.

That's how it is :D. I will occasionally draw this AU for fun :>. I hope you like it^^"✨️.