#and in doing so has played such an important role in saving the world

[sapphiresaphics]

I’m going to tell you a very important and personal story about my life.

When I was a bratty teenager, my mother slapped me.

Now my mother NEVER disciplined me that way, ever. My family was big on not using violence as a form of punishment. I was never spanked, I was never abused. By all accounts I grew up in a very loving family and got along well with my parents.

But on this particular day, I was not handling things well at all and I was lashing out in ways that were distressing my mom. And suddenly in a moment of absolute frustration at how difficult I was being… she slapped me.

Both of us were stunned by it. My mother had never raised a hand to me ever. I could see the tears in her eyes as she realized what she had done, and she quickly removed herself from the situation while I sat there in silence alone for quite a while.

Neither one of us ever spoke about it. She never apologized to me, and I never apologized to her. It’s always been this one unspoken thing about our relationship.

I tell you this story because I think it’s important to understanding that despite this one moment of violence I experienced from my mother, I still love her and have a great relationship with her to this day. One violent act does not sever me from the people I love. Even if we never speak of it, we both know and understand completely what happened and why. We are capable of forgiving and understanding each other.

So when I watch that scene with Caitlyn and Vi, I can see that Caitlyn is very clearly trying to remove herself from an intense situation where her emotions are running wild and she’s clearly not processing them in a healthy way. And I’m seeing that Vi is actively stopping her from leaving to get a moment to cool down and collect herself. And in that moment of heightened frustration and emotion disregulation I see Caitlyn use the butt of her gun to forcefully remove Vi from holding her back.

Just like my mom when she slapped me when I was making it impossible for her to process things.

And in Caitlyn’s eyes I see the same instant regret and realization that she just did something truly unthinkable that I saw in my mother’s eyes.

My point in all this is that I personally have experienced something like what happened to Vi first hand and I’m able to understand why it happened and know, without words, that everyone involved is regretful of it happening and we’re still able to love each other. Because we’re adults. It doesn’t change that at the time it hurt, but one act isn’t enough to make me forsake my family or my love for my mom.

And Vi, who has the biggest heart in the world, clearly forgives Caitlyn for what happened too. And Caitlyn, for her part, makes amends for it too by letting her anger for Jinx go and lets Vi choose to save her sister. That’s infinitely more than anything I got from my own mother lol

I just feel like people are being WAY too judgmental and quick to write Caitlyn off as an abuser, or a terrible partner, or whatever… when reality is often far more complicated and complex to deal with. And I genuinely DO believe (from firsthand experience) that frequency of the act DOES play a role.

for my own sanity, i try to stay away from caitvi discourse, but it’s truly baffling that some people still actively defend caitlyn hitting vi and are "dumbfounded" that it is enough for people to stop shipping them and voice their discontent about their relationship in s2.

one of the most common and dumb defenses i’ve seen is that caitlyn only hit vi once, as if the frequency of the act changes its nature. even a single instance of violence is still violence. highlighting that it happened only once does not negate its significance. it still happened, and it still matters. really, it's simple ...

but the dumbest attempt to defend this moment is comparing caitvi to other ships in arcane, when no other relationship in the series has a similar dynamic. in other pairings that involve physical conflict, both characters fight back or retaliate in some way, whether it’s jinx and ekko, viktor and jayce, or even vander and silco. but caitlyn hitting vi is entirely one-sided. vi does not hit back, and it is not framed as a fight. this moment is not a confrontation between equals but an instance of caitlyn exerting power over vi, someone who has already been through a lot of trauma (years of imprisonment and being beaten by enforcers), which caitlyn is very aware of.

but that’s if you watch arcane as a whole and not just for the relationship, because caitlyn hitting vi is a moment charged with systemic inequality. caitlyn represents the very institution that destroyed vi’s life. when she strikes her, it's not just an individual betrayal, it echoes the violence of an entire system that has oppressed zaunites for generations. it’s impossible to disregard that the historical and social power imbalance makes the scene feel so disturbing if you actually watch the show with your eyes open.

and it’s a major red flag. for caitlyn to hit vi, knowing what she has been through, is not just an act of violence but one that disregards the weight of vi’s suffering. she fails to see vi fully, not just as somebody willing to help her, a potential partner, or a fighter, but as someone wounded by her past.

also, i take back what i said about the dumbest attempt to defend this scene being comparing caitvi to other ships. the dumbest one is when people minimize caitlyn's action by defending the enforcers in general ... because no, the idea that the backlash against caitlyn hitting vi in arcane is simply a matter of an “american lens” is dumb asf. a lot of what's in the show mirrors the kind of systemic violence seen in many parts of the world, not just in the usa. y'all are not exceptional. class struggles, institutionalized oppression, and the abuse of power by those who hold privilege aren't exclusive to america. please wake up. these are themes that transcend national and cultural boundaries. vi’s trauma from imprisonment is not an american experience alone. the psychological and physical toll of being incarcerated is universal. how dumb do you have to be to actually think otherwise?

anyway, even if i don’t like that arcane didn’t frame caitlyn’s action as a serious issue and that it is treated as just another moment in their relationship, the willingness to ignore or rationalize it says more about the fandom’s biases than the actual content of the show imo ...

[dany36]

actually i need this very important exchange with teersa and very important hug on my blog now in remastered form

[grandwitchbird]

Dragon Age has been doing a really clever thing with its protagonists and the heroic power fantasy that only fully comes together when you look at the series as a whole, so let’s do another ramble. Under a cut to save your dash.

Origins is a traditional RPG power fantasy. It likes to tell you that it’s not by gesturing at Loghain and alluding to unreliable narratives, but what it shows is the power fantasy. No matter what your warden does, they’re the hero. Are you a casual genocide enthusiast? No problem you can still ride off into the sunset looking for a cure. Also hey you have a critical weakness/flaw (the calling) that kind of dooms you or gives you cause to vaguely ride of into the sunset. Very heroic indeed. There’s a layer of textual interest added by the presence of unreliable narratives, but ultimately it’s the hero’s choices that shape and determine the world and story, right down to very gamified relationships. The origins system itself, the fact that your warden could have been anyone, is the actual textual proof that this isn’t all that’s going on. It just only really gets paid off by later games, and that’s pretty important given where this franchise ended up.

—

Enter DA2. Hawke is a champion, not a hero. Hawke fights for those who can’t fight themselves. Hawke can’t save the world. They can’t even save their family or city. It’s a battle of attrition that sees them somehow worse off no matter what. The still-gamified but now more nuanced and challenging relationships become the focus because they’re really all Hawke has. Now the power fantasy is still lurking around the edges. It’s just challenged at every turn. You can free Kirkwall, but Anders is always going to blow up a church.

—

Which brings us to Inquisition. Somehow, you’re both as much of a nobody as Hawke and you’re responsible for more than the Warden. And it’s miserable. The power fantasy is constantly undermined. No matter who your inquisitor was, by the end of the game they’ve been completely subsumed by their role: turns out power has teeth.

In a move that delivers on the unreliable narrative throughline that Origins established and DA2 strengthened, the Inquisitor must play the hero and save the world. It doesn’t matter if your Inquisitor is a kind person doing their best or a racist power-hungry asshole, and that is now a systemic issue within the world itself. The erosion of your character’s personhood is explicit within the text as characters struggle to see you as more than your role and you’re asked to shape the faith of an entire world even if you don’t share that faith. The cost of this erosion is made incredibly literal with Ameridan’s story and then in Trespasser, where the anchor, both cause and symbol of the Inquisitor’s role and power, is killing them. Relationships become somewhat less gamified but more importantly, you’re given an explicit textual mirror in Solas. He’s there to reflect your behavior but also your loss of personhood to a role. It’s essential that he’s the one to save your life at the end of Trespasser. Even if you’ve never shown him a moment’s grace, here is your mirror to see you as a person one last time.

—

And then there’s Rook. Now we play a mirror to Solas, a character who has been the hero, Mythal’s champion, and a man subsumed by his role/s. He’s really the narrative gift that keeps giving.

We walk the dreadwolf’s path this time, and the dreadwolf is a classic tragic hero. He’s stuck in a story where he must save the world and where a critical flaw will always be his downfall. We’re Varric’s second who must step up to champion his cause after the events of the introduction. And we’re barely keeping ourselves together under the burden of leadership. And here is where Veilguard finally delivers everything this franchise ever promised. Because under all that we’re truly just some guy. Just like Solas is just a guy who got stuck in situations he never wanted. His response was to become the hero or play the villain (depending on the story) because that’s easier. But if Rook can truly choose the ‘hard truth’ that the world is never going to “stay fixed” (oh hi Inquisitor… and Hawke… and Warden) and that other people can have better ideas and make hard calls and their own choices? If we don’t have to ‘win’? Rook can reconcile the inevitable tragedies of this kind of story with their very human needs and escape the story altogether. The cost, of course, is the power fantasy.

[agatalunar]

new year, new me… ㅤㅤ𖤓 · What will 2025 bring you? ㅤㅤ· 𖤓

merry christmas everybody 🤍🎄 sorry for the delay, I hope you enjoy this last reading of the year, and as always thank u for your support… it would be a pleasure for me if you let me know if the reading resonated with you so do not hesitate to send me a message, comment or reblog, it will make me immensely happy

- choose the one with which you feel most connected -

Pile 1… 2… 3…

ㅤㅤ

𖤓 Pile 1

cards: five of pentacles, six of wands, five of wands, nine of pentacles, five of coups

Independence is a great word for this year that is beginning. You are going to start facing the world on your own, so you must act with certainty. It is a year of a lot of personal growth in relation to how you want to present yourself to the world, what you offer.

“Adult life is no longer a game.” You may be a very, very young person or you may not have had the opportunity to do things on your own, but if you really want the things you want, it is important that you take action.

It is a year in which your soul is going to take very different paths in relation to the past and all of them will be good if you know how to choose them and know how to handle them. For some reason it is as if you are embarking on the path of being a CEO/ a type of boss (?)

Getting out of your comfort zone, recognizing your potential and having security and confidence will lead you to success. Use your mind but also your heart, do not let greed or ego guide you. You may want this to help your family's finances, but you are also doing it for yourself. You deserve to get everything you want and the universe is helping you get it in 2025. Be patient and don't despair. Everything comes at the best time.

Things that may resonate with you or are significant:

Happy than ever - Billie Eilish, This will be - Natalie Cole, “we don't play around”, Let me - Zayn, Whatever - Oasis, “Im freeee”, applause, decisions, “all action is reaction”, being latinx or latin descent, depend on others financially, Cuba or Miami, 565, 6, 3, 333, “I used to pray for what I have today”, Simple - Kali Uchis, Jenny from the block - Jennifer Lopez, emigrate-migrate, vision board

Thank you for your time and energy, dear pile 1 ♡

𖤓 Pile 2

cards: eight of pentacles, knight of swords, the moon, knight of cups, the dead

2025 brings you a lot of internal learning. Your guides want to communicate with you. Dive into the spiritual sea of ​​your soul and life purpose. Dare to see what has been hidden for a long time.

You will know and recognize yourself from a deeper perception, you may need to connect with your past lives, understand where certain repetitive patterns come from, your soul needs to be healed and there is no one else who can do it but yourself.

If for a long time you have wanted to buy crystals, tarot cards, learn more about astrology, meditate... 2025 is the perfect year to carry all that out.

Do not set expectations, enter that path with a blank mind. "Reborn." You will become the most authentic version of yourself when you manage to recognize the spirituality in which you live. Do journaling, automatic writing, guided meditations... etc. And remember that healing the soul is also about eating well, surrounding yourself with people who have positive intentions, not being hard on yourself and just taking life easy.

This process will also change your style, you will want to dress differently, your observation of yourself will change completely and everything will be for your highest good. Your spiritual guides can't wait for you to take that big step... "do it, do it baby"

Things that may resonate with you or are significant:

Frailty - Violent vira, 18, 8, “save yourself”, third eye chakra, role models, Very special - Chris brown, Nobody - mitski, Conquest of Paradise- Vangelis, watch things on the laptop at 3 am, Chachachá - Josean Log, Blueprint - Tyler Jane, blue light

Thank you for your time and energy, dear pile 2 ♡

𖤓 Pile 3

cards: the chariot, the magician, knight of cups, eight of wands, the moon

“Just take it easy, baby, enjoy it”. Literally just have fun, 2025 is a year where you shouldn't think about things so much, “don't overthink it”. Act like a child, enjoy the moment, don't worry about what might happen. But just because you let yourself be guided by the universe doesn't mean you have to leave your inner voice behind, use your intuition, have faith and trust but act consciously.

DANCE, connect with your inner child. Don't care what people might say, it's your life and you decide how to live it. Dare to challenge the rules you've been forced to follow. Connect more with music, it may be a way for you to heal or simply relax.

Be your best friend, no one will know you as well as you know yourself. Take care of yourself in all aspects, physically, energetically and above all emotionally and mentally. Transform nostalgia into healing potential.

Just as you act when no one is watching, act the same way when everyone is watching; 2025 will be a year of great satisfaction for you, the universe embraces you and pats you on the shoulder so that you take the next step.

Things that may resonate with you or are significant:

BTBT - B.I, 222, False starts - Zayn, “trust me, you’re not gonna crash”, butterfly, Felling good - Nina Simone, wings, Alma mia - Natalia lafurcade, cherry, strawberry, makeup for children, 2000s, Deceptacon - Le Tigre, blue shirt with white stripes, party decoration, dancing in the kitchen, rock, music from your childhood or what your dad listened to, Rock you like a hurricane - Scorpions, As it was - Harry Styles, “be a diva”, You & Me - Jennie, Opera House - Cigarettes after sex, Modern Love - David Bowie, The breakfast club

Thank you for your time and energy, dear pile 3 ♡

[blitz0hno]

It's sad to me that if the Milgram cases were Real with ALL the character traits/situational factors being the Same and we analyzed the people the same way we do the characters, we'd all be mocked and degraded for humanizing these "muderers" (except MAYBE Shidou and Yuno but that's not even beginning to touch the other end of the spectrum; some of the patronizing the fans do of characters reflect their real-life sense of "pity" etc.)

Like obviously people are gonna be wary about actions that lead to Death but tbh ALL THESE MURDERS WERE PREVENTABLE WITH BETTER SOCIETAL STRUCTURES

this wasn't supposed to be a long post but fuck it

Haruka needed a caretaker and a care team who understood his emotional and physical needs; he was neglected and compared instead, left to cope with intensely painful emotions alone.

Yuno is highly isolated and seeks feelings of warmth and closeness in quick gratification, because giving your heart to someone else in a selfish world is dangerous; she needed honesty and realness, and also an economy that doesn't make men's objectification of her an ideal career choice.

Fuuta is also highly isolated and has extremely punitive views; his "community" was built on vitriol instead of good faith.

Muu is a neglected teen who lashed out as a result of the social structures she and her friends perpetuated; a culture of perfectionism and hierarchal notions make desperation to stay "on top" explosive.

Shidou shouldn't live in a world where he has to "deceive" people to help transplant patients, or suffer with guilt over his own family; a culture of death acceptance and genorosity would help him overcome these horrible feelings.

Mahiru had her mind fixated on a highly commercialized/mainstream idea of "love" and "romance," wrapping her self-worth in it to the point where she pulled another down; had her partner been honest with her, in a world where saving face and repression wasn't more important than communicating, they could have been at peace with or without each other.

Kazui was forced by the expectations of others to play a role he never wanted to, and another human's hopes and dreams were wrapped up in this role; his "failure" to be a husband to her as a straight man would not have even been an issue in a world where everyone can explore themselves without shame.

Amane was raised with cult ideology and shown immense levels of violence for a child to comprehend; she should have been protected, and a world where safety is more important than ideology would have saved their whole family.

Mikoto was heavily abused to the point where "survive by any means necessary" is on the table; everyone involved in his "murder" would have been better off showing a lot more compassion to others AND themselves.

Kotoko, though no "tragic backstory" that we know of, has always known that this world and that people in it can be violent and cruel; giving them a taste of their own medicine wouldn't be so bad if the medicine weren't so horrible to begin with.

If this world sought understanding before judgement, Es would not have the weight of 10+ worlds on their shoulders.

But if the world wasn't this way, we wouldn't have Milgram.

So it goes.

[coffee-obsessed-freak]

I need to talk about this because it’s eating me up alive

SNOWCROW THOUGHTS LET’S GO

Okay, so I don’t think these two have even MET in canon, I’m also pretty sure Zayne only knows Sylus as the head of Onychinus and the most wanted man alive, BUT— their personalities? Their possible dynamic? I just think it would work sooo well, like slow burn mixed with different-morals with a hint of angst (a lot, actually, cuz that’s just the type of people they are)

I think a lot about Sylus “cannot-go-a-day-without-physical-touch” with Mr. Zayne “Withdrawn-but-will-always-respond-back” a LOT. Like, and I imagine that the first time Zayne is the one that initiates contact, Sylus is all wide-smirk and teasing quips. But Zayne KNOWS he’s happy about it, because it shows in the way his eyes will soften, and there are happy lines that pull his face upwards in a smile, and his ears are just the slightest bit red — to which Zayne is much more certain that his own are a shade darker, given the warmth he can feel

Their humor as well? I feel like Sylus would enjoy attempting to annoy Zayne a lot (the unstoppable force meets the immovable object), and Zayne would huff and reply back dryly or sarcastically quip something back. And Sylus would be so amused and smitten because Zayne is able to keep up with his energy — he’s just as sassy if not moreso. And his quips are always so smart, always an inside joke between the two of them that only they understand— Sylus would revel in the intimacy of that gesture alone

PLUS, RRRRR, the fact that they’d be polar opposites of each other? One will ruin the world for the other, the other will risk himself to save the world? Selfless x Selfish OOHH, MY HEART. BUT THAT’S THEM WHEN THEY’RE ON THEIR OWN. CAN YOU IMAGINE WHAT THEY’D BE LIKE TOGETHER? THE ROLES WOULD SWITCH. Sylus would risk himself to save “his world” (his significant other), and Zayne would defy GOD to save his. The selfless becomes selfish, and the selfish becomes selfless — all in the pursuit of saving the other. And I just think it would be so goddamn beautiful to see these characters who are so assured of their roles, of the parts that they need to play, immediately throw it all away for that one singular person

The level of trust it requires. The yearning. The divide of moral conflicts. But at the end of the day, if Sylus were ever to be stuck in a ditch or an alleyway, battered and bruised, I imagine all he’d need to do is give Zayne a call — and he’d drop everything just to speed his way over to Sylus. No questions asked

He’d nurse him back to health, and Sylus will be silent the whole time as he’s being looked after because — he isn’t used to this. Being fussed over like this. Sure the twins themselves will make a huge deal about it, but Zayne? Zayne is the quiet sort of worried. Zayne would look at him with those soft, concerned eyes and softer, lower voice and— and then what? Sylus is at a loss for once in his life. Because here is one of the most renowned cardiologists, who probably has more important things to deal with than someone who willingly throws himself into danger oftentimes for the thrill of it — scolding him softly, asking him about his well-being, spoon feeding him even

And I imagine Sylus would say, “You don’t have to worry about me being down on my luck, next time. I’ll make sure it won’t happen again” and that doesn’t ease the concern in Zayne’s gaze, but his shoulders slump down just slightly, and all he says back is, “I want to worry for you. And I will continue to” and it sounds like a promise that’s laced with something more than just a Doctor looking after his patient

In return, Sylus will take at least a week and a half off from doing any shady business (doctor’s orders, he says), and Zayne is all the more relieved about it because he’s following his orders for once and looking after himself more

And Zayne? Zayne doesn’t even need to call for aid when he wants it (Not that he will, the goddamn self-sacrificial bastard), because canonically? Sylus will know. He has eyes everywhere, he’ll keep a special eye out on Zayne every time, regardless of how busy he is. So on the occasion that Zayne finds himself in a fight he can’t win against, Sylus will pop out of nowhere and say he was “in the area” (no he wasn’t). They make for an amazing team.

And on lonely days where it’s just Zayne working overtime? Where he feels the heavy presence of silence in his office? There Sylus will be, waltzing into his office, late night snacks in his arms for his poor overworked Dr. Zayne, because luckily for Zayne, Sylus is a terrible night owl and an insomniac some nights. And Zayne, albeit a little startled and exasperated the first time it happens, welcomes it along with every other new thing this dynamic of theirs brings. He finds himself looking forward to it some nights when he works overtime, because Sylus likes to bring new things to show off to him, or new desserts that he thinks Zayne would like

All in all, I just think their dynamic would be so sweet dasdhsjkad

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

nymph. [part 3] l General Marcus Acacius

Summary:  you have been with him for a long time, but he has never seen you. but everything has changed.

Warnings:  fluff, talks about slavery and territorial expansion, mythological figures treated in a simple way

A/N: My dears. I have to admit that I am proud of what I have done so far writing this series. Wow, a series! What was supposed to be just something short has now another chapter and I think there will be a few more. Please forgive me that not much is happening here. I wanted to introduce our characters to a new environment, it took me a while. I hope you will be understanding and gentle with me. Thank you for your wonderful reaction when I announced writing another chapter. It was really encouraging. I send you all my love.

I hope you will be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

nymph [masterlist]

Rome was dazzling. All the buildings, temples and roads, palaces and squares were full of its inhabitants. And Marcus, welcomed in this center of the world as equal to the gods. 

The victories he brought with him and laid at the feet of the Emperor, earned him the recognition and love of the people. The empire grew in strength and power, thanks to General Acacius. 

And then there was you. 

Marcus made sure you were transported by his most trusted men to his home. He didn't want you to be in the palace, not yet.

The whispers of envious people, the jealousy and treachery, he didn't want to expose you to that. But there was something else. Something he was afraid of, but he didn't tell you about it.

Marcus was afraid that your appearance among the noble people of Rome from the Emperor's entourage would arouse unwanted interest from him. You could be considered by them as a spoil of war, his private concubine, someone equal to slaves. The thought itself stirred the blood in his veins.

He was calmer and better at playing his role as the Emperor's pet, knowing that you were waiting for him safely in his chambers.

"What troubles you, Acacius? Let me free your head from your worries." The curious voice of Emperor Geta reached his ears.

"It's nothing, my lord." Marcus nodded, his lips twisting into a small smile.

Geta watched him carefully "You're tired, aren't you? All this war, conquering... All men need to rest now, and so do you." He placed a hand on his shoulder and led him through the room filled with guests "I can offer you something that will delight your senses. The highest quality company, beautiful and fresh, with firm breasts..." he laughed quietly.

"You are generous, my lord." Marcus nodded humbly "I would like to be home though. In a bed other than the one I had in the camp."

"Alone?"

He was saved from answering by the music that suddenly started and distracted the Emperor. Soon the man finished his wine and let the guests surround him. The party was in full swing, and Marcus eagerly noticed the dark sky outside the window. The thought that you were alone in his house haunted him.

This place was a mystery to you. Previously, you had spent most of your time in and out of temples, but mortal homes never interested you. You walked barefoot through the rooms, occasionally spotting the servants who were busy preparing to welcome their lord.

The young girl who had been assigned to you dutifully toddled after you, clearly confused by your behavior.

"My lady." she said as you circled the inner garden of the house once again. "My lady, wait. Perhaps I should draw you a bath? You must be tired after such a long journey."

"Bath?" you didn't take your eyes off the stone bust standing against the wall.

"Yes, my lady." the girl approached, clearly pleased that she had caught your attention. "We have prepared a room for you."

You finally looked at her. She was beautiful. Her skin was kissed by the sun, her eyes large and dark, and her brown hair, which she had braided in a simple way, fell down her back.

"What is your name?"

"Melitta, my lady." she curtsied slightly and lowered her gaze. You repeated her name quietly, then gave yours, which made a shy smile appear on her lips. You unexpectedly grabbed her hand. "Lead me, Melitta. I feel like I won't be free from you if I don't take this bath."

"Our lord is kind and gracious to us. Not like some other masters..." Melitta's soft voice surrounded you as her graceful and skillful hands washed your body. The bath was warm and stuffy, filled with the scent of incense and enveloped in the warm light of candles. "His return was long awaited by us."

"Have you been in his house for a long?"

"A few years." she replied quietly. "But I am grateful for every day. General Acacius is..."

"Where are you from?" you interrupted her, you saw the surprise written on her beautiful face.

"What do you mean, my lady?" she asked.

"How did you come to Rome? You are not from here, I can feel it."

Melitta lowered her gaze, reaching for the oils standing on the floor next to her. Although your question didn’t hurt her, she felt awkward.

"My lady, asking a slave something like that is inappropriate." she said quietly as if she wanted to discreetly draw your attention to your lack of manners "It doesn't matter where we're from, now we belong to General Acacius, to Rome."

You turned around so you could look into the girl's face. "For me you are a person. You have a name, a family, roots. Your work, and the work of people like you, create this world."

"But we are still slaves... I mean no more than...than..." she grabbed the bottle with the amber liquid inside "Than that! Not all of us are born free, my lady. Maybe in your world it's easier, but it's only a world of ideas."

You lowered your gaze. Melitta's words echoed in your head, but you knew she was right. 

When you served your mistress, when you accompanied Minerva to her temples, or when you walked step by step behind Marcus - you never thought about how the Empire was built. To you all mortals were the same, too young, fragile, fleeting... Now you were one of them.

"Forgive me, please." You said quietly as Melitta helped you dress in clean, soft clothes. "I didn't mean to hurt you." 

"You didn't hurt me, my lady." She replied. "You noticed me."

It was late when he arrived at his estate. Cicadas were playing loudly in the garden, and the familiar rustle of sandals heralded the arrival of Antigonus, the steward of his house. The older man bowed low.

"General." He bowed low "It's good to see you in good health."

"I'm glad to see you too, Antigonus." Marcus replied, patting the man's shoulder "Is everything alright? How is our guest?"

"Everything has been prepared for your return, my lord. Melitta has taken care of your guest, taking her to her chamber."

The two set off down the dark corridors of the quiet house. "Oh, and she stayed there?" Marcus asked, feeling the corners of his mouth curl up, because he probably already knew the answer.

Antigonus sighed. "Your guest is very..." the man searched for the right word in his head "Curious." he said finally "But she's also beautiful and has a sharp mind. I had a hard time convincing her that she didn't have to help with the little chores in the garden. She seemed concerned."

"I guess. Don't worry, Antigonus. She's different from the ones we know, but she'll steal your heart."

"My lord."

The man noticed with concern that Marcus was heading towards where his bedroom and study were located. This worried him a little.

"If you wish to visit your guest, we've assigned her rooms on the other side of the house." he said.

The glow of the torch illuminated the General's tired face, but a smile was on his lips, "I think I'm where I should be. Good night, Antigonus." he replied and pushed the door open slightly.

The chamber was bathed in warm light, and the long shadow of a familiar figure was reflected on the wall. He noticed movement behind the delicate curtains covering his bed.

Gods, he would give anything to be able to immortalize the sight of you in some way. Every time his eyes looked at you, Marcus felt as if he was experiencing some indescribable miracle or grace. Even though you were already beyond his dream image, he still couldn't believe that a being so beautiful and extraordinary was within his reach.

You sat on his bed dressed in flowing robes that his servants had prepared for you. Around you were maps and other writings, you must have moved them there from his study. A small wrinkle appeared between your eyebrows as you studied carefully what was before you, trying to understand it all.

"This is an unusual sight." he said quietly, and you flinched like a startled doe.

He emerged from the shadows and approached the bed. Your eyes followed his every step, a smile spreading across your lips as he finally stood before you. You sat back on your heels and rose slightly.

"Marcus..." his name flowed from between your lips like the sweetest song of praise.

He stroked your cheek, then leaned down to brush your sweet lips. "I thought I'd find you sleeping, not planning the expansion of your empire. Should I call you general or emperor now?" he said, chuckling.

"Call me whatever you want." You replied, taking his colossal hand in yours and kissing the back of it tenderly. "I saw this on your desk, I couldn't help myself."

"Curiosity can be dangerous, little bird. But tell me, please, what are you looking for there?"

Your gaze wandered back to the maps lying on the white sheets. Numerous lines intersected to form the borders of the country, the letters formed the names of cities and regions, but it meant nothing to you. You only saw that what was marked as the Empire was growing on each successive map.

"What's all this for?" you asked. "Why are you conquering more lands? Why are you killing each other? Our gods can be merciless, but you, humans, can be more terrible than them."

Warm fingers stroked your chin as Marcus considered your words. These thoughts had been haunting his mind for some time now. Did you know him that well?

"The Empire must be strong," he finally answered. "Our victories give it power and authority."

"They also give you new stomachs to fill. Meanwhile, you flood the fields with blood, you don't sow seeds for bread there."

He knew you were right. Gods! Marcus knew that perfectly well. He sat down next to you, and you greedily slid onto his lap. Your closeness gave him solace.

"The empire must grow to exist." You continued. "The beast must devour new victims to grow, and what if it doesn't find them anymore? What if it starts eating its own children?"

A grimace crossed his face. You saw the tiredness in his eyes, you didn't want to add to it, but only he was able to explain to you the world that you were now a part of.

"We have to believe that we are ruled by people who know how to prevent this from happening." He finally said.

"Do you believe in your words, Marcus?"

"I'm trying."

You took his face in your hands and placed your forehead against his. "I wish I could take away all your worries, my love. I wish I could find a better world for us."

He hummed quietly, his hands wandering over your back, sliding under the soft fabric wanting to feel the warmth and delicacy of your body.

"Now you are my world and I will defend it at all costs," he said quietly. 

Your body tensed as your lips collided. It didn't take much force to push him onto the sheets, sharing a precious breath with him. You made love, pushing away from your thoughts everything that cast a shadow over your feelings. 

It wasn't until later, when you were asleep, cuddled up to his side, his body free from the tension of the day, that Marcus still considered your words. The words you had spoken, the words that had filled his mind and heart for so long.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

@ashleyfilm @gothcsz @littlenicpascal @missladym1981 @axshadows @psychoenergy @sabsunflowergirl @pedrofan @heckzprince @hard-candy-writing @mynameisbaby9 @94namkooksworld @bbyanarchist

[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part one | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh's daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. please note this story will contain a great deal of physical violence, some committed against the reader and some committed by her. this will include fighting, training, torture, and parental abuse. there will also be explicit sexual content. chapter word count: 7500 words.

enjoy <3

-

B E F O R E

Felix takes his place in formation.  He is the youngest in the youth regiment at only ten years old, but he is no less competent.  They all belong to the same special-ops program, a group of specially selected children raised for armed service.  They are in the employ of Mister Miroh – and he says they will save the world. 

The world is full of shadows, dank black holes and grimy stains so embedded that no regular agent can scrub them out.  The young subjects of the soldier program are not regular agents.  Their existence is their mission.  

Felix has no life outside of the house of Miroh.   

He stands straight.  He looks forward.  His feet are the appropriate width apart and his hands are folded behind his back.  He holds this position as the trainers scour the lined formation, studying the young soldiers and reprimanding any flaw. 

They need the best soldier for this mission.  This is the most important assignment the regiment will ever receive.  Felix has trained his whole life for this.   

“Miroh has many enemies,” speaks the head trainer.  It is a familiar speech, more important now than ever.  “But our target is his local rival.  This enemy family has been a corrupting force for generations, taking through inheritance what it has not earned.  Miroh is not like The Enemy.  Miroh is a solider like you.  He came from nothing, fought for scraps, and built his own business one brick at a time.  He understands the world and he will fix it through you. You will be his hands in the places he cannot reach.  Your role is an honourable one.” 

A trainer passes Felix.  Felix straightens his spine that last infinitesimal degree.  They touch his shoulder but do not reprimand him.  It makes his pulse hammer with anticipation. 

Felix is one of the best.  There is a possibility they will pick him, if only because the actual best has a habit of—

“Oh, cheer up, mate,” Chris’s voice comes from a few rows back. “You know what they say: all work and no play makes—”

He is interrupted by a whoosh of air, probably a trainer punching him in the stomach. Felix closes his eyes so he does not wince.

“Bang Christopher Chan,” the head trainer says, his voice booming across the facility floor.  “Step forward.” 

Felix hears a frustrated sigh, then Chris stomps through the lines to reach the front row.  Everyone looks at him. 

He is an unassuming character.  Not very tall but deceptively strong.  Curly black hair and dimpled cheeks.  Felix remembers that smile, the lilting and friendly, “Call me Chris,” when Felix was just six years old and first thrown into the regiment. 

Bang “Call Me Chris” Chan is the best soldier here.  Or he would be, if he did not hate the honour. 

Even now he is glaring.  Like the rest of them, he is dressed in combat clothes, the pitch black of Miroh.  Unlike the rest of them, he stands with a lazy hunch in his shoulders.  His dark hair is dishevelled and he scowls like a petulant teenager.  He is thirteen going on fourteen but he is far from a normal teenage boy.  Even compared to the rest of them, Chris is something special. 

“Bang Chan,” the head trainer says.  “You have been chosen for this assignment.  Congratulations.” 

Felix is not surprised.  When Chris is forced to apply himself, it is abundantly clear he is the best soldier in the program by a huge margin.   Felix is also not surprised when Chris responds with his usual verve and ire.   

“Yeah, uh, you can go ahead and shove your congratulations up your ass, mate,” Chris says.  He crosses his arms stubbornly.  “Even if we kill this guy, do you really expect us to believe that’s the end of it?  You’re putting us in the middle of a fight we didn’t start.”   

He addresses the soldiers behind him just as much as the trainer.  He even glances at Felix who glares back at him, unimpressed with the rebellious dramatics.  Chris never learns.  He gets more chances than the rest of them because he is so good.  If he wanted, he could be unstoppable.  He could use his strengths for good. 

Instead, he just looks at the trainer and shakes his head.

“Nah,” Chris says.  “You started this fight.  I’m not ending it.”

A few of the adult guards move towards him.  The gathered soldiers take a collective breath, watching with anticipation.  It is common knowledge that thirteen year old Bang Chan can take a regular adult guard in a matter of seconds.  When it comes to Chris, the question is not who will win, but will he fight at all? 

He stands there like he has no intention of fighting.  But before anyone can grab him, the door opens. 

Miroh enters. 

The room is so tense and silent, his footsteps reverberate like thunder.  Miroh is every inch a soldier even in his blazer and tie.  He walks with purpose, his face intent. 

Walking behind him, keeping decent pace despite her smaller frame, is his daughter. 

Miroh is a fighter who does not believe in unearned inheritance, so his daughter is trainee soldier like the rest of them.  She is the same age as Chris.  She trains with the regiment, one of the better agents, but she was not in contention for this particular job.  People have tried to kill The Enemy before and it did not work, resulting in the death of innocents.  Miroh wants a strong heir and he is not above putting her through the same grueling regime as the rest of them, but he will not recklessly risk her life. 

It is fair to Felix.  Miroh’s world makes sense.  He believes in it.  He believes in him.

So he is rapt as Miroh approaches. 

The adult guards fall back and the young soldiers stand at attention.  Miroh’s jaw is set with grim determination.  He stares at Chris.

Chris drops his crossed arms.  He is smart enough not to run his mouth at Miroh directly, but his frustration is clearly simmering beneath the surface.  His fingers curl and uncurl in little fists. 

Miroh stands in front of him.  He speaks loud enough to address the entire room.

“I do not begrudge your desire for information,” Miroh says.  “You’re soldiers, not animals.  I acknowledge that you wish to know about the long-term goals for this company.  But that is not your job or your purpose.  This business is deliberately compartmentalized so if one cog in the machine fails, the apparatus does not cease to function.  The results of your missions speak for themselves.  What we’re doing is good work. That is all that matters.”

“Says you,” Chris blurts.  Even he looks surprised by his own retort, though he does not take it back.  He looks Miroh in the eye. 

Miroh looks back.  Then he reaches into the holster beneath his long coat and draws a gun.  It is smooth, second-nature.  Miroh is used to getting his hands dirty.  His steady hand points the gun at Chris. 

The trigger has not been pulled but the trainers already flinch.  They know Chris is the best and they have worked hard to shape him, even if his stubborn mind is not molded as easily as his body. 

Chris, himself, does not flinch.  He stares down the barrel, unrelenting. 

“You don’t want to do that.” 

The soft interjection makes everyone pause.  Heads turn and eyes dart, everyone’s attention transferring to the thirteen year old girl in the shadows.   

Miroh does not lower the gun but he looks at his daughter.  Chris looks at her too.  Felix is not sure who is more bewildered. 

The girl, herself, is calm.  She has indubitably mastered a stoic countenance, not a hint of emotion anywhere on her young face. 

“He’s the First Guard,” she states simply.  “This is not worth killing him over.”

The First Guard.  The other kids in the regiment sometimes call Chris that, though he doesn’t like it so it is usually behind his back.  Chris does not like that he has been singled out.  Chris does not like anything about the program. 

This is Miroh’s second attempt at the youth soldier program.   The operation raises soldiers from childhood to fight, to withstand pain, to feel no fear.  This training is supplemented with medical treatments, hormonal injections that are only effective if administered in the crucial developmental years of childhood.  It aids in building a body for soldiership, to take a hit just a little harder than most. 

Chris is the only survivor from the first round of injections.  He survived every test that followed.  He is stronger for it, even stronger than the rest of them.  He is a singular asset.  He will never be replicated. 

Thanks to The Enemy, none of them will ever be replicated.  The Enemy recently attempted to recruit Miroh’s developers and killed them when he did not succeed.  Detailed knowledge of the treatment died with them.   

Miroh can never accomplish anything with his enemy on perpetual offense.  Felix knows the stories like the rest of them, the generations of corruption wrought by a single wealthy family with its iron fist wrapped around the country’s throat.  Miroh wants to free them.  Felix knows if they kill this one man, if the household is left to rot in the hands of its weak successor, then Miroh can finally set everyone free. 

It is a noble honour.

Chris does not see it that way.  He never has.  Maybe it is different for him, having watched those other children die.  Felix understands it was a sacrifice, but a necessary one.  The Enemy cannot be killed by a regular soldier.  So many more innocents will die if he is left unchecked.  Surely that is worth the price of a few soldiers.  Wars have casualties.  It will be worth it.

It has to be worth it. 

Bang Chan, the First Guard – call me Chris – takes a deep breath.  It sounds frustrated.  He glares at Miroh’s daughter who is unaffected. 

Felix looks between them.  Then his gaze lands on another soldier in the formation.  Seo Changbin is in the first row, a boy one year older than Felix.  Not the best soldier, not second best, but not the worst. His most notable trait is his humour and his friendship with Miroh’s daughter.  They are close – at least as close as anyone can be down here. 

Changbin is looking at her right now, his gaze searing with intensity.  Their eyes meet briefly and he shakes his head, a small motion, just enough for her to see.  Despite his clear warning to stop, she is not dissuaded from addressing her father. 

“With all due respect, sir,” she says to Miroh, “Eliminating Bang Chan would be a mistake.  He’s the best soldier in the operation.”

“The best,” Miroh says.  He presses the barrel of the gun against Chris’s forehead.  Chris goes tense and everyone takes a breath.    

His daughter is still unmoved.  She is a quiet character in general.  Felix has barely heard her speak never mind argue.  She keeps her head down and goes about her work obediently.  She is a good daughter and a better soldier.     

Maybe that is why Miroh hesitates. 

“He is not the best if this is how he conducts himself,” Miroh says. 

“Father, aren’t you the best at what you do?” she asks without hesitation.  “Surely a proper soldier like you should be able to control a little boy.  Are you saying you are not capable of that task?  It takes no skill to shoot a teenager.  What message do you send to the rest of us if you have to resort to desperate measures to keep your own army in line?”    

The silence is deafening.  Even with a gun plastered to his forehead, a little dimple of amusement pops in Chris’s cheek.  Changbin exhales.  Felix is sick of standing still but he holds his form despite the growing tension. 

The seconds feel like hours.  Eventually, Miroh lowers the gun. 

“Guards,” he says.  The adult guards are immediately at his side.  “My daughter has faith in our order.  I would be remiss as a father to fail her.”  He looks down at Chris and speaks with a snarl in his upper lip, “Let us all try our best to succeed.” 

Miroh snaps his fingers and points at Chris.  The guards swarm him, two of them taking an arm each.  At least Chris is smart enough not to struggle.  He is an indomitable force but he does not have an army at his call.  He lets himself be seized. 

“Take him to the Cell,” Miroh says.

An instinctive hiss leaves the mouths of a few soldiers.  They have all been trained to withstand various degrees of torture, but the Cell is one of the worst.  Even Felix shudders at the mention of it.  It is a small windowless room buried deep in the bunker of the training facility, a small prison cell with no light and no warmth.  Everyone has taken a turn in isolation, camped on the hard ground in the damp and cold and dark.  Down there, minutes feel like days, days like years.  At least literal torture causes sensation.  The Cell is a great black nothing. 

Chris does not argue, knowing it would be useless, but he does glare at Miroh as he is hauled away. 

“Take her too,” Miroh says. 

With a snap of his fingers, two more guards surface and grab his daughter.  Her stoic expression finally fractures, true surprise bursting on her face. 

“Me?” she asks. 

“As my daughter, your perspective is acknowledged and appreciated,” he says.  “As a soldier, you need to remember your place.  Throw them in together.  Double the people, double the time.” 

Felix would not want to be shoved in that tiny space with another person.  Certainly not if the trade was double the duration. 

But then, Felix does not like company.  He does not understand the exhausted look on Changbin’s face.  Changbin isn’t being punished, so why would he feel anything? 

Felix watches.  He holds his form even where others begin to wane. 

The guards and their prisoners leave.  The door closes and Miroh looks over the regiment.

“Who’s the second best?”  Miroh asks. 

There is a beat of silence, the scene settling.  The trainer finally clears his throat and looks down at his papers. 

“Lee Felix Yongbok,” he says in that booming voice.  Felix’s heart soars just as high.  “Step forward.”

Felix marches forward, keeps his eyes ahead.  Miroh approaches him.  Felix does not flinch, not even when Miroh circles him like prey.

“He’s young,” Miroh says.  “What do you have to say for yourself, boy?”

“I want to do good,” Felix answers.  “I’m ready.” 

They put a gun in his hand and a beanie on his head.  He enters the world looking like a normal ten year old boy. 

He puts a bullet in the head of The Enemy. 

He suspects one day he will be back for the son and granddaughter. 

He hopes it will be soon. 

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

Despite your father’s remarkable propensity for making you feel like a child, you are a grown adult.  You are intelligent and conniving and dangerously competent.  In some ways, having been raised like a soldier beneath his merciless iron fist, you are more steadfast, more severe.  Your life is carved into his, your fates tethered as one to his success.  You are your father’s daughter, a Miroh, irrevocably a product of his upbringing.   

You do not show weakness.  You do not throw tantrums.  You might spend twenty minutes in the lobby bathroom, splashing cold water on your face, and you might spend another five minutes shining your shirt buttons, then ten more folding and re-folding the lapel of your long coat – but walking into his office almost forty minutes late is not the same thing as throwing a tantrum. 

You think you’re composed until you walk through that door, then the week’s anxieties expand in the cage of your chest.  You are capable but you are not stupid.  Miroh might be your father but he is a totalitarian man of influence and it would be foolish not to be wary of his power. 

You are more apprehensive than you appear, but you march in there like a soldier, shoulders back and head high.  You inherited your father’s marble expressions and stone stature.  No one would ever guess your palms were so clammy, your neck hot and damp with sweat. 

“I’m here,” you say by way of greeting.   You are not characters to indulge in artificial small talk.  There is no affection here and pretending otherwise is a waste of everyone’s time.  

“I won’t bother with pre-amble,” he says, predictably.   ”You know why you’re here.”

“I do,” you say.  “And I don’t agree with it.”

“I know you don’t.”

The argument ends just like that.  You knew it was a dead-end protestation before you opened your mouth, but you had to say something.  You are adamantly opposed to your father’s latest imposition.    

A personal, twenty-four hour bodyguard.   For you.    

The decision was not made lightly.   Your father’s business rival perished just under a month ago, the bloody circumstances extreme and mysterious.  Until Miroh can ascertain what truly transpired at that house on that fateful night, then he cannot be too careful when it comes to guarding his own legacy.

Your father is a military tactician and business man.  He is in the habit of bracing for every eventuality with a detached, pragmatic determination.   Of course he wants you watched. This bodyguard assignment is imperative in protecting his house. 

“I have a security team,” you say. 

“They are insufficient,” he replies. 

“I trained them myself.”

“They are too numerous.”

“I’ll cut down the roster.”

“Rotations open vulnerabilities.”    

“And who’s to replace them?” Your patience snaps. “One of your dogs?”

“You are also one of my dogs,” he says, voice soft for such a venomous retort.  It stings like a slash across your chest.  “I would not disparage them.” 

“Oh, of course, my apology.”  You speak with the same false gentility.  “What a thoughtful master you are.”

“I must be,” he says, “because the dogs still come when I call.” 

There is so much contempt in his voice.  He looks at you with more hatred than he ever directed to his worst enemy.   It makes you want to leap across this room and throttle him with your bare hands, like you can shake the animosity right out of him. 

You are too old to feel like a little girl on the verge of tears, demanding to know why her father does not love her.   You have long since accepted there is no easy answer to that question.  You would say that Miroh is simply not capable of love but you know that is not true.  He can love.  He just doesn’t love you.  

You are the perfect heir, his exact replica in ability and countenance, but it is not enough.  It will never be enough.  No matter what you do, no matter how faithfully you obey him.   You have bloodied your hands in the shadows while he takes the public credit.  You have helped build the reputation of the family name.  You have given him everything. 

He rewards you with this.   

You are not stupid.  Regardless of his excuses, he does not want you under surveillance for your protection.  You both know your personal training puts you leagues ahead of the overwhelming majority of agents.  Your security team is a superfluous accessory as is.

Miroh has just witnessed the collapse of a previously impenetrable legacy.  This does not put him at ease.  The battle technician accounts for every possible manoeuvre.  You know he foresees his own downfall just as easily as he sees his success.  Unseated before his time, reputation annihilated, replaced by someone as savage and persistent as him. 

A bodyguard will not protect you from the world.  It will protect Miroh from you. 

For all your inner turmoil, you are a steadfast rock, standing across your father in his office and exchanging a knowing glance.  You are just like him.  Of course he is scared of you.  Of course he hates you.  Of course he needs you.  

The feeling is devastatingly mutual. 

“Who is it?” you ask, calmly. 

“Agent Slump, step forward,” your father calls one of the guards posted at the back wall.  “This is your new bodyguard officer.  He will accompany you at all times, day and night, including your office hours and service train—”

The agent steps forward as your father speaks.  You draw your gun out of your chest holster and shoot when the man steps into your periphery.  It blows through his shoulder and knocks him down, all in a piercing shriek that reverberates around the small room.  The other guards flinch in the ringing aftermath. 

You look at your father and re-holster your gun.  You lay the lapel of your long coat back over your chest. 

“He leaves something to be desired,” you say.  “I would have thought you learned your lesson with these undertrained toy soldiers.  Maybe a better bodyguard would have kept your wife alive.” 

Your own mother died during complications in childbirth.  Miroh remarried a few years later, a woman he genuinely seemed to cherish, a woman who was killed in retaliation for a deal gone sour.  Nothing fills your father with more righteous fury than the mention of her.  Miroh loved her almost as much as he hates you. 

You know better than to retaliate with such childish rejoinders, but you want to hit him where it hurts, see something real on that stoic face.  It garners you a flicker of rage, bathed in all that loathing, and it makes you smile. 

“Let me know if you can find a competent replacement,” you say.  “Until then, I have work to do.” 

You turn heel and march to the door.  The guards move out of your way despite lack of command.  They have never respected you the way they respect your father, but they do fear you and it works the same way. 

You are dressed for the office but after an unproductive hour spent stewing in agitation, you give up.  The head of your security team accompanies you across town to the primary training facilities.  Hidden in plain site, here Miroh has trained and developed some of his most deadly assets. 

You are one of those assets.  You spent your childhood in this facility, training among an elite selection of children, raised for the purpose of violence and victory.  It was a unique program.  It has never been revived, the medicant administered to the children lost and yet to be replicated.  

You are one of the few still living. 

Your training was relatively more lax.  As Miroh’s daughter, the trainers could not let you die.  But neither he nor they had qualms with letting you suffer.  Miroh never admonished them and you never complained, at the time naively thinking that if you could prove yourself then he would care about you.

A foolish aspiration long since abandoned. 

But the training has served you well over the years.  It certainly comes in handy when you need to fucking punch something. 

Your security team is comprised of regular soldiers so it does not take much to best them in a fight.  The exertion is nonetheless liberating.  You have always felt more at ease in action than behind a desk.  Combat clothes are less stifling than formalwear.  There is a reason Miroh never paraded you at parties the way his late enemy did with his late daughter.  Your place is in a fight and always has been.  

After a few rounds in the ring, you stop to rest.   Your team knows when to leave you alone to brood.  You lay back on the mat, flat in the ring. 

There is a moment, as often passes, where you question your entire life.  It has been a long, vicious fight, clawing your way to your position, that the road back out seems like an impossibly arduous task.  Too much has happened, too much pain and loss.  It has to mean something. 

You cannot surrender now.  The very thought has you reeling, physically painful to even consider.  

This is where you belong.  It is an irrevocable truth.  You are a Miroh. 

“Yah, murder princess,” comes a voice and the thud of booted steps.  “Just three rounds?  Tsk.  You’re getting soft.”

You roll over, grinning even though you know better.  You look up at Changbin who is dressed in similar fatigues, his bulky arms crossed over his broad chest, his dark bangs brushing his smirking face. 

“I was waiting for a real fight,” you reply.  “Looks like I’m still waiting.”

He barks out a laugh. 

Changbin is one of the few survivors of your father’s special-ops program.  Unlike others who were imported from your father’s overseas operations, Changbin was raised right here alongside you.  You do not even remember meeting him; he has just always been there.  

He is a few years younger but he always held your attention, both because of his skill and his ability to retain a sense of humour.  It was an often sought breath of relief in the conditions of your training. 

You look at Changbin now, grinning and more jovial than someone like him should be.  It is a testament to his resolute strength that he can hold a dual personality inside him.  He has always been that way.  He can flip between a stoic soldier and goofy guy in the blink of an eye.  It is part of the reason you have never let yourself entirely trust him.  Though you are fond of him, he is like you: just a little too good at what he does. 

“Haha, the princess thinks she’s a comedian now,” Changbin says.  He nudges you with the tip of his boot.  “If you want to make me laugh, you should try fighting.” 

“Oh, I see.”  You cannot help but rise to his bait, like always.  He is a perpetual little brother even though he is not your real brother and certainly not little anymore. 

You swipe at him and he jumps back.  Just like that, the pair of you fall into a long practiced dance.  

It is not the gentle footwork of a real dance, but a violent collision and parry of limbs.  It is just as musical and in sync, and somehow almost as tender.  You know each other’s weaknesses as well as strengths.  You know how to beat each other and how to prolong surrender, where to give advantage so the other can continue.  You used to fight until the trainers called a tie, saving you both from selection for the loser’s punishment.  To everyone else, it looked like a fight.  To you, it was a conversation and consolation.  Even if you had been in solitude for weeks, in that moment you were not alone. 

Changbin reads you now, in every swipe and jump and dodge.  In your matching black clothes and matching strength you collide and converse.  Your frustration strains in every vein and his enquires are plain in the deliberate pause of his complicated steps.

“Daddy problems, ah, murder princess?” he asks, grinning. 

He catches your fist before it collides with that smirk, twisting your wrist so you are forced to follow with a heavy drop.  You roll together, a back and forth until you individually spring to your feet and face each other.  You wait for the next move with equal calculation.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you say, batting a hit. 

“Really?” he asks.  “Because there are rumours in the pig pen that the general was looking for a big strong soldier to protect his little princess.” 

He lets you clock his jaw but it is a satisfying smack nonetheless.  A drop of aggravation is wrung out with your sweat.  You wipe your brow. 

“There was a change of plans,” you say.

Changbin laughs.   He is loud, always so loud for someone who can be so stealthy. 

“Of course!” he shouts.  “Keeping the doctors busy today, are you?”

He really knows you too well.  It is mutual.  You side-step a movement and body-check him. 

“Guess that’s what the general gets for choosing from the pig pen,” you say.  You infuse your father’s title with all the sardonic venom it deserves and pig pen with the same playful mockery as always. 

“Don’t be jealous,” Changbin teases right back, catching your taunt as easily as he catches your punch.  “If you keep practicing, one day you might be almost as good as me.” He has been making the same wisecrack for years, laughing to himself every single time. 

“Funny,” you say dryly. 

“I am the best,” he continues to tease, embellishing his movements with an unnecessarily dramatic flair.  “I’m sure that’s why the general doesn’t want me on bodyguard duty, right?  I need a real job, not protecting the princess.”

There are a few rapid-fire moves, too taxing for speech.  Then you manage, “Right.”  You take his offered opening and catch the back of his knee with yours.  “I’m sure it has nothing to do with your probation after the last field mission.” 

You expect to take him down but you do not expect the weight of his crash.  It is not like Changbin to fully collapse under you, almost like he was truly surprised. 

You are just as dazed by the impact.  You loom over him, staring bemusedly, like you have no idea how he got on the floor. 

It is not like Changbin to take a hit so personally.  Of all your father’s soldiers, he was always the best at shrugging off his individuality in favour of a mission.   He does not tend to dwell on his losses anymore than he lingers in his victories.  The past is a heavy thing to carry into battle.  He knows to leave it behind.  There is always another job around the corner. 

“You’re not still upset about that?” you ask.

The mission was shortly before the enemy’s downfall.  Years ago, one of your father’s child soldiers betrayed an operation.  Lee Felix switched sides and the enemy did not let your father forget it.   But Miroh is an ever-calculating general who knows which battles are worth fighting.  After one failed attempt at seizing the enemy’s daughter, he waited until the enemy came to him instead.  

When he finally did, you caught him.  You sent Changbin after his daughter and waited for the enemy’s imminent surrender.  He retracted his operation but Felix, that loose canon of a traitor-turned-bodyguard, fucked the Mirohs a second time and disappeared with her.  They all died a week later. 

Changbin was noticeably uneasy after the job, but you did not think much of it.   You were not worried about Changbin taking the mission too personally.  Yes, Felix was a former soldier in this regiment, but Changbin is not sentimental.  You chalked up his despondency to his loss.  It is not like him to let a target slip through his fingers. 

“Upset,” Changbin says.  “Me?”

You know him too well.  The joking tone is diminished, buried beneath the weight of his gloom.  He tries to smile but it does not fit on his face, too big and too wide of a grin. 

You tip your head, your regard scrutinous.  You have no idea how to talk to him with real depth.  You look at each other and understand it, but vocalizing it is another matter entirely. 

Like he can read your thoughts, his face scrunches up and he says, “Yah, you, cut that out!”  He shoves you as he gets to his feet, both of you stumbling.  “I’m fine,” he says.  “Come on, hit me again.” 

You are certainly better at conversing that way.

You take a starting stance but you are interrupted when someone from your security team whistles.  It is a warning whistle, the sharp tone a code for the arrival of your father.

You and Changbin straighten, turning to watch as Miroh approaches with a flank of armed guards behind him.  They are all dressed for combat in their black uniforms and black masks.  The half-mask is regulation for all field agents.  It covers the bottom half of the face and serves as protection in the event of smoke from explosions or exposure to noxious aerosols and gasses.

It also undoubtedly turns a human soldier into a less-than-human figure.  It obscures features, faces, flaws. 

Sharp eyes stare at you, every face uniform and expressionless.  There are half a dozen of them.  Your father’s usual security detail trails behind them.  Your security team eyes them in turn.   The whole room feels like a pot about to boil over.    

“What is this?” you demand.  

“This is my adherence to our agreement,” your father says. 

“Our agreement?” you ask.

“Yes.”  He stops in the middle of the room, standing straight and steady.  He looks at ease, like he barges in here with a small army every day.  “You tasked me to find a competent replacement bodyguard,” he says.  “So here is how this will go: whichever agent can beat you in a fight, right here, right now, will be your new bodyguard.  If you defeat them all, I will drop the issue and leave the matter of your personal security to you.” 

You look at his soldiers then at him.  You force yourself to composure.  It is not like you to instigate so much confrontation. You prefer to keep your head down and get the job done.  Your father does not love you but he knows your work is reliable.  Usually that is enough.

This entire escapade with the enemy has unravelled everyone.  The house of Miroh should be more stable than ever, your father taking over assets left behind by the enemy, but the whole world feels changed.  It is off its axis.  You feel unsteady, your body braced for attack with no reprieve.  You feel like you are looking at the world through someone else’s eyes.  Everything feels wrong.

In difficult times, you fall back on training and soldier instinct.  You are a battle technician, just as competent as your father.  He is not going to drop the issue and this is a fair compromise.  You can fight these guards.  Half a dozen well-trained field agents is a handful but not impossible.  Your body is built to be a little faster, a little stronger, to take a hit harder. 

“Fine,” you say, a single grating syllable.  You bite the word.  Through clenched teeth, you add, “Let’s do this.”

You and Changbin exchange a look.  He reflects your confusion, knowing you can easily take these guards, knowing Miroh knows that too.  It makes you feel even more uneasy.  Your father must be planning something but you do not know what.  But you cannot control him.  You can only control yourself.  You can fight these guys.  You can win. 

You take a swig of water then stretch.  The first guard takes a position in the fighting ring.  You brace yourselves with a starting stance, measuring the other. 

You wait, sweat dripping down your brow.  You feel their eyes on you, every soldier, your father, your friend.  Changbin stands off to the side, sitting in shadows.

It is where your kind belongs.  You are not regular soldiers. 

The fight begins and you take him down swiftly.  Your game with Changbin was just that, a game.  This is real.  This is a battle.  This is what your body was made to do. 

One by one, you take out the agents.  They charge at you, they swing at you, they even try to taunt you.  You deflect it all.  Your fist connects with a temple, your foot their knee.  You pop joints and flip soldiers and springboard back to action. 

You are getting tired by the last soldier but you do not let it show.  You sweat profusely, breathing hard, but you run at him and take him down.  Your bodies are a swirl of limbs and powerful movements.  Then he is on the ground, groaning, and you are rising, victorious. 

“Well?” you say.  You cannot help but grin, elated from the sheer exertion of exercise, and proud of your triumph.  There is a small, stupid part of you that hopes underneath everything, your father is proud too.  That he must relent and admit you are good.  

Miroh just stands there, unmoving and unaffected.  It dims your smile, frustration returning.  It simmers hot beneath your skin. It distracts you. 

Pain explodes in your left cheek, so sharp and searing it turns the world dark for half a second.  You see lightning flashes as you stumble, falling onto your side.  There is another guard in front of you, one you did not even see enter the room.  Did he drop down from the ceiling? 

He is a blurry shape.  You blink the stars out of your eyes, holding your throbbing head until clarity returns. 

Then your stomach drops. 

It is not a guard looming over you.  He wears the same black combat uniform and the same half-mask, but everything about him is different, everything from his build to his stance to the ice cold slash of his dark eyes.  Emotionless.  Empty. 

“Ah, I see,” you say, a breathless slur of words.  You cannot stop your voice from shaking.  “The First Guard.  I should have known.” 

There are only two living soldiers who can fight at your level.  The only two survivors of your father’s special-ops program.  One of them is Seo Changbin.

The other is Bang Christopher Chan. 

He stands over you in his combat gear, unflinching and barely human.  Even without the mask, you doubt you would see any humanity.  There is not a single shred of the boy he once was.  Chan was a problem for Miroh, once.  That was a very long time ago. 

That boy, Chris, is dead.  He has been dead for years.  The soldier in front of you is someone – something – else. 

You get to your feet, slowly and shakily.  He watches you.  He does not speak and he barely blinks, his gaze a meticulous perusal, his body braced for anything. 

Chan has the bloodiest, dirtiest hands of them all.  He does your father’s worst missions, assignments with details that even you are barred from knowing.  He is terrifyingly efficient, deadlier than any weapon in Miroh’s arsenal, and that is saying something because it is a substantial arsenal.  

Your own hands are dirty but it is nothing in comparison.  He is fast, he is deadly, and he feels nothing.  He looks at you like a machine scans a calculation.  A broken bone here, a fracture there.  You are certain he is already picturing a hundred different ways to contort your broken body. 

“Right,” you say. 

You are a strategist.  You know how to fight.  You know when not to fight.  But it is like instinct.  You look at him and something says fight him.   

You feel your father’s eyes on you.  You are not sure who is teaching who a lesson. 

You take a swing at Chan.  He dodges it.  He swings too, faster, but you anticipate it.  You tuck and roll, moving faster than you have ever moved in your life.  You are seldom pushed to the brink of your abilities like this.  Even half your skillset is double what most adversaries possess. 

But Chan is too much.  You spend the fight on constant defense, blocking swing after swing, hit after hit.  You take advantage of the smallest opening and crack your fist on his chest, only to realize he deliberately opened himself to it.  He grabs your wrist and twists you around before you can retaliate.  You are not used to such brute strength.  You follow his twisting to prevent a sprain or fracture, which he anticipates.  He grabs you by the throat and yanks you into him, right off your feet. 

You choke, blue swarming your rapidly blurring vision.  He slams you down on the ground, further disorienting you, still clutching your neck.

You dive somewhere deep inside your head.  You collect yourself as per your training, then swing your knee up between his legs.  It does not fully incapacitate him but it does discombobulate him.  He lets go of your throat and you slide between his legs, jumping up behind him.  He turns just in time to take a kick to the stomach, blasting him backwards to the end of the ring.    He prevents a worse fall by forcing himself down on one knee. 

You take the second he is down to catch your breath.  You try to calculate your next move but your adrenaline is dwindling.  Hopelessness settles in your chest.  You cannot win this fight.  At best, you can prolong it, but—

For the second time, you are blind-sided by pain.  It shatters down the right side of your body, a winded shove that blows right through you.   But it is not Chan.  Chan is still getting to his feet. 

You look up only for Changbin to bring his fist down in your face.  It knocks you off your feet and you land with a heavy thud.  Your heart races inside your aching chest. 

You have never fought Changbin like this. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss when he grabs you by the neck and drags you onto your feet.  You come to your senses and fight back, but you are hurt and tired and he has been recuperating. 

He punches you clear across the jaw and knocks you down again.  The world tilts sideways, spotted with black and blue.  Changbin drops on top of you.  You cannot even wrestle him, so disoriented.  He gets you flat on your front and pins you down. 

Then he takes a second to whisper in your ear, “Stop fighting me, murder princess.  Who do you want as a bodyguard?  Me or that thing?” 

If you were not so tired, you might have laughed. 

Your life is so backwards.  Changbin is helping you by beating the shit out of you.  But it is undoubtedly helpful.  He is right.  If Chan beat you, then Chan would be your bodyguard.  Your father would win.  He would have one of his agents glued to your side.  An agent you would never be able to shake no matter what you did. 

But it is not Chan over you.  It is your friend.  Someone from the same shadows as you.  Someone your father was not anticipating.

Changbin grabs you by the neck and yanks you up.  You look at your father with blood dribbling out of your mouth.

“I win,” Changbin says. 

Your father does not look happy.  That should upset you.  You and Miroh are bound as one. 

But it gives you a thrill.  His abomination of a soldier looms to the side, still staring at you, like he expects the fight to continue any second.  You suppose Chan’s life is one big fight and always has been. 

It doesn’t have to be that way for you, you think to yourself, a dangerous thought, one conjured by the feeling of your only friend holding you in his arms.  It looks like a death grip to anyone else, purely technical, but you feel it, the way he cups your injuries carefully despite his bulk and power.     

Miroh is scared.  He is getting desperate.  He wants you brought to heel.   In doing so, he is only stoking your resentment.

That pot starts to boil over.

“Well?” you say, in a voice as rough as gravel. 

“Yes,” your father says with a petty little snarl.  “I suppose you have won, haven’t you?” 

Changbin helps you off the ground.  You suffer through your pains.  You can feign steadiness for another minute, for long enough to retaliate.

You climb out of the ring.   You pass the other injured guards.  You walk right up to your father. 

Miroh stares at you.  You have identical glares, measuring each other.  Two soldiers with the same fire in their blood. 

You punch him.  It is a nice sharp shot across the face, using all the strength you have left.  You are one of the best.  Despite your injuries, it is still one fucking hell of a punch.

Miroh falls back in an undignified sprawl, hitting the hard ground with a painful thud.  He is good but he is not you. A fall like that would not have broken your bones the way it clearly fractures his arm.  

“Until next time, father,” you say. 

You step over him.  His security team immediately surrounds him, helping him up.  Your team comes to your aid as well.  Changbin follows too, coming right up to your side.  He grabs your arm and slings it around his shoulder, taking the brunt of your weight seconds before you would have collapsed. 

You look back over your shoulder.  The injured guards are tending their wounds.  Chan is looming in the background like a living shadow.  Miroh is clutching his arm and staring at you with fury pouring out of him.  You walk away, smiling despite your injuries. 

Your father should know better than to hit you.

You always hit back.

[reasonsforhope]

Pairing frogs and toads together might conjure memories of Arnold Lobel’s beloved characters — dressed to the nines in caramel coats and polyester — biking off toward adventure. 

But in the animal world, frogs and toads on nearly every continent are facing a much more harrowing adventure: a decades-long fight against a mysterious fungal virus that has afflicted over 500 amphibian species. 

Since the 1990s, scientists estimate that the chytridiomycosis disease caused by the fungal pathogen Bd (Batrachochytrium dendrobatidis) has led to the extinction of 90 amphibians. One of the lost species includes the Panamanian golden frog, which hasn’t been spotted in the wild since 2009. 

Fortunately, a new research study has finally pinpointed the virus that has been infecting fungal genomes for decades. 

“Bd is a generalist pathogen and is associated with the decline of over 500 amphibian species…here, we describe the discovery of a novel DNA mycovirus of Bd,” wrote Mark Yacoub — the lead author of the study and a microbiology doctoral student at the University of California, Riverside. 

In an interview with UC Riverside News, Yacoub said that he and microbiology professor Jason Stajich observed the viral genome while studying the broader population genetics of mycovirus (viruses of fungi). 

The discovery will undoubtedly have monumental impacts on future amphibian conservation efforts. This includes the possible launching of new research studies into fungal species strains, the practice of cloning and observing spores, and engineering a solution to the virus. 

But Yacoub cautioned that this is only the beginning. 

“We don’t know how the virus infects the fungus, how it gets into the cells,” Yacoub said. “If we’re going to engineer the virus to help amphibians, we need answers to questions like these.”

Still, as scientists strengthen conservation efforts to save frogs and toads (and salamanders too!) they also appear to be saving themselves. Yacoub pointed out several amphibian species around the world have begun exhibiting resistance to Bd. 

“Like with COVID, there is a slow buildup of immunity,” Yacoub explained. “We are hoping to assist nature in taking its course.”

Pictured: A Golden poison frog — one of the many species endangered by chytridiomycosis — in captivity.

Why are frogs and toads so important?

From the get go, every amphibian species plays an important role in their local ecosystem. Not only are they prey for a slew of animals like lizards, snakes, otters, birds, and more, but in an eat-or-be-eaten world, frogs and toads benefit the food chain by doing both. 

Even freshly hatched tadpoles — no bigger than a button — can reduce contamination in their surrounding pond water by nibbling on algae blooms. 

As they grow bigger (and leggier), amphibians snack on whatever insect comes their way, greatly reducing the population of harmful pests and making a considerable dent in the transmission malaria, dengue, and Zika fever by eating mosquito larvae. 

“Frogs control bad insects, crop pests, and mosquitoes,” Yacoub said. “If their populations all over the world collapse, it could be devastating.” 

Yacoub also pointed out that amphibians are the “canary in the coal mine of climate change,” because they are an indicator species. Frogs and toads have permeable skin, making them sensitive to changes in their environment, and they also rely on freshwater. 

When amphibians vanish from an ecosystem, it’s a symptom of greater environmental issues...

Herpetologist Maureen Donnelly echoed Yacoub’s sentiments in an interview with Phys Org, noting that when it comes to food chains, biodiversity, and environmental impact, the role of frogs and toads should not be overlooked. 

“Conservation must be a global team effort,” Donnelly said. “We are the stewards of the planet and are responsible for all living creatures.”

-via GoodGoodGood, April 22, 2024

[mirai-e-jump]

TV Guide Dan Vol.53, October 2024 Issue ft. Kamen Rider Gavv Cast Members Chinen Hidekazu x Hino Yusuke Interview (translation below)

Publication: October 15, 2024

DESTINY!

"In "Kamen Rider Gavv," which is based off the motif of "sweets," Chinen Hidekazu-san plays the role of Shouma (Gavv), a young man who comes from another world, and Hino Yusuke-san plays the role of Karakida Hanto (Valen), a young freelance writer. How did you personally feel after seeing the broadcast?"

Chinen: Personally, I was curious to see what the Gavvgablade would sound like, and I was very excited to see the super realistic scene that depicted it slicing the shipping container in half. The way Kamen Rider Gavv's actions and sounds were conveyed through production was very cool and impressive.

Hino: We have almost no experience performing on film, and this is our first tokusatsu set, so we really didn't know right from left. We were frantically trying to keep up on set, so I would've never imagined that the finished footage would be that amazing.

"What mindset do you have when playing Shouma and Hanto, and what parts of your performance do you think have changed over the course of each episode?"

Chinen: Compared to episode 1 and 2, where Shouma comes from another world and is exposed to human food and culture for the first time, I feel that I've been able to more naturally express Shouma's reactions to the "freshness" he feels in the human world.

Hino: In the beginning, it was incredibly difficult for me to understand and act out how hard it was for him to live alone without anyone believing in him since his mother was attacked by a Granute when he was very young. More than that, just when he's finally getting close to the enemy through steady progress, he's now also lost his own mentour…it was especially important that I express the emotional breakdown he had at that moment. However, I didn't want him to become a "weak and pitiful boy." I believe that it's heroes who rise up from adversity and stand tall, and that's why Hanto was able to become a Kamen Rider.

"How will the relationship between Shouma and Hanto, and Gavv and Valen, change in the future?"

Chinen: Despite being treated as a monster himself, so far, Shouma's been a solo hero who's saved humans. However, when he meets a Kamen Rider named Valen, he learns that there are others fighting against the Granutes besides him, which gives birth to a new hope. How will these two interact, and how will Shouma change?…look forward to it!

Hino: When he faces off against enemies he'd previously pursued only out of a desire for revenge, as a Kamen Rider, he'll also be forced to face what it means to "protect people" and what kind of person becomes a hero. As his personal growth is also depicted, he'll become involved with Shouma, so I hope you'll watch the growth and the change in their relationship.

"Furthermore, since this is the first time you two have worked together, and the first time you've appeared together in this magazine, please introduce yourselves and what kind of person you feel the other is."

Chinen: Yusuke-kun is cheerful, mischievous, and has the openness to quickly get close to others. Yusuke-kun takes the initiative when it comes to talking, so everyone got along with him easily. On set, he's the mood maker and a reliable person, but off set he completely changes…(laughs). I think that gap is one of the good parts of Yusuke-kun!

Hino: Hide's a pure person without any evil feelings. He's a boy with a very strong will, which is hard to imagine from his adorable appearance. He's able to face his "dreams" and "likes" straight on, and for that reason, I think people are naturally drawn to him, and on set he's like our "sun." He's an airhead, and he doesn't seem to be all there, but including those parts of him, he's someone I love.

"During the advanced screening, Chinen-kun said, "If I was going to play the lead role, I wanted to work with this person," and that he had been thinking of Hino-kun ever since the audition."

Chinen: It wasn't something that was definite, but something I felt intuitively. When I exchanged lines with Yusuke-kun during the audition, he naturally drew me in. At that moment, I felt like, "With this person, we could honestly play off each other until the final episode." Yusuke-kun was the only one who made me feel that way.

Hino: Wow, you really felt that way?

Chinen: Yeah. That's why when I went to costume fitting and saw Yusuke-kun again, my heart was racing as I thought, "I knew it." It really was fate.

Hino: Thank you. Through filming, I once again thought about how glad I am that Shouma is played by Hide. I knew that Hide was qualified, both as my long term buddy and as the actor who would play Shouma.

Chinen: The same is true for Hanto and Shouma, but I think the relationship between Yusuke-kun and myself is also a perfect fit. We have areas where we complement each other, and he helps me out in a variety of situations on a daily basis. Yusuke-kun understands my traits, which makes me feel at ease, and I'm very happy that the role of Hanto is played by Yusuke-kun.

Hino: We also come from different agencies, so I think we're rivals as actors. But, even without those feelings, Hide has a certain appeal that makes you want to love him. Being together with him all the time makes me want to care for him (laughs). However, I don't want him to take advantage of that kind of relationship, and I want us to be able to express our thoughts to each other, even if it's harsh. This is why Hide and I are neither friends nor brothers, but perhaps we have a "one of a kind" type of relationship. Besides, I think it's similar to the relationship between Hanto and Shouma.

Chinen: Yeah. Even though we're both Kamen Riders, I think we're similar in that we have special feelings for each other that goes beyond that. Still, this is the first time I've met someone like Yusuke-kun.

Hino: It's the same for me too. If the world were full of Hide's, we'd be in trouble (laughs). It's good that there's atleast one Hide in this world.

"When Chinen-kun went to Hino-kun's house, did the gap between you two close?"

Hino: When filming had just started, Hide followed me home at the end of a shoot as if it were no big deal (laughs). I was like, "Alright then, let's have a meal at my place!," but the next thing I knew, we had been talking for about four hours (laughs).

Chinen: We ended up not eating anything, and just talked about each other's dreams and our own lives (laughs).

Hino: We talked alot about each other's lives before we decided to become Kamen Riders

Chinen: Strangely enough, I didn't feel like there were any barriers between us, and that I could just honestly say anything to Yusuke-kun. Right from the beginning, we were able to talk to each other as if we were stripped of any titles. I feel that our resolve to work together to overcome any difficulties on set in the coming future was solidified that day.

Hino: I'm glad I was able to talk to Hide that day. As I thought, there's no girl as pure and as nice as him. If he was my girlfriend, I'd have absolute confidence in him (laughs).

Chinen: Hahaha! I'm grateful that he always looks out for the people around him, and even when I run off on my own, he helps me out with a precise follow up. He's prepared for anything, and can act quickly when the time comes, but that's not a simple thing to do, as I don't think you can do that unless you have the composure to do so. If I were the opposite sex, I'd fall for him (laughs). Also, we like alot of the same things.

Hino: It's more like Hide's imitating me! (laughs). To my surprise, Hide tends to be influenced by trends, but that's also what's cute about him.

Chinen: When I see a hat of Yusuke-kun's that I like, I try to buy the same one. This is how I'm imitating him, so naturally, my things are becoming alot more like Yusuke-kun's (laughs).

Hino: I hope I haven't been a negative influence…(laughs). But really, it's more about our underlying desire to learn, we have the same mindset of absorbing everything and "learning as much as we can," so I think that's a big part of it. I myself have alot to learn from Hide, and we're able to take in alot from each other.

Chinen: Even when we're having trouble with filming or acting, we've been able to build a relationship where we can say, "We're happy to be able to participate on a set like this." The Director gives us strict, but loving instructions, and I'm glad that the two of us are able to accept it as love, and not with any opposing views.

[phoenixcatch7]

Luo binghe dies.

The system offers the widowed husband resurrection, the ability to continue the world even after the 'true' story has ended. Because the world cannot exist without its protagonist, it comes to a halt. No time will pass until he is revived.

Sqq gets dragged through stories and universes by the system, trying to wrack up the 10,000 points needed. It takes a long time. Far too long. He plays too many roles, spends too years unable to truly settle, goes through so much it all starts to blur together.

Seeing this, an unsatisfying, boring ending without closure getting ever more likely as Sqq continues to fail to remember why he's doing it, the system releases lqg, sqh and the ghost of lbh from the stasis of their world and sends them after him. As the only one with any real understanding of the situation, sqh takes the lead. After chasing his footprints through a handful of worlds (that sqh can sort of recognise, and he adapts rapidly) they are finally find him. But he can't recognise them. He's seen too much, been too much, hidden himself away in more and more layers, not wanting to think if anything outside of the immediate problems. He can only recall the reason he set out in the vaguest terms, deflecting and outright interrupting when pressed.

So lbh manages to pull them into sqq's psyche.

From there, it's like a really big, five dimensional onion. Each role Sqq has taken solidified into another barrier between him and the worlds he was forced to live in and lose in rapid succession. Nothing, individually compared to the world of pidw, but added up they're quite the defence. Inside each layer is a false Sqq hidden in the crowd wearing someone else's face, and an item or location important to that version of him that'll take them through to the next layer.

Each time, they find another thread to the peak lord they lost. Another habit, or memory, or trivia comes back to life. It gets easier and easier to identify him no matter the body he wears. They share stories about him during rests, or moments of travel, to help the others identify him too. They kinda sorta maybe bond.

Then, finally, after a world of zombies and inter sect wars, they find a mimicry of qjp, and Sqq at the table. He's confused but delighted to see them. Even sqh gets hugged. He's shaken at their story, but over the moon at finally reaching 10k points and more than ready to return to reality.

Congratulations! The system says, and offers them their return to the real qjp, with the points needed to save lbh and with it, the world.

Lbhs eager hand on the yes button is clamped in a vice grip.

Sqh is looking at Sqq. Sqq furrows his brows in confusion.

Every transmigrator can see the system. As such, every version of Sqq can see the system.

However.

To the outside world, there is no system. There cannot be a system. To play their role, a transmigrator pretends to not have a system. They do not see a system, they do not hear it, there is nothing there. They play as a native.

This shen qingqiu cannot see the system.

He too is a role.

Lbh presses decline.

They search the house. Fake Sqq, User 002, lets them with mild befuddlement.

In the bedroom, over the bed, they find the rip.

There is a glowing city of glass, a thousand people of every shape and size on the streets. Thousand more race past in cars and buses and trains. By the nature of the dreams, their appearance does not stand out, and they've learned quick how to adapt from the crowd.

They have no clue how to identify him, but for the hundreds of variations they've met. They know his tics, his stance, the way he words his sentences. The way he frowns when confused. By now, they would know him blind and deaf - and they're going to need to.

They split up. They meet back up when the sun starts to go down. Cultivators can work without rest, and they're all highly levelled. They keep searching, unwilling to give up, but they've been doing it for a while, not wanting to pause at the last stretch. They're tired, stressed and jittery from the flashing neon lights and constant roaring sounds and unmoving smog.

A man walks past at 2 in the morning with a luo binghe phone case. A luo binghe key chain. A luo binghe lock screen identifiable from ten paces.

Airplane feels it would be justifiable to punch him.

But he recognises them on sight. Probably. He seems (entirely bro platonically) entranced by his xianxia husband, so it's hard to say.

Congratulations, congratulations congratulations! The system says. Good things should be said three times!

The man startles.

Ten thousand points, lqg says, grabbing him by the wrist. Let's go.

The system doesn't break them out this time. Instead, they treck back to his apartment, where his bedroom computer is the only light.

FIN, it says, and underneath a blinking cursor in an empty comment box.

In the computer, shen yuan says, with the certainty of a dreaming mind.

In the computer?

In the computer, he confirms, shoving sqh forward. The computer is the rip. Aight, sqh says, and reverse girl-from-the-ring's himself back to reality.

He lay on a bed. Looking up: a white, gauzy canopy hung overhead, with finely crafted perfume pouches hanging from the four corners. Looking down: he wore a green robe of an ancient style. Next to the pillow lay a paper fan. Looking to his left: three handsome young men, also in that ancient style.

The one closest to him burst into tears and kissed him full on the lips.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Chosen

I used to love Otome games.

Used to love the genre, predictable as it could sometimes be. It was bright. Fun. A colorful bit of escapism built on love and power fantasies. I read the books. Watched the animes. Engaged with the fandoms freely and with an enthusiasm I can barely remember now.

It was a lifetime ago.

Before I... before, like a monkey's paw wish, I got granted every OI fan's DREAM. I somehow, someway, died and was reborn. A genuine isekai all of my own. I laugh now... I really do... I was so fucking EXCITED.

I was a FOOL.

The world is not a story. PEOPLE are not characters. You can not push the "right" social imput buttons and have a happy ending pop out. Time moves as it always has and always will. Day by day. And? Just because you are HERE? Does not mean you are SPECIAL.

I was old enough to know that, thank the Gods. Or I would have made a likely terrible mistake. Probably a fatal one, by now.

How, you may ask? Surely if you are reborn, you are special! Important to the "plot"! HA. Ah yes, the all forsaken PLOT. That damnable thing, chaining out fates and making us dance, like toys, for the Gods amusement. No, I was merely a replacement part for one worn out and broken down. A soul that gave up.

This dance repeats, you know.

They aren't done with us yet. Not bored of us, all the twists and turns we might take. She could not keep fighting. Keep raging. And so she was replaced. Now I live... a changeling in her place. Knowing my role yet careful to defy it. But... oh...

Oh, how almost IMPOSSIBLE it is to defy it.

I am supposed to HATE her. The Protagonist. The Chosen One. Saintess and beloved. The God's special little thing. Showered in adoration and silks, pampering and protection. While we all DIE. In this, their STUPID fucking Holy War, that we CAN NOT WIN, against "The Dark".

How HELPFUL, my liege. How incredibly SPECIFIC. Is "The Dark" the demons that tore apart my squadron a fortnight ago or the undead that rose and devored an entire village of terrified innocents? How do we STOP them? END this infinite string of atrocities?

Oh? "Only the SAINTESS can push back The Dark"? Well then! It's a good thing she safely tucked away in the CAPITAL THEN, isn't it!? Far from the front lines where we NEED her! Thank the GODS she's getting her chance to play "fuck, fuck, marry!" with the nation's finest while we all DIE!

I remind myself again, desperately, I am not allowed to hate her.

If I hate her, I become an antagonist in this little play. Doomed to die a gruesome and needless death. My men need me. The people need me. The live and breathe and fear for their lives. At the mercy of cruel God's who do not care.

I almost... It is enough that I almost wish my Master was here. But no, HE stayed back at the Magic Tower. Lost interest in me the second the merest HINT that his beloved pet prophecy might be about to be fulfilled. I was his student for most of my life. Chased up and down that mind-bending hellhole for years, giving my everything to meet his every standard.

Does he even remember my name?

Ha ha... gods, as I stare down at the battle map, one of so SO many... I feel brittle. How long will we fight? How many of my men must DIE, before that God coddled BITCH gets off her ass and comes to do her JOB?! We've lost Redwell. Lakehill is covered in ghouls. And no one we sent near the forests of Mirth ever reports back.

But at least the crown prince is getting his fucking birthday party while his people starve. While they run for their lives. Cower from demons and the damned. Because his Twue Woooove~ can't be allowed to put her dainty little self in DANGER now CAN she?!

I'm seething. Furious. Nails digging into the wood on the table before me. I know I should be planning... but I just... gods, I just so ANGRY. So tired. How long can this continue? Am I going to die here, just so those fuckers can DRAMATICALLY "save the day" at the last second? As though they had not let thousands die? Only for it all to begin again? What am I supposed to d-?

Like a roll of thunder and an earthquake combined, the non-physical world SHAKES.

Weight. POWER. Like a mountain appearing from no where, to drop down upon us all. It is CRUSHING. And every bit as dark as being buried beneath tons on soil and stone. My legs nearly give out. My grip on the table before me the only thing keeping me up and alarm bells start clanging outside my tent.

This is it.

I don't know what's about to happen, but I can FEEL it. I... I can not possibly hope to win. It's over. I know, in my heart, I will go out there and fight. Die. Because I refuse to die cowering. Because maybe it'll make a difference for my friends, for the others, for those that yet live. Every monster I slay is one less they fight.

But... this is it.

It's over.

I wish I felt braver. Glorious and filled with light. A beacon of hope, perhaps. But all I can offer is fear and anger and SPITE. Locking my knees so I can stand. Blinking away the tears so I can grit my teeth and bare them. Grabbing my staff so can go a die with the others. Today I shall burn the world. I promised myself.

Take them with you.

Take every last one of those fuckers WITH YOU.

The battle is ugly. It always is and always will be. I heal where I can but kill faster the most can blink. Waves of fire. Blood turned to ice turn to shrapnel bombs turned to flying storms of blood ice shards. Wind attacks and void pockets. Puppets made of mud and rock and bits of armor. The blood of the fallen only making it all that much stronger, that much more terrible.

Magic in war hold no beauty.

I wish I never had to see it again.

"Grandlearner, you've been practicing." A rich voice observed from behind me, sounding pleased. "Good~"

Between one instance and the next, the crushing ocean of power moves between the far side of the battle field to right behind me. I move, spin. Fire my strongest short-range piercing in the desperate hope to gut the man now far too close. I... am effortlessly countered.

He didn't even have to move his hands.

There, standing in the heart of an open battle field, is a man in impeccable fomal clothes. Spotless, dispite the ash and dust, the blood and gore. Almost inhuman in his otherness, compared to the death and suffering surrounding him. He looks like a proper well-to-do gentleman ready for a stroll. The sort of ambiguously ageless bachelor that had haunted the royal university's halls every time I was sent there, to collect something for the Tower.

Too old to be some boyish flirt, too young to be a rougish mistake. It feels false. Mocking. Like a mask held up by some grinning beast. Something older then it seems, effortlessly blending in with the Power of the current age, all the better to play them like fools.

Then the words register and my blood runs cold.

"Learner". It's what a Master calls their personal magical students at the Tower. There are lineage, of a sort. Like bloodlines, almost. Since most never leave. A way to pass on your teachings. Your name and traditions. It's not like we often have the chance to have biological kids. Too busy with our studies. So it's considered effectively the same.

My Master's Master. Who was said to be one of, if not THE, greatest Mages of the last thousand years, possibly longer. Said to have simply vanished one day. Rumored to have "lost his mind" and left the Tower for places unknown after some great argument. Foremost expert on The Dark.

Now standing h...here. Right... Right here. With the enemy army. Of dark and terrible things. The very abominations he once studied "academically". Oh gods. It doesn't take much to put two and two together.

"I've come to collect you, my dear." He says, the very picture of charm as my men scream and suffer around him. As they fight for their lives against his monstrosities. As... as they LOSE. "It has come to my attention, that my unfortunate disappointment of a student has been neglecting his duties to you."

He sweeps his hat gallantly from his head, holding it against his heart at just the right angle, as though offering to merely take me for a stroll. Picture perfect etiquette. As though this were high society and not a warzone. The disconnect stuns me for long moments. "Collect" me?

He strolls forward. Expensive shoe leather somehow unstained by the terrible muck of the battlefield. The blood and mud, the spell water and ash. Amusement rolling off every line of his form, as I try to keep the distance between us. As I struggle against the sucking filth to keep my feet under me.

"I would like to say I am surprised... but honestly? I am not. He always WAS easily distracted by shiny trinkets of little worth. The shinier the better. Like an empty headed little magpie. Disgusting really, how little he values loyalty. I DID try to instill some values. Hard work. Good, honest, study. Some modicum of rationality..."

"It did not work." He sighs, stepping over the fallen body of my Cordelia, my reserve healer. Gods, please no, I told her to RUN... "Unlike myself of course. I, my dear, know EXACTLY what your worth. How you have been WASTED on that little ingrate. It truely has been a theme with him, hasn't it?"

"Tossing aside anything who doesn't fit his perfect little vision. His Master, his Learner, nothing is sacred to him. All he shall ever care for is his little divine tart, won't he?"

The grin that spills across his mouth is like poison through veins, it terrifies me. His face is arranged in a mask of pleasantry. But the look in his eye... that look was coldly covetous. The sort of hunger that would sooner kill than release its hold. It wasn't lustful, I was a child too him. An infant. But I was, perhaps, all that remained. The last piece of his lineage he could possibly still steal away. Corrupt.

I refused.

It... it did not matter much, in the end.

Every spell, he counters. Every attack, he matchs with effortless neutralization. The well of his magic is like the sea. Deep, dark, and crushing. I rage against it, even knowing I stand no chance. I... I have to TRY. I can do no less. Even as I slowly collapse.

Water and ice, electricity and transformation, wind and fire. I try to EXPLODE HIS ORGANS for the Gods sake. In the end, with nothing left, the well of my magic nearly bone dry... I swing at him. Put my back in to it. A staff is a staff after all. It even has a pretty hefty rock in it. It'd probably take out a few teeth.

He, of course, catches it.

Bastard.

He looks CHARMED. Utterly delighted. As though my defiance and struggle are some cute little game. The tantrum of an adorable child that does not wish to submit to their nap. The world swayed as my body begs me to just pass out. To escape within myself. Recover. My legs can no longer hold me. I glare. At last, long last, I let myself HATE.

If that BITCH had just DONE HER JOB. I would not be here, at the mercy of a mad man. While she frolics about, in her happy little tale of love and misunderstandings? I have suffered. People have died! The world has fallen to slow and crumbling RUIN.

Gloved hands cupped my cheeks.

"That's it, little one~ My precious child. Get angry. RAGE for me. Let Master see your fire~" thumbs stroked my cheeks. Looming and entirely too close. There is a glee in that eye, a madness. "We are going to set this world FREE. You? Oh dearest you are utterly PERFECT. Master will take care of everything, understand? All you have to do?"

"Is give in."

Next -->

[brookstolemybrand]

Another post because I have more thoughts on the ASL brothers

(btw is there a better word for them bc I kinda feel bad about possibly clogging the search results for the language?)

Anyway, I was thinking about how Ace and Sabo represent different big brother archetypes for Luffy:

Ace is the big brother who has the closest relationship with Luffy. They very much grew up together, Ace trained him, protected him, lightly bullied him, all the classic big brother things. And both of them gave each other companionship, they both kept each other from getting lonely, especially after losing Sabo

Ace is also the big brother that Luffy looks up to, who Luffy strives to follow, who's like the older, stronger, cooler version of Luffy. He has similar (though very crucially still slightly different) ambitions: he also wants to become a notorious pirate. He's also the pioner, trailblazing ahead of Luffy. Luffy is always in some sense following in his footsteps, even as far along as Wano!

(And of course this is why he's the brother who had to die for the narrative....)

His role in the story is also to introduce Luffy to the wider world of pirates, the big league pirates. He is the connecting link between Luffy and Whitebeard and arguably also Luffy and Blackbeard

I also feel like as a big brother he's primarily Luffy's protector; whether he means to or not, he ends up saving Luffy over and over again, from the marines, from Blackbeard, from Akainu...

Meanwhile Sabo is the brother who kind of ends up taking the role that Luffy might have played in another timeline where Dragon raised Luffy as his own. I'm never going to bother arguing over whether Sabo or Ace was actually older, but here Sabo kinda plays the role of the oldest son, destined to follow in the father's footsteps.... except of course for the fact that Dragon isn't originally Sabo's father! He's a father figure Sabo chose for himself!

It's a very funny twist of fate

Sabo is the brother who takes the role that was arguably destined for Luffy, but that Luffy didn't want

So that Luffy can be free to do what he actually wants to do

Because that's what SABO's role is as a big brother, and the role he plays in the story; he takes Luffy's place in order to free Luffy. He does this in Dressrosa obviously, but he also does this in a more general plot level by fighting the World Government and the Celestial Dragons directly while Luffy is busy elsewhere. This is all very protagonisty stuff that would better fit the main character, but Luffy simply does not have the time to be doing it and can't divert from his path

This is kinda meta in fact, he's taking a necessary role in the story in order to free Oda from needing to make Luffy do awkward detours and mess up the pacing (particularly with the Reverie; imagine if Luffy had to go all the way back to Mariejois... and hell, he almost does when he hears about Vivi! But even here it's actually partially thanks to Sabo that Vivi managed to escape on her own and didn't need Luffy to come and save her, although this was very indirect and unintentional of course)

He also plays the role of the Hero of the People that Luffy explicitly doesn't want

So where Ace is Luffy's protector, Sabo is Luffy's liberator

Ace protects Luffy while he's still too weak to always take care of himself and teaches him important lessons early on, but he has to die so that Luffy can stand on his own feet and become his own man, not the little brother protected by an older brother

Sabo frees Luffy to follow his own path, mainly on the meta level but occasionally also very literally (such as Dressrosa), and that's why (for narrative reasons) he's brought back when Luffy starts to become more adult and more independent and is starting to get threatened by (gasp) responsibilities (and as the plot becomes too big for one protagonist to handle all alone)

Both of them act as conduits for Luffy to be able to continue this adventure, and they show up exactly when they're needed and exit when they're not

[snowleopardcrk]

more symbolism!!!

ah yes, more Midnight Lily, a silverbell cameo and two Moonflower doodles. AU by @cuppajj

For Moonflowers story, we have her main conflict with her father, Saint Vanilla Cookie. But what about Midnight Lily Cookie, her mother? To give a little context for whats coming up, Moonflowers story theming around the Saint where Moonflower symbolizes the Moon, which includes the Solar Eclipse to contrast the Saints light themed imagery. Plus Moonflowers additional and more religious theming being based on the Spirit of Apostasy.

It is abundantly clear that Midnight Lily is an enabler of the other Neo Beasts, while to some extent understandable as she is the weakest of the Neo Beasts (she has long crossed the line of it being acceptable).

To compliment well with the general religious theming, I did additional research into the role of a mother in the lens of the Bible. 'the mother is one who "binds" the family together, holding them together individually and collectively through her love and actions' Despite how broken the family is, the only remaining connection that Moonflower has with the Saint IS Midnight Lily. And in return, she does care for her daughter and the Saint at some level. Yet, she does nothing to genuinely mend what has been broken (no one is, Moonflower is afraid of her father and the Saint is so delusional that he believes that this is the best course of action to save everyone). This fits her pattern of enabling and being generally passive to the world around her, for the most part.

Another aspect that I have neglected to mention is her slow-burn of a plan, she seeks by the end to have the others at least playing by her rules, but also not liking when her children do things she does not like. This is now territory where I do a lot of guess work and personal thoughts n' research so this is very much subject to change if anymore gets revealed.

How I have understood the few tidbits we get about the Beast of Sovereignty, she is an enabler and insecure about being the weakest. And I think her insecurity in some way, even if unintentional may reflect on her relationships where she is the one in power. In general, she is fine with her kids, generally passive until they get too unruly. At that point, she will remind them with harsh words who the mother is. I'd like to note quickly, she will NEVER get physical. She only uses WORDS. It is also important to note that she does wish for her child to understand where she is coming from. She is an enabler because she holds little power over the beasts, but in dynamics where she is the one in power, this side vanishes for the most part. Despite valuing sovereignty I believe she still wants to retain some level of control so Cookies don't do things she does not like. This is generally in line with how leadership generally operate, they don't care when you're doing smth positive, but when it turns negative, that's when it starts turning sour.

As for the actual arc of Midnight Lily and Moonflower, I have a general framing but it is difficult to make something as substantial as the one she has with Saint Vanilla. Gotta wait until I get more lore and story for the gal. But in short, it is a conflict of the two trying to make each other understand their respective sides. With Moonflower trying to save her mother, her only remaining parental figure from being a beast- while Midnight Lily seeks to make Moonflower truly understand her side and hopefully have Moonflower join her permanently.

Heres other tidbits for Moonflower and her relationship with the Creme Republic. For her ventures to the Silver Kingdom are actually secret. She is a very powerful and talented magic user (similar to her parents), so her travelling long distances quickly is very possible. Moonflower is already an outcast in the Republic, it is well known who her parents are. And Cookies keep their distance, there are very few Cookies who come and check in her. Its mostly some scientists who are researching the neo beasts (espresso, maybe, depends on his condition in this au), Clotted Cream Cookie, GingerBrave, Financer (sort of, she tags along the Consul) and depending on the direction of the story, Madelaine Cookie(I will start really brewing something here once more stuff comes out~). She stays isolated in her lab in the undercity, she never comes out, and when she does, she hides her face and just retrieves things like food or research material. It is normal for her to not talk with anyone for well over a week with nothing but a single lost Raisin Crow to keep her company. I'd like to note that this raisin crow is now an albino, and Black Raisin tasked Moonflower to take care of it since it was bullied and ousted by the other raisin crows (I took inspo from the myth, but it is generally agreed that white color corvids are subordinate to the colored ones).

But she is also an outcast in the silver kingdom, despite being Midnight Lilys kid (its a well known fact), she has gotten into disagreements with their monarch and isn't the upmost loyal member- she has a strong stigma around her. Silverbell Cookie does take pity on Moonflower.

That's all for now. I'm gonna lay down, I've done so much research...I silently weep at the thought of fully showing the complexity of the three in full force.

[lizzy06]

Kirishima Eijirou x Reader Fic Recs!! (Tumblr/Ao3/Wattpad)

My Hero Academia Fic Rec Masterlist

Kirishima Eijirou Fic Rec Masterlist

Real Enough; Pro Hero Kirishima x Reader ✨by rjbaxter (angst, fluff, smut)Your quirk allows you to show people a part of their future. Once seen, you can help guide them through important life decisions to an extent. Pro Hero Red Riot saves your life one day and gets hit with your quirk. He sees his future and hopes he can make it real. This will be a slow burn with angst, fluff and smut.[COMPLETED]

baby are you playing tricks? (cause you look like a treat)✨✨ by @andypantsx3/ andypantsx3 (oneshot, fluff , humor and skippable smut at end for sfw readers!) Dressing up as sexy Red Riot for Halloween had been embarrassing enough on its own. Then you actually run into Red Riot.[COMPLETED]

Good things come to those who wait ✨by @dira333 / Fogfire (oneshot, fluff)Falling in love at first sight, but never getting a chance to act on it. Until…[COMPLETED]

Care for me✨ by @dira333/Fogfire(oneshot, fluff)You're there to care for your boyfriend after his wisdom teeth get removed. That's it, that's the fic.[COMPLETED]

sweet like you ✨by @ererokii (oneshot, fluff)Class 1-A decides to help a local animal shelter by doing a bake sale, and you and Kirishima are in charge of the baking.[COMPLETED]

Soulmate AU Series: Eijiro Kirishima✨ by @confusedblakex (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff)The day you get your soulmark, except you didn’t find your soulmate the way you expected. [COMPLETED]

A life with you… ✨by @lelawrites (oneshot, soulmate au, mentions of past bullying, slight angst, fluff) In a world filled soulmates that couldn’t see colour without making eye contact, your quirk made people able to do so and it made your life hell. That is, until you meet your own soulmate.

BNHA Soulmate AU Week Day 7: Running from Pain✨ by @writing-freak (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff) in a world where you feel every ounce of pain your soulmate has, you spend your entire childhood trying to keep your soulmate safe, and it seems like they have the same idea. that is, of course, until you’re off to the support course at UA, and find yourself in all sorts of trouble. you don’t feel so bad, though, cause whatever your soulmate is up to seems to be creating the same amount of pain for you as you’re creating for them.

Pretty/tumblr link ✨by @alkhale/alkhale(oneshot, fluff) Two times Kirishima Eijirou tries to shout to the world how beautiful you are. And the one time he says it.[COMPLETED]

Paws for Panic ✨by Hero234(oneshot, fluff)When chaos strikes and quirks collide, one innocent collision turns pro hero Red Riot into an adorable red puppy! Little does (Y/n) know, that the newly turned pup is none other than her favorite hero, and he understands more than he lets on. Unaware of the puppy's true identity, (Y/n) spends the day pampering her fluffy victim.[COMPLETED]

𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐈𝐌𝐀! ⏤EIJIRO KIRISHIMA ✨by DollReMi (single parent! reader, fluff, angst) As a single parent, you struggle to play the role of mother and father for your son, Ren. However, you don't have to stress for too long when the same pro hero your son adores comes to your rescue in the most unexpected way.[COMPLETED]

A Helping Hand✨ by WitchofWriting(oneshot, fluff) Kirishima basically lives at the gym. His kindness - which to him is just common decency - catches someone's attention.[COMPLETED]

Red✨ by coffeerepublic(oneshot, fluff)You help your friend with dyeing his hair. (The complementary feelings come free of charge.)[COMPLETED]

 Last Minute by @flannel-cladpika (oneshot, fluff) Where you tell your feelings to Eijirou kinda last minute.[COMPLETED]

Find What You're Seeking ✨by coffeerepublic(oneshot, fluff)For now, all you were able to register was Eijirou, and yourself, and the negligibly small amount of space between you that seemed wider than the distance between stars.[COMPLETED]

Mistakes Were Made by itbeajen(oneshot, coffee shop au, fluff) Making drinks for a group of people was hard. Especially since orders were confusing and it was highly likely that a mistake could be made. But maybe this mistake in particular was a godsend for the future.[COMPLETED]

The Pizza Delivery Guy by iluveggs(oneshot, college au, fluff) Your roommate orders a pizza with the special instructions, “send your cutest delivery boy ;)” and you’re left in complete awe when it actually works.[COMPLETED]

Perfect ✨by @bnhascribbles(oneshot, hurt/comfort) You weren’t trying to be problematic– really you weren’t. Most of your complaints arose in regards to a single volatile topic.[COMPLETED]

Third Wheel ✨by @bnhascribbles(oneshot, fluff) You squint and try to find him, but there’s only a dim outline of his form in the darkness. “Where’s Eiji with the sn–” You don’t get the chance to finish your question.[COMPLETED]

Manly Things✨ by @bnhascribbles (oneshot, fluff, hurt/comfort)“It’s not your fault.” You whisper it like a prayer. Then you repeat it, punctuating each reiteration with a kiss to his cheek, his nose, his chin. Still, you can tell he doesn’t believe you.[COMPLETED]

Dibs by @bnhascribbles (oneshot, fluff) No. You shoot him a cautionary glare, just daring him to try and do what you suspect he wants to. His lips twist upward, and soon he has a toothy grin spanning the entirety of his face. No.[COMPLETED]

Better Late Than Never by @bnhascribbles(oneshot, musical au, friends to lovers, fluff)Not that you need more with Kirishima. Friendship is fine. Friendship is awesome. Sure, that intense look he gets whenever he practices makes something curl up on itself deep in your belly. Sure, whenever he gives you one of those playful pats on the back, you wish he would linger for just a little bit longer.[COMPLETED]

Sick Days by @bnhascribbles(oneshot, hurt/comfort, fluff)You were a mess–a sniffling, wheezing mess. Not that Kirishima didn’t think you were drop-dead gorgeous, snot and all. But really, you looked sick. Very sick.[COMPLETED]

Waiting by @bnhascribbles(oneshot, hurt/comfort) You hold your breath, half-expecting another call. It never comes. Those three little dancing dots–the ones that tell you a person is typing–stay there for at least five minutes. The message you finally get back, however, is short. b there in 10. [COMPLETED]

Walls by @bnhascribbles(oneshot, mentions of past abuse, hurt/comfort) When had you begun to trust him enough to let him past that wall of yours?[COMPLETED]

“i’d do anything for you” by @bakugohoex (oneshot, fluff)in which kirishima helps you throughout the day and you finally ask him why he’s always so nice to you, gaining a response you’d never had expected. [COMPLETED]

“if you win, i’ll take you out tonight” by @bakugohoex (oneshot, fluff) in which you’re performing at the ua pageant and get a surprised visit from kirishima with a proposal in mind. [COMPLETED]

Love Handles ✨by terminally_Volatile(oneshot, chubby! insecure reader, fluff, humor) Kirishima Eijirou is known throughout U.A. for his unwavering enthusiasm, amazing use of his quirk, and (mostly amongst the ladies) his incredible physique. He captures the hearts of many young girls who swoon for his attention, but what will they say when they see the human piece of rock dating someone his complete opposite? A girl made of soft skin and big thighs? [COMPLETED]

sunlight ✨by @bluebellhairpin (oneshot, fluff, fantasy au)As a dark fae, Kirishima has a kind soul but a wary heart so as to not make others afraid. You, a light pixie, bring him out of his shell like a moth to flame. [COMPLETED]

Soulmate by @pink-imagines (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff) A red string, tied around your pinky finger. Everyone had one. They led to the person that you were going to spend the rest of your lif with. You other half. Your soulmate.[COMPLETED]

infinity by @k-atsukidayo (oneshot, angst, soulmate au)summary: kirishima struggles to tell his soulmate that they only have a month left to live. based off of this song.[COMPLETED]

words by @confusedblakex (oneshot, soulmate au, angst with happy ending) Kirishima always wondered why he had no words on his wrist, but when he meets you it all makes sense.[COMPLETED]

“I can’t keep kissing people and pretend that they’re you!” by @your-local-bnha-writer (oneshot, angst with happy ending) [COMPLETED]

Unexpected Surprise  by @sparkexplosive (oneshot, unplanned pregnancy, angst, fluff) Dear Eijirou, I’m so sorry, but we can’t be together anymore. [COMPLETED]

When Kirishima Snaps by @explosivenebula (oneshot, protective! kiri) Mineta approaches you once again with his crude language and unnecessary proposals. Kirishima gives a firm impression that he’s not happy, but finally snaps when Mineta refuses to cease his advances, and takes things too far.[COMPLETED]

Kirishima Period Comfort by Frozen_Princess_Shay(oneshot, fluff) our period cramps are trying to kill you. Ejiro noticing something is wrong starts to worry.[COMPLETED]

oranges by wagiyuubeef (ABO verse, fluff, angst, jealousy)You've been by his side for as long as you can remember — from way before either of you even presented — but now it felt like you were slowing losing him to another Alpha who went by the name of Bakugou Katsuki. Or were you?[COMPLETED]

legacy by moegan(oneshot, arrange marriage, fluff, angst, smut)After an arranged marriage to the Prince of Dragons, Kirishima Eijirou, you decide you do not want to live your life in a loveless relationship, so you attempt to get to know him. After some time, you realize that he was keeping something very important from you. How are you supposed to help him if he won’t come clean?[COMPLETED]

[classygreydove]

The perfect contradictory character of wei wuxian

i'm writing this as i eat chocolate instead of working on my WIP lol - but essentially i've been thinking a lot about when a fic characterization of WWX just hits the spot for me, and when it doesn't. Now whether this type of characterization is canon I think is always partially a matter of opinion, because by its very nature a fanfic cannot be...well, canon. And it is made all the more complicated by the existence of CQL canon and MDZS canon, and the different MDZS canons with different scenes and levels of censorship, and the way fans and fic writers often franken-canon it together. So this post is only my rambling about characterizing WWX in fic.

Whenever I write WWX, i always find it a balancing act. Talkative, but not too talkative; golden-hearted, but willing to question what society sees as moral; confident, but complicatedly so depending on what point he's at in his character arc; oblivious, but not oblivious; impulsive, but analytical. I'm also constantly asking myself "Is this a personality trait, or a result of his environment? Both? What would impact his character if there are different events or circumstances?

And then there's the appearance of what his character is, which is almost just as important as his actual character. The masks or roles he puts on for others, or the ways those around him willfully misinterpret him. How does this character perceive WWX's actions in this or that context? Do they find him reckless, oblivious, or call him morally wrong (even when he isn't)? Does WWX want them to react a certain way, and does that impact how he acts around them?

In my opinion, writing WWX in a modern setting or genderbend is perhaps the most challenging. Not only do you have to ask yourself what personality he'd have if it were shaped by different cultural standards, gender roles, or backstory, a fic author might also want to do their best to preserve his character integrity as a "classic golden-hero turned dark anti-hero" archetype, but have no idea how to translate that into completely different set of circumstances.

For instance, WWX and gender roles. I really love that WWX is a subversion of the classical masculine hero archetype in cnovels. As a teenager, he's confident, flirty, intelligent, skilled, enjoys having fun and not taking life too seriously. As a resurrected MXY, he has no issue pretending to be a lunatic cutsleeve, so no toxic masculinity there lol - he also likes getting swept off his feet by LWJ, and playing up the "helpless maiden" role, and is very much a romantic with cottagecore dreams, saving his first kiss (traditionally that kind of innocent romanticism is attributed as a "feminine" trait, regardless of whether it actually is or not) - LWJ in contrast falls into many feminine tropes such as being known for his beauty/grace, the way he carries the money pouch (women traditionally managed the finances), can cook, has petty jealousy, etc - while at the same time undeniably also has masculine traits. The way Wangxian subvert gender roles and tropes is wonderful and i love their characters for it.

But then how does one even begin to translate that dynamic into a genderbend? Does teenage WWX still have that masculine classic hero personality? Or does she become traditionally feminine with LWJ the one acting more masc? Do different gender roles and expectations affect how WWX interacts with the world, such as how they react to her flirting, her confidence, her heroic tendencies? I read a fic a few years ago that I thought it a fabulous job exploring some of these very questions in the canon setting. I am still devastated that it remains incomplete.

Whenever I read a fic with Wei Wuxian, I always fall in love with depictions of his character that capture some of this balance, these "contradictions," so to speak (I don't have a better word to describe it than contradictions, even though these traits don't actually contradict. Ig I could say character complexity? But people often throw that phrase around without explaining what they mean by it, so). It's what makes him such a cool character to read about. It's also what makes him so unbelievably difficult to write sometimes. So many fic authors struggle with his character, whether attributing a trait to him that he only appears to have, like thoughtlessness. Or project a trait onto him that he doesn't seem to have that much, like insecurity, or not knowing his own worth as a person/or not knowing the magnitude of his abilities.

WWX to me has always seemed to know exactly how skilled he is and what he is capable of, and he at least intellectually seems to be aware that he is not unlovable or worth less than others, even if he is required to act or treat himself as less than his peers due to classism and society. I've always felt that his attitude towards himself, his own worth and his own ability, is a sort of practicality that would come from growing up as a street kid whose only goal is survival, and who is completely aware of just how little the world cares if he does or not.

Then there's the concept of him being ridiculously oblivious/emotionally unintelligent, which many others have talked about before me. I think this idea in the fandom largely stems from the fact that Wei Wuxian doesn't pick up on a lot of small details that he later recognizes and realizes later on. But there's been a lot of discussion of how much of that was because of comphet, situational circumstances, and LWJ's own reticence that prevented or distracted WWX from making those connections earlier in the canon timeline. This means that this "obliviousness" is likely something that would change if the circumstances are different, such as WWX existing in a world with no comphet, or existing in a timeline where he isn't dealing with Wen indoctrinations or being severely traumatized by the burial mounds and a war, LWJ being less repressed and hot-cold etc, etc, etc.

Now, one WWX characterization i genuinely have such a hard time reading is manic pixie WWX. The ones where he's just... chirpy. Bubbly. (Usually really oblivious. Never intentionally breaking rules, he just can't help it! he's just too cute and enthusiastic uwu) I can't explain why, I don't even know why, but it grates on my every. last. nerve. (that being said, if u want to write manic pixie WWX, then write whatever u want, seriously. Don't even think about letting my opinion stop u from doing what you like and having fun)

As for depictions I really love to see: a WWX that kind of scoffs at rules/the system. One who genuinely has a somewhat poor opinion of LWJ's character before LWJ proves himself, because I like a good enemies/rivals-to-friends-to-lovers because that's how I believe he sees LWJ until LWJ punishes both himself and WWX and WWX goes "oooh u don't use the system to self-benefit or aggrandize or oppress, you're actually trying to be like, moral. I respect that, actually. Let's be friends and go on bromantic outings in Lotus Pier"

Or when WWX's teasing gets a little mean, because WWX can be a little mean, often unintentionally so, but still (think WWX showing LWJ porn/intentionally pushing LWJ's buttons, WWX making that comment about JL's mom). I think it's a character flaw of his that adds depth/complexity.

Also, WWX trolling people/enjoying mischief and making people question the "system." I've always felt his first-life self had the kind of annoying swagger that a guy who Knew He Looked Like That and Knew Exactly How Smart He Was that would honestly make me so annoyed if I knew him irl. Like, Mianmian, I get it. LWJ, I get it.

Basically, I like when his character is written to make u so mad you aren't sure if you want to throttle him or kiss him silly (especially if it's a LWJ pov). Or when he acts super carefree/silly, at the same time as he shows how scarily smart he is. It's the juxtaposition. The contradiction. *slaps hand on the metaphorical table in emphasis*

[TL;DR] So what i'm trying to say is, writing WWX is a challenge, but one that is so worth it.

Alright I've spent like an hour on this post, so though there's so much more I could talk about, I'll leave it at that for now. For those of you who would still really like a part 2 of that "so i read a comment bashing LWJ" post, i do plan to write more on that, so keep an eye out 👁️