#and it’s true. impossible to make them all FEEL equally seen even though i try

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[tavyliasin]

ATG 8 - Ally? Lover

In which two minds meet...

Pairing: Emperor/Tav (And Guardian/Tav) SPICE Rating: 4.5/5 if this is your jam Content Warnings:  Sex, TENTACLES, Mild Bondage, Mindreading, Mindflayer, 

Spoilers Act 3, Guardian/Emperor "Romance" Canon Compliance Canon Compliant - I took a basis from the game scene and expanded it to include the Guardian form along with the Emperor, even though in the game you only sleep with one or the other. Other Notes (From the original release) This chapter is very skippable if you're not down to go to monster town, and that's completely cool you aren't missing much story development beyond conversation that mirrors the one in-game. I tailored it a bit more to fit this Tav better and how I saw that they could believably connect. Yes I tried to make the Mindflayer-fucking chapter emotionally real. The game made it sound appealing. In its own way. I took this as a challenge, and also felt it would be weird to leave it out from the ATG story as a whole. Particularly I feel at this point Tav has been through so many unimaginable horrors she might as well indulge in some unimaginable pleasures too. This will be the *ONLY* Emperor chapter though, because I'll be honest whilst it was fun to write over 4,000 words somehow, I am somewhat more fond of our other pairings so they'll get priority, unless you make demands then I'll probably cave and do another. Oh and I forgot to find space for the line "your tadpole squirms in recognition" and I don't really want to try and edit it in awkwardly, so, here, and sorry!

Song/Mood Find Life by Amaranthe "And you cannot deny What I have sacrificed An unsuspecting side of you A blackened paradise Feel the corruption rise A billion souls adrift But life can save us. Come and you'll find The temptation of human desire Rise, high, Come, find life."

----- FULL CHAPTER BELOW THE CUT -----

Tav paused. She began to rewind and replay all of the events that had lead her to this moment, this choice, a hundred pathways all converging… They had fought intense battles, finally left the shadow cursed lands behind them to make the final march to Baldur’s Gate, and then everything was turned upside down again before they even made it to the outskirts of the city. A week ago a portal had opened in the middle of the night, angry gith fighters pouring into their camp. The insistent voice of the Guardian begging them to rush through the portal impossible to ignore… Everything had only become more overwhelmingly shocking since then. Before the dawn had broken that morning, they had discovered that the Guardians they had all seen within the prism were merely illusions . The one truly keeping them safe was a fucking mindflayer and an imprisoned Gith Prince of Legend. The very same Mindflayer who was sat beside her now, half dressed, and Gods, is he giving me bedroom eyes? His pale lilac skin glistened in the eerie light around them, not entirely unlike a thin sheen of sweat or oil on more humanoid skin.What he’d said moments ago was true. They had searched his old hideout beneath the city, found many of his belongings and she had spoken with him - such as she could, with his voice echoing in her mind - about the memories that were stored alongside them. Weapons and armour they were free to use, trinkets that he had kept as souvenirs of his time in the city, mementos from what sounded like a lover… Finally she had begun to feel they were on more equal footing. The Emperor, as he called himself, was far more interesting than she could have imagined. “Are you suggesting…?” She wasn’t even sure how to finish the question. “Only if you are willing,” the voice spoke without breath, as if a thought in her own head, “and there is no need to rush.”Tav could feel his mind reaching out in the space between them, a sense of lust sparking beneath the ethereal stars of his realm. “I’m…not sure.” She said, hesitating more. “It’s not a no , but…” “You forget, Tavylia, that I know you. I know your heart, your mind.” He tentatively pressed his mind a little further towards her, a warmth and kindness emanating from him now alongside the intoxicating undercurrent of desire. 

“Then you remember my past, too? I am…open to you looking closer, if you wish.” She willed her memories to open like a book, inviting him in.

“No need, dear one, I have seen it like a play on a stage before me. Your mother’s back, laden with weapons, the sad smile in her eyes as she walked out of the door to face some greater foe from her past. Your father’s tears as he read the letter, your hopelessness as you watched the illness overtake his broken heart. The emptiness of the small home, and your own face in the mirror, barely in your teens and completely alone. Why do you think of such things now? I did not intend to remind you of anything painful.”“In your disguise, you walked those same streets. You had your people working within them, trying to make things safer, trying to save everyone. Yet…some of us you could not save.” Aside from her own memories, another that had touched her mind sprang unbidden to her consciousness. Astarion, bleeding out in the street, and the false saviour who had arrived before him.

“It is…regretful, that not everyone can be saved. But you know this already, do you not? No matter how hard you fought there was always some tragedy that slipped through your fingers, a body you couldn’t find whilst it still drew breath, sometimes just a few seconds too late.” The voice in her mind softened. Sympathy. Empathy. “You see, we aren’t so different. I am relieved it was you who ended up with the prism, who found my home, you who I have grown…close to.” The Emperor sidled a little closer, studying her face for any sign of discomfort, and laying his large hand over hers.

“Chance, perhaps. It could have been anyone, really. It seems like half my life is decided by some random roll of the dice from someone else’s hand.” She almost laughed at the absurdity. “What else do you see in that? Maybe by now you know me better than myself.”

“Perhaps I could, but there is a small corner you keep locked away…”

“Some memories deserve to stay buried,” she lied, a half truth as she firmly locked away just a small part of her plans with a random dark moment from her past that didn’t hurt nearly as much as she needed him to believe. “Then it would be unkind of me to pry.” Tav felt his mind withdraw from that place, just slightly. “But as for what I see in you… Contradictions, hesitation, but above all there is a passion within you.” The heat of his own desire began to wash over her now, along with a comforting wave of compassion. “You are…not what I expected. Not what anyone expects, I should wager.” “Isn’t life more exciting with a little of the unexpected?” Tav grinned, beginning to make up her mind. The prospects were enticing, after all. Sleeping with a vampire, flirting with a fiend… Just what would it be like to be with someone who knows every one of my thoughts and desires?“Indeed.” The Emperor growled within her mind, moving a little closer still. “I’m well aware of your rules, your agreements with your vampire lover, and I do not think you can truly deny what is between us now. I even know those thoughts you have about the fiend, though I’d advise not indulging in that particular curiosity.”

“Just as you ask me to indulge in this one?” She kept him on edge, not quite allowing him sure footing. That was the plan buried in the last unexplored corner of her mind, a simple part of her rule of surviving. Always stay aware, trust is proven with time not words, and having the upper hand could often be reassuring even if it never needed to be used. She couldn’t deny that she felt the desire, the curiosity, and to be honest after everything she had survived she was at the point of throwing caution into whichever wind blew her way. Yet, still, if she could get him to drop his defenses, let her in entirely, then should their goals no longer align she might at least have a weakness to exploit. Tav would prefer not to have to be so underhanded, but she knew that some part of him would well understand the finely honed instinct, sharpened over decades on unkind streets, the whetstone of hardship leaving her with a keen blade of wit.

“I won’t ask any more of you than you are willing.” The Emperor pulled back now and stood up, offering a hand to help her to her feet. “You can move away at any time, should you wish, and if a word might make you feel safer then even the thought of the word Orpheus will halt us in a moment.”

“Isn’t that a little…close to home?” “No stranger than Angel for your beloved vampire.” “Touche.”

“Or perhaps, now, touch?” The illithids tentacles moved slightly, the shape of his eyes making the full expression look somewhat akin to a smile. Or at least whatever passed for a smile from a Mindflayer.  Stepping towards the Emperor, Tav soon realised her feet were no longer on the ground. True to his word, she could still will herself to move freely so she could still leave if she wanted. But where would the fun be in that? She drifted closer to him, tentatively laying a hand on his shoulder, caressing the ridges of muscle and skin. This was…not how she imagined things would ever go. But it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It looked like he would be completely cold, but there was a warmth beneath his skin. She leaned in towards him naturally as the distance between them narrowed, until she realised - where the fuck am I supposed to kiss? She flipped quickly through her memories like an index, looking for a clue. Ah…that was it…his mouth was somewhere behind the tentacles. Shit. Plan B.

Tav was at a disadvantage. The Emperor had been able to see all of her romantic entanglements and desires, likely knew plenty of ways to entice and excite a humanoid body, but in all her adventures after dark she had not once been so close to a mindflayer. He did not reach forward to her, but instead allowed her the time to begin to know his form. He was lithe, tall, perhaps “gangly” would be an accurate, if unkind, word for his body. But she kept in mind, it was still a body. Nerves and sensations would not be so different, if she could find the right thing to do. That was the one advantage she was realising she had, as her hands felt along his arms, across his chest beneath the tentacles, and around his back. She was beginning to sense exactly how he was feeling. The shiver of pleasure passed between them like a thought as she found one sensitive point along…well, where a collarbone might be, if he were not an illithid. Floating above the ground was also freeing them to the experience completely. No hard rocks beneath them, no obstacles in the way, the only touch they could feel was each other. For now, they had stopped talking. Communication was coming purely from contact, as Tav gently began to take one of the tentacles into her hand, running her fingers along the appendage. The Emperor shuddered, the air almost sparkling with the feeling conveyed from his mind. That , it seemed, was good for him.

Emboldened by the discovery, along with realising that his skin - and indeed the tentacles - did not feel quite so…unusual, as she had expected. Every body had its quirks, after all, from pointed ears to ridged skin, shapes and sizes of all kinds, rainbows of colour and beautiful variety to indulge in. His body was smooth and taught, tense, textured, but not at all unpleasant. The tentacles themselves were clearly sensitive, a slight audible rumble coming for once from the Emperor’s throat rather than directly into Tav’s mind. His eyes closed briefly, exhaling a long and shuddering sigh, the blazing pink tones almost glowing brighter than before when he looked back at her again. The patience had paid off for him, Tav realised, but had now worn away. Still, he was remarkably gentle as he gradually slid one of the tentacles behind her neck. It didn’t feel so dissimilar to a hand or an arm, the flexible appendage caressing her hair and the pointed tips of her ears.

Tav sighed herself now, the touch was building the intensity between them, their minds melding ever closer. Another tentacle wrapped over her shoulder, the third around her waist pulling her tightly against him, leaving only the forth still in her hand where she could continue to trace shapes with her fingers, occasionally stroking or massaging the muscled limb. The Emperor’s own hands moved to her hips, sliding down a little to take a firm hold of her rear, long nails digging in just enough for her to feel as he pulled her body even closer against his own. The tender and careful touch of the Emperor was almost close to romantic, a sensation which Tav might have found surprising if their thoughts weren’t melting into each other just as much as their flesh wanted to. But this was where she began to feel at a loss again. Her own clothes were being gradually unfastened, skin exposed, every point she had ever wished to be touched entirely encompassed by the myriad of limbs. Fingers and tentacles alike dextrous in raising the desire within her, his own passionate feelings swimming through her mind. “Is something…wrong?” His voice resounded quietly in her thoughts now, almost a whisper. Of course he could sense her hesitation again. The touch that had been surrounding her fell away as he allowed them to drift apart, glowing eyes observing her carefully. “It is…this form. Too unfamiliar.”

“No…Yes… A little. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, I’m not used to…”

“I could, if you desire, take any form you wish.” Glowing eyes twinkled with promise.

“Isn’t this what you want, how you are now?” Tav pondered the possibilities… Any form at all, that wasn’t something you could experience every day, but then wouldn’t it be insulting? She knew what to do with a more humanoid body, though…

“Perhaps,” he suggested, “we could consider both to be an option. There might not be many nights left before we must face the final battle, but this single night has more than one hour in it.”“Then…” She paused again. “I have one rule. Never the form of any of my companions. Never anyone I know.”

“Maybe,” he took one of her hands in his, “you might like the form you knew me in before?”

His free hand gestured a slight motion, and his illithid form shimmered and transformed into the stunning Tiefling she remembered from when they first met. “How did you decide on this body? When you first came to my dreams.”

“It was simple,” the Emperor - or rather, the Guardian - spoke with an audible voice now that there was a tongue to form words and lips to express them, “I looked into your own mind just briefly. I chose a body you might find to be…appealing.”

“You…were not wrong.” Tav took a moment to appreciate them, peering at every inch of their barely dressed body still floating in the air. They were a Tiefling, rich purple toned skin, deep pink hue in their hair and eyes, skin with a few pale marks of vitiligo like a map of beauty to her eyes. Their voice was warm, soft, and though their form leaned more masculine they were beyond any concept of gender. Perhaps it was the same for the Emperor, after all Mindflayers had no concept of gender or genitalia though he had always claimed a masculine title and pronouns for himself, a way to be perhaps more like the people he wished to live amongst?...

“Come closer, dear one,” they spoke softly, but didn’t close the gap themselves, leaving it as an invitation when she was ready, “we can stay like this until you feel more comfortable.”

Tav willed her body towards theirs, the heat between them rising anew. This would be easier, for now, and their body was so very enticing. The curls of their hair fell like a waterfall from between the horns that rose from their forehead, they even had the appearance of wearing flawless makeup that almost shimmered.

When their lips met, she was reminded of all those dreams, the strange warrior promising protection yet holding so many secrets from her. There were no secrets now, their minds opening fully to each other - besides that small corner she locked away - absorbed in the connection. Floating higher above the ground they could move completely freely, the touch of more familiar hands was becoming intoxicating. It was relieving for Tav to be able to hear the soft moans from her strange partner, a more familiar reaction to her advances as she grew bolder, hotter, allowing the desire to flow through her like waves crashing against the shore. The Guardian, as it was easier to think of them in this moment, this form, had fully undressed her now, clothes fluttering to the ground below. All that remained of their own clothes was the thin silk wrap that only partially covered their chest and hips. Tav decided to leave this on, finding it in some way more enticing to see with her hands now than her eyes. Their lips barely parted, legs entwining, arms wrapped around each other as they tasted the heat of the kiss. When she had drawn close to the Emperor, Tav had noted the scent of vanilla and garlic - it wasn’t something she thought would ever be an appealing combination, but it was a flavour now that she decidedly wanted more of as it was still present from the Guardian… Her Guardian, as they were giving themselves fully to her in this moment. She moaned audibly as nimble fingers found their way between her legs, touching, stroking, a gentle but insistent lust behind every motion. Her own hand traversed their body, taking in every muscle and curve, seeking the same places to draw out their arousal with her own. There was an intensity with every motion they made, every exploration of each other’s most sensitive points bringing forth a fresh harmony from within, the sounds of their voices melding together as the line between where one ended and the other began became even thinner. It was a dizzying high as they reached a release, far from the ground below, far from anything as their consciousness blended in ecstasy wrapped in each others arms until, breathlessly, they began to descend in more ways than one.

“How do you feel?” The Guardian asked, though they hardly needed to. Perhaps it was more a courtesy, perhaps a little of their own hesitance.

“I want you ,” Tav replied, “all of you, as you truly are. I think I understand, now.” “If you are certain,” they drifted slightly back again, just as their feet touched the floor, “then you may have … all of me, as I shall have all of you.” Their form changed mid sentence, their voice shifting to the telepathic link once more, but this time it felt more…comfortable. Enticing. In the binding of their minds, Tav had experienced something entirely beyond explanation, but she could tell that if she were willing to truly be with him then the night with the Emperor would be unforgettable, unique- “There are…other things we can do, if I am not spending my energy on maintaining the other body.” His eyes sparkled with a fresh glow, one hand lazily weaving patterns through the air as if drawing magic itself to his slender fingers.

“You know my mind, Emperor,” she replied, allowing some of her more…interesting thoughts to surface, “I will allow you to decide from here. Lead me, show me what you want, too.” That was more than enough invitation, the air almost pulsing with anticipation and a pure passion, their minds drawing each other in once more. He closed the gap between them in a single step, tentacles wrapping around her in an embrace using his arms to break the fall as he pressed them to the ground together. “The tentacles…do not cause you concern?” he enquired, even as they caressed every part of her upper body, drawing yet quicker breaths from her lungs. “Different,” she managed to whisper, “is not bad.” “Then…relax.” Comfort laced with desire radiated in her mind, now accompanied by the feeling of the spell he wove around them. “Evard’s Black Tentacles, perhaps you might feel my use of this magic to be somewhat ironic, but I assure you that you will not be harmed. Merely…held.”The magical tentacles rose from the ground beneath them, transforming the stone floor into a living mass. Some wove themselves akin to a bed beneath Tav’s back, but a few others began to coil around her limbs. Were their minds not so wholly linked, she would’ve expected to feel danger, but instead there was only the pure intention filling her consciousness. The word, should she think or speak it, would melt them away in an instant, but the possibilities....

Some hours later, Tav would hesitate with her quill above the page, unsure how much of this particular story she was willing to tell, but in the moment…her entire being was carried away in a flood of sensation. The spell’s tentacles coiled around her arms first, a firm pressure holding her as the next snaked their way up her ankles, moving her legs apart. The Emperor knelt over her, his own tentacles caressing her face, breasts, taking his time to touch every inch of her body while glowing eyes watched her expression with a renewed hunger.

Her eyes closed naturally, giving herself over entirely to the almost overwhelming feeling of being so utterly touched. Her body was a mass of sensation, nerves alight with the contact that covered almost every inch of achingly oversensitive flesh, her mind awash with the flood of feelings from the Emperor’s own. There truly was no space left between them in body or in thought, nothing separating the ebb and flow of pure pleasure. It was hard for her even to tell which tentacles were from the spell and which were his own, as they caressed and massaged muscles she hadn’t realised were sorely in need of the careful release of tense knots.

And then there was the tentacle drifting up her thigh, and she found herself urging it to continue, to keep mapping the nerves towards her core. She felt a little amusement from the Emperor as he held back, teasing her to the brink of madness before pressing inside. Stars burst in her mind, the flexible appendage moving in all the right ways within her.

It was nothing like she could have imagined, being so utterly smothered by senses all around her, body completely and wholly held, taken, lifted to dizzying heights of pleasure. He knew everything she wanted, everything she desired, reading her mind like an open instruction manual on every thought that passed through willing him onwards. Wave after wave of orgasms cascaded through not just her body, but her entire sense of being. It was perhaps different for him, but she felt some similar shudders of pleasure, shivers vibrating through his tentacles as he gave neither of them pause to draw breath.

She pressed forward a simple wish, to let her have more of him, and he was more than happy to provide it, bringing the tip of a tentacle to caress her lips. Perhaps they could not kiss as they could with the Guardian’s welcoming lips, but she was familiar enough with how her own lips and tongue might express something similar.

Tav kissed the soft skin, tasting again that strange blend of vanilla and garlic, inviting the tip between parted lips. She felt his mind shudder within her own, as close as one might get to a moan of sheer desire, and began to work her lips and tongue around him to draw out yet more from within him.

It was…intoxicating. To be utterly surrounded, filled, a hundred nerves shooting lightning messages through her entire body with two simple words - fuck,yes.

Time dissolved away, every thought beyond the absolute desire banished to some other realm as they fully indulged in every sensation they could tease from one another. By the time they finally lay still, the tentacles receding beneath them as the spell faded away, their minds finally parted.

Tav had felt such a rush, the heat of the moment carrying her almost entirely out of her body yet keeping her rooted within it with the unending touch. Now they were parted, laying beside one another, she wasn’t quite sure what to do, how to feel. It was clear that what the Emperor felt for her was beyond the animal lust that had consumed her own soul, but her heart remained firmly with her lover.

Astarion, she thought to herself quietly, I’m not quite sure you’re ready to hear about this one.

“You should return soon and rest, dear one. The work must start anew come morning.” The Emperor was clearly more concerned about returning to business now, their shared goal in defeating the Absolute would not disappear in a single night of...sex? That was perhaps the closest word, though not entirely accurate. Either way, it wouldn’t buy them any more time, either. Their arrival in the city had already been filled with more unavoidable tasks, a new set of crises that she seemed destined to resolve with her strange group of allies.

“Ahem.” A voice sounded from several metres away. Wait, the Emperor speaks in my mind, and he’s laying right-Tav looked up. A shimmering portal crackled in the air, the silhouette of several figures against it.

“I am sorry, dear one, I promised I would protect you, but I cannot shield you from your connection to them. And I was…distracted.” The Emperor sounded apologetic, and Tav realised with growing horror exactly what this meant.

Gale’s voice cut between them again. “I’m not going to judge you, but can we all come to an agreement to never speak of this as long as we all shall live?”

The silhouettes beside him nodded silently and retreated through the portal, as Tav quickly gathered her clothes from where they had fallen across the area, feeling far more exposed than she had ever intended.

Fuck. She thought. That was… Fuck.

---Even as she tried to sleep back in her bedroll, the image of her companions standing there was burned into the backs of her eyes. Fucking tadpole. She rolled over again, pulling the blanket closer around her shoulders. Still…that was… She didn’t quite finish the thought, but she knew she didn’t entirely regret the experience. Though she did promise herself it would not be one to repeat. A willing audience was one thing, perhaps, and though she was fairly certain the others didn’t sense the details, they knew who she had been with that night. Even just catching them laying there naked in the afterglow was likely far more than any of them ever wished to witness.

Agreed, Gale, we shall never speak of this. She glanced at the diary. But I might as well write about it. For posterity.

Several times she would consider tearing out those pages, setting fire to them, and erasing the existence of the ashes that remained…but she never did, that lingering yet sated curiosity staying her hand every time.

----------- ----------- ENDING NOTES ----------- ----------- My original end note to this was "I see this chapter as a challenge. The game made the option sound appealing, and I can't deny either that it raised the idea of a bunch of possibilities, so join me as we explore a few of them, dear one, if you so desire~" I...sorry loves I can't deny it any longer, those were a lot of interesting possibilities. And honestly as I repost these I do have some regret to sharing a pseud with Tav's full name - at the time it seemed fun, but the more Tavylia has become part of my identity the stranger it is to use those mentions as ATG's Tav who has just been "Tav" to me for a long time now. I also wrote this prior to finishing the game and before I'd gone back to find Abdirak (I missed him the first time!) so I think "dear one" came either from the dialogue scene or just something that felt right at the time for his term of endearment, so I do apologise to Abdirak fans. I will make it up to all of you~

Oh, and this was my Guardian and I love them~

[bokettochild]

I feel like the fandom as a whole really underestimates Wind.

Now I know that most of you will agree with just that, but hear me out.

Wind has been through a hardship that only Twilight would understand, and still, Twilight wouldn't fully understand it. Being a big sibling is hard, and being a big sibling to a child who's barely younger than you and who sees themself as your equal rather than looking up to you like the Ordon kids do with Twilight, is even harder.

When they look up to you, it's easier to advise them and guide them. They respect you and want your respect and admiration, they want your praise. Twilight has this. All the kids Twilight could/might consider his younger siblings adore him and want to earn his favor, so even if he wanted them to do the craziest ever crap to earn it, i can bet you they would do it.

Wind doesn't have that advantage. Wind's sister isn't afriad to mess with him She's seen him at his worst, and while she may look up to him at times, he's still just her brother, not somebody she would necessarily admire, because what on earth has he done (pre-adventure) to be admired for? Fall asleep under the sun and get baked like a crab? No, those two are too close in age, and too close to what I would like to call "the dreaded age" for there to be any sort of true awe from younger sibling to elder.

Wind is approximately twelve/thirteen during his adventure, and while for most kids, that's the age of dreaded rebellion and angst, but there's one thing Wind has that most kids that age don't: responsibility over the safety and provision of his family. he is the man of the house at 13 and you can bet that's a heavy burden to bear.

Granted, Granny does her all, but that is an old woman,a nd she is pretty frail. Yes, she oves them dearly, but when you get dow to it, Granny sn't capale of a lot of things anymore. If their house is damaged, it's going to be Wind fixing it. At that age, asking for help is nearly unthinkable unless the world is ending, so of course he's not goig to seek out someone else to help him. At best, EWind would have asked someone to teach him to do things so that he could take care of them at his own home.

Someone has to be the one fixing things and moving things and making sure they have s=food stuffs and just... Wind has the weight of his family on his shoulders guys. he has the weight of a grandmother who, loving though she is, likely doesn't see half of what he does, because adults rarely do. He has the weight of a sister he needs to guide and help to raise, but who still views him as her equal, thus making teaching moments and scolding impossible because there is that lack of respect for your elder.

Wind is out here trying to take care of his whole family. He is the man of the house, helping to raise a little sister beside a grandmother who likely has no clue how much he actually does because he never feels the need to bring up how much work he's done.

Wind is a responsible older sibling, who has to somehow fill the void of absent parents for his sister.

As someone who's been there and done that, the fact that Wind is still a bright sunshine child- sharing hope and smiles, rather then stress-crashing the moment he can- is proof that he really is so strong and mature.

[guckies]

while i do agree that the new egg tasks rarely take in consideration single parents or external forces (travelling, events, meetups), i don't think the eggs are going to die from neglect.

the admins have shown that if the parents / primary caretakers is seriously unavailable they will try and get another member to take care of them (foolish counting as pepito's caretaker, roier being asked to do leo's tasks)

and we know that admins can and will play other eggs if their main admin is unavailable, i don't think egg neglect is an actual possibility anymore since neither party (streamer and admins) want that to happen

but i think they need to drop the whole non-parent penalty, or revamp it o_o since it makes everything much more complicated

Yeah it is very true that it is unlikely for the eggs to die from neglect now but there is always a possibility of miscommunication. Especially when the parent is travelling or busy and doesn’t reach out to the others in time or the egg doesn’t log on as much, which I think is why I’m having so much problem with it at the moment. Since a majority of the players are away and the system is really new, they others are not really going to be taking into account other eggs as much.

Really it’s just why now? We’ve know the dates for Eslands and the Streamer Awards for what feels like months now so it super strange in my opinion at least to be starting them now when barely anyone is able to log on. Plus again when so many people have expressed how they greatly dislike the tasks and cookies. Why are we still doing them if we don’t like them? Just to name a few: Fit said he thought it made sense that the tasks would go away naturally after purgatory due to the eggs surviving for months on their own; Phil even though he doesn’t really seem to care that much is never greatly excited to do them; Tubbo basically was speed running them mostly for money and typically procrastinated them before the reset; Foolish and Leo basically throw tantrums anytime the tasks are brought up and I’ve seen a bunch of viewers literally manifesting and praying the tasks were gone before learning they were back.

I think the admins are good when it does come around to it being a genuine moment of “maybe this egg might die” but I think they really lack in the hypothetical doom testing area before they put it into practice. The admins need someone with heavy anxiety and overthinking problems(like me lol) who would be able to think of every possible fault there might be. Like single parents who can’t log on as often aren’t always given support by others, parents/guardians to multiple eggs often experience the “how am I meant to feed multiple if I’m just barely getting one fed” every time it’s introduced and the “this task is impossible without another player & I’m the only one online” moments.

It’s just there are so many things that keeping slipping through the checks that we are already so aware of. So I think the best way to go about the tasks at the moment would be phasing it out or just plain making it optional. Especially since the tasks aren’t really liked at all.

By optional I mean, they just wouldn’t have to do it to keep the egg alive and it would be somewhat like the bounties. So the parents could do the egg quests for extra money and have the tickets be equal to something related to the eggs, like cosmetics or perks(hearts, armour, weapons) for the eggs.

But I heavily agree on the non parent thing, I think that really punishes single parents for no reason and kinda dampens the fun in hanging out with other eggs. Like Willy and Dapper, they aren’t parent and kid but if Dapper wanted to do the tasks with him that day then he should. Plus it could really strengthen their bond and make Willy want to play more as having an egg around kinda helps make the experience of qsmp more enjoyable especially when no one else is online.

Also I think the non parent thing and the tasks being the reason the eggs live another week does put a whole lot of outside stress on the ccs which I heavily disagree with. I think that this is a mc server to make connections and speak to people you never would have before. The eggs have proved to be great at helping with that so the stress of them dying because you weren’t able to log in that week kinda brings the whole experience down and negatively affects the chances of those situations happening. But if I had it my way the eggs would only be able to die the same way hunters of Artemis do, in combat (or possibly in natural situations).

[mainstoryarchive]

Ensemble - 113: Reinforcements

Subaru: Hurry, hurry, Ukki! The performance's already on!

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Location: Outdoor Stage

Subaru: Hurry, hurry, Ukki! The performance's already on!

Makoto: W-wait just a second! The prescription of my spare glasses are a little off so… waah, don't pull me, Akehoshi-kun! I'm gonna fall, I'm gonna fall!

Subaru: (Hm? I think we somehow made it before the first round ended?)

(But that's weird. It's already been five or ten minutes since the start of the first round.)

(Normally, Trickstar should have lost by default because there weren't enough people on stage.)

(A unit has to have at least two people in it to be recognized as such.)

(There has to be at least one more person besides the disguised, masked transfer student, if there wasn't…)

(Who is it? Who is the one that's helping Trickstar even though the student council has their eyes on us and is trying to thoroughly put an end to us?)

(Where is the guy with such peculiar tastes hiding?)

Mao: You guys are late.

No matter how dexterous I may be, with only a beginner like the transfer student as my partner fighting against such a strong unit… against Knights is asking for too much, don't you think?

I had my hands full just with buying you time, I don't want to ever do such heavy labor again!

If you guys have a conscience, then don't slack off and give this pitiful me a hand, 'kay?

Subaru: Sari!?

Makoto: I-Isara-kun? But why?

Mao: What? Stop looking as if you've just seen a ghost, is it that baffling that I'm here?

You know… It just means that in the end I am also part of Trickstar.

Let's move on. I don't have the leeway to explain, going against Knights is seriously hard! It looks like they're also missing a member, but every single one of them is super strong after all!

Subaru: O-Okay. I feel like jumping on you and licking your face, but I'll leave that for when we're done with this!

No, when we win I will ☆

Mao: Exactly right, nothing can begin if we don't win here. It'll be a performance without rehearsal, but we'll be using the same songlist as the one we used in the S1 the other day, right?

By the way, I sang Hokuto's song. If the transfer student sings, everyone'll find out she's a girl by the tone of her voice after all.

I don't know why the transfer student is standing on stage, but doing that was fine, right?

Next are the solo songs of you two, let me get some rest, 'kay~♪

Subaru: Ah, I see. As I thought, Hokke hasn't come back…

But Ukki's here, Sari's here! There's the transfer student as well—us Trickstar are starting to get our shine back ☆

I'm super happy! I'm full of energy, let's show them the best live ☆

Makoto: I'm still a little wobbly from having been confined so long… But we'll have to leave the resting for later, I'm already starting to regret having come back ♪

Subaru: 'Thank you for waiting, time for the main performance! We're Trickstar's Subaru Akehoshi and Makoto Yuuki, sorry for coming so late!'

'We'll make you enjoy yourselves even more to make up for it! Let's go ☆'

Mao: Ah, he's going all-out in no time at all. Subaru really is a genius, maybe I didn't even have to come back?

…Hm? What is it, transfer student? You're saying that that's not true at all?

I see. You were always watching over Subaru.

I've made you carry heavy burdens and worries. I won't make any excuses for myself, I'm really sorry. But right now, I'm happy to be standing on the same stage with everyone again!

Sometimes you should just become an idiot and do whatever you want. We have limitless potential after all, right?

Makoto: Yup, yup, I think the same way!

But you really are amazing, Isara-kun. You could stand in front of Knights all by yourself and fight against them on an equal level!

That's absolutely impossible for me ♪

Mao: I wasn't all by myself, it was thanks to the transfer student that I could stand my ground until now. I'd even say that I may have been the one there just to make up for the numbers.

Makoto: Huh, what do you mean? It couldn't be that inside the transfer student a hidden power dwells that gets released the moment she's driven into a corner…!?

Mao: Nope, she's a normal girl. But being normal is what helped in this case ♪

Makoto: What do you mean?

Mao: This DDD is treated like an S1, right? In S1's students from other schools and other people also come as guests ♪

Did you forget, Makoto? She's a transfer student, she called a ton of friends and acquaintances from her last school!

On top of that, it seems she also has a younger brother in the general course. He also went around asking people, so lots of people came to see us ♪

Makoto: Hmm, a little brother…? Come to think of it, it does feel like a big part of the audience is wearing the general course uniform or a uniform from another school!

That's the uniform of the all-girls school in this neighborhood. Is that your old school?

Mao: The transfer student must be liked by everyone ♪ There's seriously an incredible number of people!

And of course all those people have come here to cheer for us. There's a tailwind and the person who summoned it is none other than the transfer student.

You might really be our goddess of salvation, like Hokuto always says ♪

Makoto: I see, so the transfer student did all that…

But Isara-kun, you were the one who made sure that audience stayed here and didn't get stolen by Knights.

It's your skill. You really are a magician, you turned an unfavorable position in a favorable one in one go!

Mao: I haven't turned it around yet, so don't let your guard down. Even with that much tailwind, I'd say it was split pretty evenly. As expected of Knights, they really are a strong enemy.

However. This outdoor stage is in a remote place, there isn't a lot of audience in the first place. No one really comes to this corner of Yumenosaki Academy after all.

The people gathered here are almost all people that the transfer student called here, they're our audience. As long as we do our best without letting our guard down, I'm sure we can win!

Makoto: Yeah! I'll also do the best I can, regardless of how little of a difference it makes! Being able to do my best together with everyone is like a dream and makes me really happy ♪

[ ☆ ]

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[tokiro07]

Undead Unluck ch.166 thoughts

[Talk About a Cliffhanger]

I have a little confession: Feng has been one of my favorite characters pretty much ever since he took off his hood a hundred chapters ago

I disliked him as a person, sure; his philosophy was completely antithetical to the core cast, he was cruel, and he hurt so many of our favorite characters, it made him hard to love. But! His presence created a great contrast for the rest of the cast, and he himself was just plain entertaining since he was bodying four major characters all at once

Plus he's hot

Over the last two years, the Feng fight was one that I just kept coming back to, ultimately because of one question: what did Shen mean by "the truth from Untruth"? He asked Feng if he thought of him and Mei as family, and under the influence of Mui's Untruth, Feng said no. I've talked about it before, but the meaning of that response was ambiguous because we had just seen two alternate uses for Untruth: forcing someone to tell the truth when they intend to lie, and forcing someone to lie when they intend to tell the truth. The question was whether Feng wanted to say yes and was forced to say no, or wanted to stay quiet and was forced to confess that he didn't think of them as family

Regardless of what the real answer was, this chapter makes one thing abundantly clear: in this world, the answer is definitively yes. There's a lot of nuance to it, of course; Feng does resent being saddled with Shen and Mei against his will, but he still went out of his way to ensure his well-being. Shen noticed, even if Feng didn't; Feng came to want Shen to be safe, even if it was originally motivated by a desire to fight Fuuko. The most telling pieces are his reaction to Shen leaping off the mountain to save Mui and his own contribution to the rescue

The old Feng may well have seen Shen leap to his potential death and thought it was just a shame to lose a potential "dragon," or watched it happen with scorn that someone willing to sacrifice themselves was never going to be a dragon in the first place

This Feng, though? He lept from his seat to warn Shen, practically begging him not to endanger himself. Mind you, his promise with Fuuko has already been fulfilled, for all intents and purposes, he's entitled to a fight with her. And yet, he calls out to Shen "if you go, you're doomed too." He swoops in to catch the Union, saving Shen, Fuuko, and a bunch of strangers, and though he chides them for how ridiculous they look, he's clearly starting to understand that it's because they care about each other that they were able to pull off something impossible

Of course, he still currently believes that his philosophy is correct, that true strength comes from self-improvement rather than cooperation or interpersonal inspiration. That's why next week's chapter (and possibly the one after) will be the turning point for Feng's character: his ideals will definitively clash with Fuuko's with Shen as her proxy, and whatever the outcome of the fight itself, Feng will see the merit to the lesson that Fuuko has been trying to teach him for the past century

On that note, I actually anticipate that Feng is going to win the fight. I'm probably wrong about that, but I just get the feeling that Feng losing to someone with an opposing ideology won't convince him that he was wrong and would make him double down. Instead, I think that he'll realize what he's really getting stronger for: whether it's protecting his son or keeping up with the one person he's ever thought of us as an equal, he'll know that he only made it as far as he did because he had someone else spurring him along. That's the best way for Feng to acknowledge Fuuko's way, to experience it firsthand and strive to continue getting stronger along with everyone else

And if I'm lucky, my prediction that he'll admit he's in love with Fuuko will come true and he'll kick off the reunion with Andy...

...How did I do this entire summary without talking about Shen and Mui?

[sailing-ever-west]

WRIT200 Blog Post #3 - The Enforcement of Secular Femininity in Christian Circles

A while ago I (Christian) was talking with my dad (also Christian) about the double standards I experience as a woman as far as how I'm supposed to dress. I explained how comfortable and utilitarian clothing like loose shirts, sweatpants, and cargo shorts seemed to be considered gender-neutral or masculine, and if I wanted to be seen as feminine I would often have to give up comfort or practicality. I don't personally feel the need to be seen as feminine all the time–people can see me how they like and that doesn't mean it's the truth–but it's especially difficult in Christian circles where adherence to the traditional gender binary is seen as a sign of orthodox faith, and divergence from it is seen as inching into sin. The problem is that the gender standards being enforced are often not Biblical but cultural, which makes them fallible to going against other values of the Faith such as modesty or even simple mercy (if you don't understand the latter, know that I once did a full stage play in heels that I had to run in at one point and a dress that didn't allow me to lift my arms above my head or easily expand my middle to breathe).

I think the rest of the conversation I had with my father illuminates my point rather well. When I complained that many useful and comfortable things weren't seen as feminine, he pointed out that you can get feminine cuts of many different clothing items without having to be seen as masculine or remove them entirely from your wardrobe. This is true, but then I asked him to think about what makes something a feminine cut. At that, he understood. 

With the exception of some long skirts which don't need a feminine cut since they are seen as feminine inherently, a feminine cut is almost always one that simply shows more of someone's body. Pants that are skinnier to show the shape of a leg, shirts that taper in at the waist, lower necklines, shorter shorts, thinner material, see-through lace. 

And people in the church, bless their hearts, see this simultaneously as fundamentally feminine (certainly a man couldn't wear them) and as immodest, creating both a deep association between the two things and a nearly impossible standard for women to reach. Show off too much of your body, and you're asking for men's attention. Show off too little of your body, and you're trying to be a man. Unless you dress like a 19th century prairie woman (and even then, watch the cleavage), you are constantly on the edge of being perceived as sinful. 

The most interesting part is that most people enforcing these standards don't even realize that they're still telling women to dress for the pleasure of men; in fact, saying that phrase would often go directly against their professed beliefs. "Women should dress to honor God," they would say. But when did God ask us to adhere to the ever-changing standards of fashion? And what if those standards are set by people with non-Christian and furthermore dehumanizing values?

People seem willing enough to recognize this when it comes to significantly revealing outfits or fashions associated with the LGBTQIA+ community, but mainstream feminine fashion is treated as though it's somehow inherent to womanly nature. It leaves women with a narrow range of options and the constant threat of being shamed. If we as Christians claim to love women and men equally, we need to have the humility to understand that our subjective cultural standards for gender were not directly dictated by God, and that we can and will be wrong about them.

So, fellow Christ-followers, the next time you see a woman in baggy cargo shorts or anything else you instinctively deem unfeminine, consider why you label it that way, and whether you actually believe that femininity is dependent on the standard you are drawing from.

[angeldcgs]

birdie was allowing elton to see a side of her that nobody else in her life had, something that required a great deal of trust. around him, she felt more comfortable exposing her true perverse nature, knowing that no one in her social circle would believe him even if he wanted to tell someone. the fact that he was such an outcast even still made him safe, the perfect outlet for her to finally exercise her desires she'd been keeping locked up for so long now. no matter how distressing it had been to stumble into this situation with him, it would be impossible to deny that this was exactly what she needed. she'd try, likely painting him out as a slimy predator once she was back in her own home and able to reflect on what happened, but deep down, she'd know the truth. telling her friends about it was out of the question, as that confession would be equally as damning of her actions as it was his, so this would forever remain their little secret. their dirty, shameful, titillating secret. her wide eyed gaze lifted back to regard him when he gave her his next request, just standing there blinking dumbly for a few long moments while she got her brain to function. what would he do if she refused? did she even want to say no to him? there had been plenty of time for her to leave, countless opportunities for her to disengage from whatever sick game he was playing with her, and yet she'd continued to feed into it, even driving things forward of her own volition. leaving things before she could see them through to fruition would feel even worse than whatever consequences could come from taking things further, and so she figured she'd already made her mind up by then. slowly, carefully, she stepped out of where her dress remained pooled on the floor, coming towards where he stood and stopping just a foot or two in front of him. she instinctively flinched when he reached out for her, only to relax when she was met with the tender action of having her hair brushed away from her face. the softness of it amidst all his coldness made her dizzy, knees weak and wobbly, though she forced herself to remain upright. her whole body was practically trembling from the anxiety that came with anticipation, but his next direction caused her to go deathly still, her stomach dropping and her very blood seeming to run cold. he could've asked her to do any number of degrading acts, and instead, he'd asked her to tell the truth. somehow, that seemed to be the most humiliating of all. "i-i..." her voice came out in a stunted mutter, almost choked from just how tight her throat had constricted. "i don't— i didn't..." if she could only see herself right then, she'd probably die from embarrassment when met with her beet red cheeks, her eyes puffy from how much she'd been crying, lower lip still wobbling. "i thought... i just wanted to... t-to make it better, and i didn't... i didn't know h-h-how." her heart rate had been steadily increasing, to the point where she felt as though she'd just ran a marathon, when really she'd just been caught red-handed. finally seen for what she was, as if he could see straight through her facade and to the deviant hidden beneath. "isn't this what you wanted? i'm just— i gave you what you wanted. it's for you, it's not... i didn't want to, i wouldn't... don't you want this? me?"

after running from claims of his perverted nature his entire life, there was a sense of power in finally succumbing and being the thing that everyone had always thought him to be. he wasn't nearly as bad as they'd made him out to be, every story they'd passed around in notes and whispered gossip was highly exaggerated and pulled out of thin air, none of those popular kids who found tormenting him thrilling had ever gotten close enough to learn anything real but their blind guesses hadn't always missed the target drastically. it was hard to deny those claims of him being a creep when he was getting hard at the sight of birdie crying in front of him, completely naked save for her panties. he could've just said he forgave her and saved both of them from the awkwardness of him fumbling for a way she could actually apologise to him. he could've, but he'd developed some kind of pride and if he'd let her go, who was to say she wouldn't run back to her little group chat and continue on her gossiping, if she wasn't punished then the behaviour would continue, even if she didn't know that was where his sudden anger had come from. his heavy eyes scanned down her newly exposed body and he swallowed the pool of saliva that sat on his tongue, his mouth watering like a dog being teased with a bone. he'd spent longer than he could ever admit admiring her body, she purposefully showed it off so he'd let his gaze linger when she wasn't paying attention, to the jiggle of her tits stuffed into some ridiculously tight and slutty shirt or her milky thighs that he could steal a glance at when she'd bend over to pick up her laundry basket, he'd become well acquainted and yet he still couldn't quite believe how beautiful she really was. anything. she was offering him whatever he wanted and yet with such an opportunity, elton found it nearly impossible to voice his desires. things were already ruined so he shouldn't have been concerned with what she thought about him, she'd already made that known to all of her friends so wouldn't the sweetest revenge be forcing her to face up to that disgust? if she wanted to giggle about how he couldn't seem to keep his eyes off her chest then having her stand there and ask him to do exactly that was humiliation enough. "come here." elton waited for birdie to come closer to him, watching her girlish curves jiggle with each hesitant step she took, then shakily reached a hand up to brush a strand of hair away from her face. he couldn't touch her body, not yet. he was scared too, the power he'd been afforded was like nothing he'd ever had before and he didn't know how far it'd take him. "i... i want you to tell me that you like this." he could've asked for something physical, for her to strip off what was left or to touch him in some way but this was better in his eyes. "i want you to say that you wanted to show me your body... because you- because you want me."

[voiceless-terror]

I am so completely enamored with Danny as jons ex and I would be forever in your debt if you finished that

i wasn't expecting people to like this idea so much, its definitely one of my weirder ones xD since im not sure when i'll get around to actually finishing it (if ever) you can have a very rough chunk of it instead. you'll have to forgive any mistakes, im not up to editing it.

In a surprising show of athleticism, Jon ducks under Sasha’s chair before the specter of his past manages to see him.

Sasha swears at the action, backing up in her chair and peering down at Jon in bafflement. “What on Earth are you doing, Jon?”

Instead of answering her question, he backs up even further, tucking his feet out of sight. He thinks Sasha’s umbrella must be under here, and judging from the sharp point currently jabbing at his thigh, he probably broke it. “Is he still there?” he hisses, tilting his head to avoid bashing it into the desk.

“Who?”

“That- that man!”

A pause. “Tall, dark and handsome?”

Jon’s turn to pause. “I suppose you might call him that,” he replies stiffly. And it’s true. The man, from Jon’s brief, panicked glimpses, is at least six foot, with thick, dark hair and a bright grin.

And he looks exactly like Jon’s ex, Danny Stoker.

He’d done an almost comical double-take after a cursory glance; at first he’d thought Danny was the new hire, but this man was more angular, like a sharper, leaner version of his ex. So no, it couldn’t be him.

That didn’t stop him from diving under the nearest object, ergo Sasha’s desk. Not the wisest of decisions, considering his throbbing side, but he’s never been known for grace under pressure.

He’s not exactly sure why this fight or flight mode’s been activated- he and Danny had parted on fairly good terms, each recognizing that although they cared about the other, they simply weren’t compatible in the long term. They’d dated for a little over six months when Jon was a freshman, and he’d fallen hard.

Danny had been his first real relationship, and Jon was shocked that someone like him even looked his way. Impossibly handsome, incredibly fit, desired and envied in equal measure, and he dated scrawny, shy, insecure Jonathan Sims; the rumor mill went wild. They’d met at a party, and not even a good one. In a brief moment of liquid courage, Jon managed to insert himself into a group and fit in one snarky joke that sent Danny into stitches, the rest of the partygoers following his lead. For one second, Jon felt like he truly fit in, like he was someone worth knowing.

Danny had a way of making someone feel special. Big, romantic gestures, surprising him after class, taking him on little expeditions beyond campus. Jon didn’t drive, still doesn’t, and Danny wanted to show him the world outside of their privileged little campus.

But, like all of Jon’s relationships, it came to an end. Jon wasn’t ready for such overwhelming affection (didn’t think he deserved it, quite frankly), and Danny needed someone who could handle his fast-paced lifestyle. Jon was not that man. They broke up amicably, even if Jon shed a few tears in private, saw each other on campus a few times. Danny tried to reach out more than once, just as friends, but Jon’s never been able to handle more than one relationship at a time, and by then he’d met Georgie.

But now it seems the past is unavoidable, and standing near the circulation desk. Well, now walking in his direction, if the steady footsteps were any indication. Jon’s heart begins to hammer in his chest as it hits him that he is, in fact, hiding under a desk because a man who sort of looks like his ex is in his general vicinity. Coward.

“‘Lo!” God, even the voice is similar, if not as deep. “Tim Stoker. Reporting for duty.”

Stoker. Tim Stoker. Jon startles, slamming his head against the desk with a yelp.

Somewhere in his spiraling thoughts and throbbing head he remembers- Danny had a brother. An older brother that he adored. This must be the famous Tim- Danny made him out to be a saint, and though Jon never met him, he felt some fondness via Danny’s descriptions. But Tim’s going to have no fondness for him, especially considering Jon’s current position, hiding in pain under his coworkers desk.

“Pleased to meet you!” Sasha chirps, very clearly amused by the situation. “I’m Sasha James. And this-” she tugs at one of Jon’s legs, dragging him a few inches into sight. Jon buries his head in his hands and wishes he were invisible. “-is Jonathan Sims. We’ll be training you.”

“Excellent.” Tim’s voice holds the same good humor Danny’s always did, and sends a pang of nostalgia through his chest. “Er, you alright down there?”

“Yes,” Jon responds robotically, scrambling to his feet and standing behind Sasha’s chair, unwilling to meet the man’s eyes, lest he be drawn in. “I- uh, lost a pen. P-Probably left it in the copy room, I’ll just be going...there.” With that incredible performance, he fled.

And only tripped once on the way out.

________

So Jon’s kind of cute.

Tim doesn’t normally go for tiny disgruntled academics, but Jonathan Sims is an interesting fellow. He’s got a reputation for being the ‘problem child’ of the Research Department, awkward and prickly and always available with a snide word. He wields his books and files like a little suit of armor, and the only person he’s seen him open up to is Sasha. Besides their little conversations, Jon is all work and no play.

Except with Tim.

Sasha says she’s never seen anything like it, with one of her secret little smiles. Jon’s always staring. Usually, the man can’t hold eye contact to save his life, but he’ll spend full minutes looking at Tim when he thinks he can’t see. The first few times, Tim would turn around and smile, but that practically sent the man into convulsions, dropping his papers and jumping out of sight like a spooked cat. It was funny the first few times, but Tim pitied him enough to ignore it now. He hopes Jon enjoys the view.

God forbid he ask the guy a question. Jon will look around the room, as if waiting for someone else to answer, when it’s clearly directed at him. He’ll blush and stammer his way through every explanation, keeping a wide berth of at least two feet between them. Even when Tim wants him to look at his screen, he’ll squint from far away. Tim starting to think he smells bad, or has some sort of communicable disease unbeknownst to him.

“It’s not that,” Sasha assures him, again with that unreadable smile. “Trust me.”

Time to try something else.

He prints out his latest follow up, a rather elaborate statement regarding mistaken identities and absolutely nothing supernatural. He knows Jon prefers to look at things on paper, as screens ‘trigger his migraines’ if Tim understood his mumbles. Maybe if he can engage with him on familiar territory for the both of them, he’ll be able to hold a conversation. Tim specifically requested his help on this one.

“If you could just look it over, make sure everything’s up to snuff, that’d be great,” Tim says to the top of Jon’s head, as the man refuses to lift his own to meet his gaze. “You know how Dr. Walker is. Always-”

“Finding mistakes where there are none? I’m familiar with her methods,” Jon snorts, and Tim feels like he’s getting somewhere. A whole sentence! With classic Jonathan Sims snark! “I-I can give it a look. I’m rather busy, but -”

“Take your time,” Tim says with a dismissive wave of the hand. “I finished a bit early, so I don’t need it for a few days yet. Don’t want to put you out.”

“You’re not.” Jon meets his eyes for about ten seconds before ducking his head back down.

Progress!

[personasintro]

friendly dates | knj drabble

⇢ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; friendly dates sound nice... but without the friend part it'd sound even better, too bad you're too scared to face your feelings

⇢ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff, idiots to lovers au

⇢ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: explicit language

⇢ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 3.7+

𝒂/𝒏: commissioned anonymously!

𝒎.𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | ☕️ | © 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐 (𝒏𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒅)

“So where are you going for tonight's date?”

You're in the middle of trying one of the long dresses you own when your best friend speaks up from behind you, sprawled on your bed while looking at you in the reflection of your big mirror.

You give her a look, cocking your head to the side as you look at yourself again. The dress is pretty, you actually haven't worn it out yet. You've never had the opportunity since you ordered them only a week ago.

“It's not a date,” you inform her, glancing at your friend who has a subtle grin on her face. You're not surprised to hear her calling it a date, she always does this. “How do I look?”

Turning around, she eyes your outfit and overall make-up before she, like every good friend, tells you how beautiful you look. “For a usual hang out with him, you certainly do invest a lot of time and money to look perfect.”

Rolling your eyes, you purse your lips in annoyance. “Namjoon and I are just friends. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she says back, snorting as you sport a deep scowl on your face. “Friends don't go out every Friday and weekend to a freaking museum or hang out in a bookstore, Y/N. I'm telling you, this is not just casual hanging out with your friend. We both know you've a thing for him and he certainly has a thing for you.”

You didn't know it's possible, but your scowl gets even deeper. Even though you've never admitted that you've a thing for Namjoon, your best friend knows you and no matter how subtle you're trying to act and appear all the time, she just knows. It's not that hard to tell. But Namjoon has never made any move and even though you don't like the stereotypical thought of men always doing the first move, this is more about your fear of getting rejected. Also, you don't think he has a thing for you.

Sure, he pays for your food or drinks whenever you hang out, no matter how many times you scold him for it. One time he borrowed you his jacket because it was late at night and it was freaking freezing. Namjoon has done many things that made your heart even weaker for him. But he's nice to everyone and you don't doubt he wouldn't do all these things to another girl. As much as it hurts, it's true.

And the fact he has never even hinted at the possibility of him liking you in a more serious way than just a friend who he likes to attend museums, art galleries or just casually hanging out in a bookstore or a library. As far you know, he doesn't have that many friends that share the same love for books and art like he does.

You both just clicked. You have the same interests and you hang out because you like spending time together. He's easy-going and you making plans with him almost every weekend has become a certainty. But of course, there are times when one of you can't hang out and that's completely fine.

“Well,” you clear your throat, straightening the casual yet elegant dress. “We're exactly that. Just two friends.”

“Oh, so you don't like him?” She presses. You know what she's trying to do, but you won't give her that satisfaction of being right.

“I like him… as a friend.” you point out, voice getting slightly deeper when you add the friend part.

You watch her narrow her eyes, thinking about something for a moment before she grins at you. “So you wouldn't mind if I told you I like Namjoon?”

Without realizing, you automatically tense and if you weren't so focused on the uncomfortable feeling in your chest, you'd notice the way the corners of her lips twitch.

“Since when do you like him like that?” You decide to exclaim, slightly louder than you intended.

Just like you, your best friend is easy-going too and has no problem hanging out with whoever. Even though museums and art galleries aren't her thing, or anything that you and Namjoon enjoy the most, she hung out with you and Namjoon a couple of times when you weren't exactly doing that. She'd sometimes join and none of you really minded it.

Her and Namjoon get along pretty well, but you've never noticed anything suspicious or something that could hint at her liking him that way. It definitely doesn't feel nice to hear her say it. She knows how you feel, she just wants to hear you say it. But you're stubborn and there's still a slight chance she might like him.

You mean… it's Namjoon after all.

“Why do you look so surprised? Maybe I do like him like that. I thought you liked him and well, like any good best friend, I just backed off. I mean… I'm not the one who's invited to art galleries and museums.”

“Art galleries and museums aren't even your thing.” you murmur, ignoring the jealousy bubble in your stomach.

“Did you just ignore everything I said? Hello,” she sings out, “I like Namjoon!” she exclaims and you stare at her dumbfounded, blinking a couple times. Trying to detect any emotion on her face, or whether she's serious or not, is hard and almost impossible because she just stares at you.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask her nonchalantly. “You want to hear that yes, I like him but I'm too scared to admit it because there's a high chance he doesn't like me like that? The last thing I want is to ruin our friendship.”

And then, slowly but surely, you see her corners twitching in a pleasant grin. “Yes, I actually wanted to hear that exactly.”

She got you. Oh my god. You can't believe it was this easy for her to make you admit it out loud. Your face heats up and you uncomfortably shift on your spot, but then you're met with her amused eyes and grin all over again.

So you grab the first thing you get your hands on, the other dress you had prepared as a back-up in case the ones you're wearing right now wouldn't be it, and you throw it at your best friend who starts cackling.

“Was that so hard to admit it?” she laughs, catching your dress and placing them next to her. She sits up, calming down as her features soften at your huffed face. “Look… first of all, I don't like Namjoon that way. You guys just fit together perfectly, it's hard to imagine someone else having that spark like the two of you have. However… how do you know there won't be someone who really likes Namjoon in the future? I don't mean to scare you, that's the last thing I want. But you should look at it from another side. Maybe telling him how you feel will make things easier.”

“Yeah, or worse.” you murmur.

She sighs, cocking her head slightly at you. “You never know if you won't try it. Trust me, I know Namjoon likes you. I can't say I'm hundred percent sure how things could end up, but I think it's worth a try. He's worth a try. Don't you think?”

“It's intimidating,” you admit, “I'm not the type to admit my feelings, especially not to a man when he's...” Perfect, attentive, friendly, cute, handsome, kind… “Him.”

“I don't want you to get hurt, Y/N. And I know seeing him with someone else might hurt even more than a rejection.”

You get the feeling she's right, even though you don't like hearing it.

“Oh my, look!”

You almost flinch at the loud and excited voice coming from Namjoon. You barely get the time to react when your wrist is gently grabbed by him as he's pulling you towards another room. He's gushing over the art and once you make it there, you finally realize why.

The room is filled with multiple paintings (of course) but the only difference is, that each painting is centred with each color. From bright white to dark colors such as burgundy and black. Yellow, green, red, pink, purple, blue… so many different colors. The whole room looks like a rainbow, each painting different and interesting.

“Wow,” you let out, completely amazed because it's not just very colorful but also eye-pleasing for everyone's eyes.

When you glance at Namjoon, his mouth is opened and eyes shining with complete amazement. He lets go of your wrist, leaving you slightly disappointed but it's not like you expected him to hold you there more than necessary.

You both move to the first painting, admiring the white art that portrays something like clouds and apparently wings that Namjoon notices and comments.

You're equally interested in Namjoon and his own comments, always finding his opinion and own take very interesting, just as you're interested in the art itself. Between doing this, your own mind is sometimes wandering off to a different topic and that is – your best friend's words from earlier. You can't help it, every time you hear him or look at him, it's like her words scream inside your mind.

It leaves you more quiet than usual, you mostly let Namjoon talk and hum to whatever he says. You're both standing in front of blue painting – an art that portrays most things when you think of the color blue. Water, waves, even air… all of those things can be seen in the very impressive painting. You like it, however that's the only thing that leaves your mouth as you glance at Namjoon, finding him already staring at you.

Your eyes automatically widen, surprised by his furrowed brows and even more when he lets out a silenced sigh, although you hear it very clearly.

“You don't like this, do you?” he suddenly asks, leaving you even more shocked. But before you can clarify or even ask him what does he mean by asking this, he's already talking again. “I know it's not a fancy art gallery. These paintings are painted by artists that aren't that much recognized. A lot of students actually painted most of these. Profits from the tickets are going straight to those artists, students included.”

You listen to him ramble, cheeks slightly going red when his chest heaves from how quickly he said it without taking a breath.

“No, no, I like this. I really like this art gallery,” you assure him quickly, “Why would you think otherwise?”

“Can I be honest?” he asks sweetly as usual, eyes flickering to you almost worriedly as you nod. He sighs again, fingers brushing his soft honey hair. “You're quieter than usual. I can't explain it, I feel like there's something wrong.”

Attentive as always, you're surprised and not actually surprised at the same time. Of course, he noticed there's something wrong. You're not sure whether you should be touched by that gesture or be embarrassed he figured it out.

“I… I'm sorry,” you murmur, hanging your head low for a moment before you sigh too, looking back at him. “It's not your fault… I'm just… I really like it here, okay? Please don't think I don't. I'm sorry, I'm awful right now. You bought us these tickets and I just ruined--”

“Hey,” he cuts you off softly, stepping closer as he respectfully places his hand on your shoulder and squeezes it gently. “You haven't ruined anything. You can be honest with me… or don't be. I just want to know if you're okay. If you're not feeling it tonight, we can just take a rain-check or--”

“No,” you cut him off this time, cheeks flushing at how quick you bursted those words. “I mean--I'm really happy to be here tonight. I just talked to Amia about something and that kinda got stuck in my head.”

“Did you guys have a fight?” he asks, brows furrowing in worry as you chuckle and shake your head.

You look him in the eyes, heart softening right away as you still hear her words echoing in your head. Maybe you could tell him what bothers you without telling him he's a part of it.

“No, we didn't,” you smile, bracing yourself to finally tell him the truth. Half truth, more likely. “There's just this one guy I like… and I'm kinda scared to tell him that. Amia keeps telling me I should tell him before it's too late.”

“Oh,” he lets out, dropping his hand off your shoulder immediately as he looks a little baffled. Your smile drops at that. “You like someone?”

“Yes,” You. However, you don't finish it as he gives you a slight smile. “It's stupid… I just don't know what to do.”

“Well,” he smiles again, although you don't find it honest and sweet as usual. He takes a step back, glancing at the painting as he shrugs. “You'll think of something.”

And with that he turns around and walks to another painting, leaving you with a cracking heart and open mouth.

One thing is sure… at least you didn't tell him it's him you were talking about. Because then your heart wouldn't be just cracking but it'd actually break from such a reaction

Despite what happened, the rest of your “hanging out” is going smoothly. Namjoon keeps his main focus on the paintings and just like before, you hum in response and smile his way whenever he looks at you. But you still feel a slight uncomfortable feeling in your chest. You're not sure if you're ready to cry or not… You guess you'll find out once you get back home.

Once you're about to leave, you excuse yourself to go to the restroom, to which Namjoon responds to a light and friendly “of course”. He waits for you in the lobby, fishing out his phone from the pocket of his coat in the meantime. You don't spend that much time in the restroom, you quickly do your business and join Namjoon.

You spot him almost immediately, seeing him turned with his back to you as he has a phone clutched to his ear. You stay silent, not wanting to interrupt him but you want to make your presence known, but before you can actually walk around him for him to see you, you catch a glimpse of his conversation with whoever is on the other line.

“No, it's not a date,” he groans silently. You see him lift his arm and you guess he uses it to rub his face frustratedly. “It's just… a friendly date, alright? Look, she likes someone.”

Your breath catches in your throat and for a second, you're sure you forgot how to breathe as you listen to his conversation.

“No, it's okay… I didn't exactly make it known. No, seriously. Taehyung stop--we're just friends. Nothing else.”

You bite onto your lower lip, hearing Namjoon bidding a goodbye to his friend. You take that opportunity to quickly take a few steps and stop beside him when he notices your presence. He flinches, staring at you with big eyes as he looks around himself.

“Sorry, it was Tae…” he lets out. You're not sure why he is apologizing. “He actually recommended this art gallery to me.”

He is rambling.

But you just stare at him, not really sure what to make out of his phone call. There's no doubt he was talking about you, but you're kind of puzzled what to think of it. He looks nervous, you notice right away when he keeps glancing from your eyes whenever your eye contact exceeds five seconds.

“How--how much did you hear?” he asks suddenly, gulping slightly.

You realize he knows you must've heard something. You can't see yourself, you don't even realize your features are scrunched in confusion but curiosity at the same time, but Namjoon sees it all and he almost cringes when he asks you about the phone call.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop,” you apologize immediately, giving him a crooked smile. “I didn't hear much if that's what you're scared of. I mean… you haven't said anything that we both already didn't know.”

“What?” he breathes out.

“Well, you said we're just friends, right? That's what we are… and this,” you motion with your finger between you and him and around you, “Is just a friendly date.”

Your features turn sour, betraying you as Namjoon narrows his eyes and scans your face. He's always been very smart and you can already see the wheels turning in his head. Or it’s the bitter chuckle you let out that makes him think that you do sound almost hurt to hear him say that.

And when he looks up, the look he gives you almost scares you (not because he looks mad or something) but because he looks as if he already knows what you’re thinking. The possibility scares you and you curse at yourself for opening your mouth. You should’ve kept it shut while you had the chance.

“Somehow, you don’t seem too pleasant with that.” he tells gently, tilting his head slightly which makes your throat dry.

“With what?” you mutter. You’re stalling, knowing he already caught onto that but you act as if you didn’t know.

“With me saying that we’re just friends and this is a friendly date,” he still answers. “Would it be too bad if I said I’d be more happy without that friendly part?”

Wait—

“What?” you breathe out, eyes widening immediately. Did you hear him right?

“You know why Taehyung called me? Do you want to know what he told me?” he asks, chuckling a little at the end as he doesn’t wait for your answer. “He was trying to encourage me to tell you the truth. But I told him I can’t do that because there’s someone else in your life that you like.”

“And what is the truth, Joon?” you almost whisper, figuring out where this is going and you can’t believe it — not until you hear him say it out loud and confirm your deepest desire.

“Come on, you’re smart. You already know.” he offers softly, giving you a pained smile.

“Maybe I do want to know,” you ponder for a moment, “I want to hear you say it.”

“I like you, Y/N. A lot. And I’m a freaking coward for not telling you sooner and for always backing away whenever I had the chance to tell you how I feel.”

Your insides tremble with happiness and shock at the same time, your mouth opened and lips stretching to the biggest smile but that’s until you let out a big laugh. Namjoon looks confused, tips of ears already getting read from embarrassment. Thinking he feels the same fear of rejection that you felt at the idea of confessing, you quickly explain yourself.

“We’re both so stupid,” you shake your head, an amused grin playing on your lips as you take a step closer to Namjoon. He watches you with big curious eyes, not moving an inch. “You’re the guy I talked about. I like you too, Joon. All these evenings and days spent with you… I can’t imagine doing it with someone else. And Amia told me I should tell you but I feared you don’t see me the same way. Joon, I think we’re both idiots and cowards.”

He stares at you for a moment, not moving before he suddenly wraps his arms around your frame and hugs you tightly.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispers as you giggle, hugging him back. “All this time you liked me back?”

“Of course. I thought you wouldn’t like me back, you never made it known. You’re always sweet to anyone and apart from being the same old and amazing Namjoon, I wouldn’t be able to even guess that there’s a chance you like me.”

“Of course, I like you. You’re smart, funny and goofy. I genuinely like spending time with you.” he tells you, pulling away so you can see his honest eyes full of adoration.

Namjoon notices how skeptical you look, almost as if you don’t believe him and that’s why he decides to finally man up and take matters into his own hands. One step and he’s so close to you that your chests almost brush as you stare at him with big eyes. He cups your face, watching how your eyes grow even wider but that’s all you can do — just stare at him and thinking how this look, because it looks like he’s about to—

And then he connects your lips in an innocent kiss, soft and tender that you almost think as if you just imagined it but when you close your eyes, he’s there gently pulling away. Your lips tingle with excitement, happiness and shock at the same time and when Namjoon notices your flustered face, he chuckles.

“Sorry, I hope that wasn’t too straightforward of me,” he says, features slightly twisting to worried eyes when you don’t respond and just stare at him.

Did he really kiss you? He kissed you. Namjoon kissed you.

“I’ve been meaning to do that every time we hung out.”

“I—wow,” you breathe out, fingers slightly grazing over your lips as you smile at Namjoon. “I guess we’re both cowards. If I told you sooner too, we could’ve kissed way sooner.”

That makes Namjoon laugh, a genuine laugh as he reaches for your face and gently strokes your cheek.

“Can I take you on a date? A real date that we both consider a date?” he pleads.

Your heart is jumping with happiness, hands slightly trembling as you let out a nervous giggle. But then you reach for his hands, squeezing them while all he can see in your eyes is genuine happiness. However, it’s Namjoon’s turn to look slightly nervous as he shifts on his spot but doesn’t usher you to give him an answer. He is patient, looking at you with fondness and honesty.

And when you finally open your mouth to respond, you see the most beautiful dimpled smile that makes your whole chest tingle with so much love. Maybe it’s too soon to call it that but you already know what you’re feeling, so your answer is more than clear.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

[greysfall]

My 4444-word review of NEO TWEWY (with personal illustration + heavy spoilers)

My overall critical score for the game is 7.5/10, while my personal enjoyment score is 8.5/10. This review is posted as I have 80% completed the game, got the secret ending and achieved the Angel psychic rank. I’ll first start with the main pros and cons as follows.

PROS:

-        Enjoyable as a whole, still upholding the first game’s spirit in world building and sharing the same backbone - which was mostly revealed in the Secret Reports, it’s impossible to grasp the story without reading them.

-        The new cast and new game is charming in their own way

-        The old cast’s return is one of the biggest highlights for sure, it was fun and impactful. Everyone stays true to themselves and also had their own stories wrapped up nicely.

-        Boss designs are cool, new pins are fun to use and collect

-        The connection between the old and new cast is well written and executed, including but are not limited to the tension between the old and new protagonist, the weird but fun interaction between the 2 Composers, the new friendships revealed and formed

-        Sho being in the main cast is something so uniquely TWEWY and uniquely Sho

-        Still good music

-        Still many fun side quests, some of them really uphold the same quirky spirit of the old game and some are surprisingly touching

-        Many new nice stores and yummy looking foods to explore

-        The map is really easy to memorize for me, it’s fun to travel around the “current” Shibuya to see all the differences compared to the past

-        The social network is crazy and interesting to read through

-        Has an anti-frustration system to help 100% complete the game more easily and earn money faster, so post-game is relatively managable.

-        Overall, I really feel the efforts the team poured into making this as their passion project, not just during the development process but for all the last 14 years. They showed the vision of what they wanted to make, at the same time giving something to both the old as well as new fans.

CONS:

-        The biggest problem with the game is scenario writing. The story is so heavily back-loaded. The director himself thought it would be better to balance out the tension flow by adding more at the beginning but gave in to the scenario writer in the end, probably due to time pressure. This results in an underwhelming execution of characterization and lots of wasted potentials for the first half of the game.  

-        I struggle to view it as a stand-alone game, since the backstory and the old cast both play such an important role in the core of the game. If someone plays this game without having played the OG, they can only enjoy it on surface value at best.

-        The new cast is nice but most of them aren’t quite as intriguing as the old cast, maybe it’s cuz they’re all too nice deep down that they lack a little bit of an edge, of that batshit craziness that everyone in the OG used to have? I think some characters (Fret, Nagi) ended up weaker in terms of characterization because the writer is too afraid of making them unlikeable – which kind of backlashed cuz they only became likable in the most expectable way to cater for a specific group of fans. I would have wished for the other team leaders to be more crazy too, had they not suffered 30+ loops of the Game…

-        The CAMERAWORK IS HELL.

-        Gameplay does get tedious at certain points with all the time travels.

-        Shiba is so badly written as a villain, some Shinjuku characters should be given more screentime cutting into Shiba’s– like Hishima or Kaie or even, Hazuki (though his limited presence also solidified his importance).

-        Some of the main character designs, for example Beat’s hairstyle and his food reactions are hilariously bad. What’s the point of covering up most of his unique facial features?

-        Some of the minor/side characters’ design are too cool for them to have such a small role (eg: Ayano, Eiru). Ryoji did get much screentime but is nowhere as fun as Makoto was.

-        Overall the scope of this game is made a little too big for the team to handle as perfectly as the last game that was very compact, it felt somewhat rushed in development too so the missing pieces are clearly there in the final picture

The entry fee versus paying for it all in the end

An important difference between the Neo game and the original Shibuya game was that the Shibuya rule asked for an entry fee that is the Player’s most important asset, stated as a chance the Composer gives them to reexamine themselves. Meanwhile, the Shinjuku rule neither encourages nor allows personal growth and ultimately aims to erase as many Players as possible. It’s a pity we were never introduced to the full Shinjuku rulebook, as it seems like the system there focuses more on building up power and a grand government to compare with the individuality-driven system of Shibuya.

When you have to compare the new game and the original game (OG), this is an important factor to consider. Also, the OG has a serious storyline running through and through, locked with a different partner/GM creating unique atmosphere for each week and you don’t get to see your old partners again until the end. NEO’s team system does not allow such deep insight and communication between the Players. All of your teammates are always there throughout, the dynamic does change with each new addition but it is not as prominent as a partner change.

Another important factor is how the OG was built from scratch for a new platform as “something no one has ever seen before”, while Neo recycled a lot of old unused ideas from the previous development (check out this interview for more details). The development team for NEO lacks 2 key members and had a change of writer so the final product is not as strongly bound together as the last game.

The new cast is definitely inspired by today’s teenagers (from the view of creators), compared to the old cast they’re more sociable and always seem to take whatever works for them despite feeling unstable inside. They are all innocent and genuinely nice kids, avoiding to hurt each other to a degree that they end up keeping some sort of distance. They’re also unable to communicate at deeper levels, always stagnant at this half-baked stage of equilibrium without any motivation to get to the core of things. That is the cost of entering the game without an entry fee, without even dying or having a reason to be there/to fight seriously. These kids were stolen from the RG into a Game that was decidedly the worst environment for them to change or develop, just wandering around cluelessly to find a way “out” until tragedies started to unfold one by one and they ended up being charged the total sum of the price for their actions – ultimately losing everything in the end.

That is, I believe, a story arc which can resonate more to the youth of today rather than of my generation. If the message of the old game was to “listen”, enjoy life to the fullest and accept to trust others, the message of the new game is to “speak up” from the inside, trying to understand yourself and take actions instead of just going with the flow and finally, to take responsibility for such actions.

If Neku was handpicked by the Composer for being the special one with an all-dense soul to ensure victory of the game then Rindo was just a normal kid chosen out of random by Kubo to be his back-up plan, who just happened to have a high enough imagination to awaken the incredible power from his pin. Rindo was then officially chosen by the Composer as Josh picked up and handed the pin to him again, this time not as Josh’s personal Proxy – but as the Proxy to represent the normal people of Shibuya and via whom he could gamble if humans can fight for their own fate.

The underworld heroine and the hero with little of his own

Shoka is for me a refreshing and layered heroine. She’s the kind of character that took at least 3 trials of creators to form as a complete individual – that included Nomura who gave her the base design and Reaper background, Gen who gave a more cunning touch and the writers who made her English dialogues more punchy. Dishonesty equals “tsundere” is such a cliché, so the English writers tried really hard to avoid that trope in my opinion, while still letting her good intention come through.

She serves as the character who is informed of everything the players should have known, and there was almost nothing she could do about it. Almost. Until she met Rindo.

They were drawn to each other by sharing a state of “not having anything of their own”. They both started out with not being able to truly know themselves, Shoka even hated her RG life but also managed to mature from that stage before Rindo. She must have vibed with Shiki’s love and passion in the Gatto Nero threads, initiating her connection with Shibuya and understanding herself more. With Shoka as Swallow, they were able to open up to each other and offer mental support… but was still not getting to the centre of their problems because for all this time, Shoka could not tell Rindo the most important things about herself.

How did Shoka feel when she met Rindo at the UG? She probably didn’t want to hope that he would live the day until she witnessed the Twisters’ potentials. From the very beginning, they were both incredibly conscious of each other and also constantly frustrated that the person they happened to “notice” was such a condescending bitch/a clueless loser. The Shinjuku Reapers are overall quite drunk in power and uncompassionate to Players, Shoka included. She is also a master of dissociation, which results in her constant boredom, tone swings, haughtiness and subconsciously distancing herself from the friend – the boy she cares about – from false hope, as she judged from facts that it was a hopeless situation where nothing could ever be. Maybe she is naturally a bit of a chameleon just like her name suggests (Shoka 紫陽花 = hydrangea, the color-changing flower), so putting on an act and always dissociating herself from what’s important was easy, while hiding her contradiction was impossible. It was the ex-Reaper Beat who broke it out to her, that she should decide whether she really cared and wanted to do something for a change. He knew how it felt like to cross that line, and knew she wanted to too.  

Shoka is endeared by many of the Shinjuku Reapers and has shown independent acts of kindness (the Shinjuku ghost), proving that her kind and truthful side is as real as her harsh and dishonest side – which makes her a nice mirror to the previous heroine Shiki, who also embraced a dichotomy of self-complex and self-love within her character. In the end, she was the first of the new cast to ultimately accept all that is important to her and independently made the decision to help save Shibuya despite all costs.

She was jealous at Rindo’s interaction with Tsugumi and Kanon but remained silent cuz she wasn’t at a place to have any say about it. She also didn’t reveal about Swallow because that would only add an awkward irrelevance to their current situation, as she was too ready to face erasure at the end of the Game. She only wished to “play a game” with him, be it FanGo or the Reapers’ Game. The tension that the team could only feel at the end, she’s felt it the entire time. The song “DIVIDE” is applicable to not just one bond in the game, but it always makes me think of theirs. There is always a “divide” between her and Rindo throughout the course of their journey, as the living and the dead, as a Player and Reaper, as someone who has a place to return to and someone who doesn’t, someone who knows little but wields too much power and someone who knows a lot despite not being able to do much.

“If only I had the chance to connect with you on the other side

But time goes on, and without us realizing it

The battle is getting heated

Time goes on, and without us realiazing it

Divided again”

To be honest, maybe I didn’t grow any affection for the new main cast from Rindo’s perspective but from Shoka’s. Since I started to sympathize with Shoka, I started to see the boy in a more “real” way. The real Rindo, behind his peaceful façade with others, would lash out on Shoka for her unfairly harsh attitude while none of the others cared. He could also subtly feel that mantle of unspoken secrets from her, her own contradictions, the unresolved chemistry between themselves – and not knowing what to do with it rather than to feel angry with all the unfairness he could not process. (As a Libra too, he’s triggered the most by unfairness!)

It is actually a positive development as he’s at least “reacting” to something strongly now rather than to keep evading his problems. During my replay, I clearly saw the difficult situation Shoka was in, her remaining harshness after the Motoi incident was due to her internal struggle with a mission to save her own life, versus a chance to really be with the team. Her decision was to do both at the risk of losing favour from both sides. Rindo started to accept her layer by layer, as the person who resonated the most to her contradicting nature from the start and knew that via learning her resolve, he has learnt his too.

Later into the game, she even got too much of his attention. Maybe even without knowing she’s Swallow, he’s familiar with her thinking direction and Swallow had always been closer to him than any other friend. It was only after she had to betray her important ones twice that she could start being truly honest. The scene when she died a 2nd time left a strong impression in me, the little reveal let Rindo know that he is also losing Swallow as he’s losing Shoka – and that only death could drive the last secret out of her. Her final “Later, loser” echoed through Rindo as it was the final truth, with only him remaining to hear it: they had actually, already lost everything.

Rindo was the boy who never dared to face all that matters to him until he lost it all, fighting an unfair battle in the faith that they would somehow still win. Shoka was the girl who always knew what was dear to her, but never dared to think she could be together with them ever after and still threw her all into a battle she knew was losing. I think they stir each other on naturally to fill out their gaps, similar to what the Shibuya game partner systerm would have aimed for. The end reward was a little divine intervention to help close up the divide between them once and for all.  

During the game there was not enough space to process anything personal so at the ending when they officially became “friends”, it was an important affirmation of their bond. Some people complained it was friendzoning but it’s not, they just have arrived at the perfect place to start something more. “From now on, we will truly be together” – I read it as that kind of message.  

The heroine from a lost battle, with her story taken away

After reading the secret reports and playing the game to be surprised of how small a role Tsugumi had in the main game despite being the “Hype-chan” thought to be a major character of the next TWEWY installment, many fans would feel sad at a missed opportunity to see the Shinjuku arc in full depiction.

It was shown clearly that, a Shinjuku arc was very carefully planned out and is a vital part of the whole story, yet it could not be made due to various circumstances behind the development scene. I would assume, that the team were not able to make a TWEWY game that ended on a despairing note, but it already happened in their mind, thus becoming a mental burden that forced them to break away from it and started the game anew with NEO. A significant part of NEO became the healing arc for the Shinjuku characters, especially for Tsugumi though I really wished more emphasis should have been placed on her rather than Shiba. We didn’t even get to see her brother – Shinjuku’s Conductor who had a vital role and instead was given the clueless Shiba, who had absolutely no idea what’s going on all the way until the last day in NEO. It’s as if Tsugumi has had her story stolen away from her, because her own battle ended with a saddening loss.

I think every time the game creators look at Tsugumi, they would feel that sadness too. Maybe to them, she is a bigger character than what is seen by the fans, as despite their failed effort to depict her story, she’s lived in their mind for all these years through periods of destruction, healing and rebuild.  Though it is a pity we could not get to experience the full scope of the Shinjuku story, the creators was clear about the place they wished for it to arrive at.    

Individuality, connection and the social network

The team system adapted from Shinjuku rulebook does not allow much room for personal development, as the team dynamic is closer to a work relationship forced to bear results, than a spiritual bond to max out all corners of understanding as found in the partnership system. The old Shibuya system allowed only 1 winner and 1 week limit per game, while the new rule declares for a 1 winning team and only the team at last place will be erased – the other teams will enter another loop. Furthermore, whichever team to challenge the unwinnable Ruinbringers will face the risk of ending up dead last followed by erasure. As a result, the longest-standing teams are most likely not the strongest ever recorded, but the ones who have figured out a strategy to simply survive until something changes, enjoying their newly found social constructs while they are at it. Basically, it is a system to hypnotise players into the illusion that they are still “living”.

Therefore, we as players would not get to the core of each Player individually as fast and directly as we did in the last game. The Twisters were able to stand out not because they’re powerful, they only started to have a real chance after growing enough to each form a meaningful and personal connection to another teammate. It did not come as a team, nor did it intiate from the existing friendship between Rindo and Fret. In fact, I did not find much solidity or anything truly note-worthy about the main team and new characters within themselves until they started clashing with other team members, Reapers and new recruits from week 2 onwards. Rindo found his personal development with Shoka (via a clash with Motoi and pretty much a mini dating sim between them), then via the confrontation of his role with Neku; Fret found his with Kanon then Nagi, the team learned about the real Neku via Beat, Neku entered the UG via Coco’s wish to save Tsugumi… it was not the team but their personal links that empowered them to fight and solve each of their problems.

The other team leaders may have failed because they did not form such personal links, after 30+ hopeless loops Fuya’s team all fell apart to pursue their own interest even at the cost of erasure, Motoi quit his KOL façade to work like a dog for the Reapers (probably to save just his own ass not his team), while Kanon dropped her tricks to find changes via honest cooperation in acceptance of a fair loss. The despairing note in that is huge without making much of a scene because their failure didn’t happen at their best effort to “win”, but in their last attempt to find a way “out”. Even Shiba got his way “out” in the end thanked to his personal friendship with Hishima and Tsugumi.

Something has shifted in the mindset of the game creators in the last 14 years, as both games are about “connection vs individuality” but the last game focuses more on connection between just individuals and this one on the overall network that is formed out of those individual connections.

The introduction of Beat into the main cast was truly the bridge between old and new, they helped each other out in several turns before officially recruiting him. Beat is a character whom a lot of fans including myself have felt somewhat concerned about after Neku disappeared from the RG, so when the new kids welcomed Beat with warm and organic interaction and Beat seemed happy, I started to feel like I wanted to help them out too! I think the overall team chemistry is enjoyable enough for new players, but I could warm up to the new kids more from the pov of a returning character – whom I’m glad to be Beat, as the older brother figure who is genuinely kind, fun, serious and upbeat at the same time; who is needed and needs the kids in return.

The social network is a fun and refreshing feature. You can read all of the crazy tidbits about Shibuya and the links each character have formed with the town people, it’s also fun to visualize how the characters act off screen. Characters’ profiles provide extra insight into their background too, like how it reveals Tsugumi has been friend with Coco during her time in the RG. During the game when not all characters have showed up, you can sometimes guess which empty spot will belong to whom. For example there is a 1 character linking to Neky that is not linked to anyone else, so I could guess that was Joshua, and that another character linking only to Joshua was probably Hazuki, hinting that the 2 Composers are related before either of them even showed up.

Hazuki only showed up for 5 minutes, but his presence is so vital and true to the game that I think he is the most memorable out of the new cast. The two Composers have such an intriguing bond, with their yin/yang or phoenix/dragon themes, opposite color design, the sempai/kouhai tone and the way they keep some sort of distance/work relationship as if it’s mandatory between Higher beings, yet at the same time they can talk so casually because they are truly equal – and different from one another. I have written a separate meta on them here.

Some people pointed out, that all Shinjuku characters’ names and themes are based off Hanafuda cards and the Phoenix in Hanafuda belongs to the Paulownia suit – which is Joshua’s name flower. This is so interesting because it feels like the creators somehow saw it as a sign to interweave the Shibuya and Shinjuku storylines together. Though it doesn’t come out much on the surface, it’s fascinating nonetheless considering both Josh and Haz had at some point interfered with the other town’s affairs.

“Shibuya tour with Haz” was such a special scene, as it happened between 2 characters who do not/no longer have a reason to care about Shibuya, on the subject of what is worth saving about Shibuya. Hazuki carried out the purification of Shinjuku and stepped in to restore Shibuya just as part of his job and unlike Hanekoma or Joshua who both possess profound understanding of humanity, he really didn’t know humans at all. Rindo’s irrational wish invoked in him a sense of curiosity, to try gambling on something irrationally and learning a bit of what his senior have experienced. With all the pieces put together, it provides an overview on Higher beings as a whole, and that Joshua and Hanekoma are really the odd ones out with Hazuki being somewhere in between them and the rest.        

The old friends

It’s easy to have returning characters overshadow the new cast as they have already matured out of their personal story arc and stayed in our hearts for all this time. In the end, I have managed to enjoy both the old and new cast separately and altogether, and they will both find their own place in our memory of this game for the long term.

Sho is truly as crazy as ever, the game wouldn’t be the same if Sho is any less of what he is. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like Neky or Beat is younger than Nagi at all, with moments when it seems like Neky has aged 14 years instead of 3 years. His friendship with Coco surprised me pleasantly, and their interaction together with Beat was fun to watch. Rhyme’s found a new dream and her friendship with Kaie is precious too, especially considering that she can still talk to him online after the game ended. Josh and Neku’s interaction suggested that they have resolved the past and are on equal terms now, they even parted ways in good spirit and I don’t feel any worry about them like I did before.

Neku and Shiki’s reunion scene was beautiful, theirs is such a special bond that it has grown and supported them even without being able to see each other. I am so happy to see them all again and that they stay true to who they are, albeit looking more grown up, cooler and happier than ever before.  

Overall, NEO can’t become a classic on par with the OG, but is definitely a good sequel and a good game in its own rights. I’m happy with whether or not there will be a 3rd game to complete the 3 monkeys theme, but if there will be – I hope the creators can really find the time to learn from the last 2 games and start over with a fresh mindset and strong core.  

[tyrannuspitch]

Jumping off @kidrat​ ’s recent post on JKR, British transphobia, and transphobia against transmasculine people, after getting a bit carried away and too long to add as a comment:

A major, relatively undiscussed event in JKR’s descent into full terfery was this tweet:

[image id: a screenshot of a tweet from JK Rowling reading: “’People who menstruate.’ I’m sure there used to be a word for those people. Someone help me out. Wumben? Wimpund? Woomud?”

Rowling attaches a link to an article titled: “Opinion: Creating a more equal post-COVID-19 world for people who menstruate” /end id]

This can seem like a pretty mundane TERF talking point, just quibbling over language for the sake of it, but I think it’s worth discussing, especially in combination with the idea that cis women like JKR see transmasculine transition as a threat to their womanhood. (Recite it with horror: ”If I were young now, I might’ve transitioned...”)

A lot of people, pro- or anti-transphobe, will make this discussion about whether the term “woman” should include trans women or not, and how cis women are hostile to the inclusion of trans women. And that’s absolutely true. But the actual language cis women target is very frequently being changed for the benefit of trans men, not trans women, and most of them know this.

Cis people are used to having their identities constantly reaffirmed and grounded in their bodies. A lot of cis women, specifically, understand their social and physical identities as women as being defined by pain: misogynistic oppression is equated to the pains of menstruation or childbirth, and both are seen as the domain of cis women. They’re something cis women can bond over and build a “sisterhood” around, and the more socially aware among them can recognise that cis women’s pain being taken less seriously by medicine is not unrelated to their oppression. However, in the absence of any trans perspectives, these conversations can also easily become very territorial and very bioessentialist.

Therefore... for many cis women, seeing “female bodies” described in gender neutral language feels like stripping their pain of its meaning, and they can become very defensive and angry.

And the consequences for transmasculine people can be extremely dangerous.

Not only do transmasculine people have an equal right to cis women to define our bodies as our own... Using inclusive language in healthcare is about more than just emotional validation.

The status quo in healthcare is already non-inclusive. When seeking medical help, trans people can expect to be misgendered and to have to explain how our bodies work to the doctors. We risk harassment, pressure to detransition, pressure to sterilise ourselves, or just being outright turned away. And the conversation around pregnancy and abortion in particular is heaving with cisnormativity - both feminist and anti-feminist cis women constantly talk about pregnancy as a quintessentially female experience which men could never understand.

Using gender-neutral language is the most basic step possible to try and make transmasculine people safer in healthcare, by removing the idea that these are “women’s spaces”, that men needing these services is impossible, and that safety depends on ideas like “we’re all women here”. Not institutionally subjecting us to misgendering and removing the excuse to outright deny us treatment is, again, one of the most basic steps that can be taken. It doesn’t mean we’re allowed comfort, dignity or full autonomy, just that one major threat is being addressed. The backlash against this from cis women is defending their poorly developed senses of self... at the cost of most basic dignity and safety for transmasculine people.

Ironically, though transphobic cis women feel like decoupling “women’s experiences” from womanhood is decoupling them from gendered oppression, transmasculine people experience even more marginalisation than cis women. Our rates of suicide and assault are even higher. Our health is even less researched than cis women’s. Our bodies are even more strictly controlled. Cis women wanting to define our bodies on their terms is a significant part of that. They hold the things we need hostage as “women’s rights”, “women’s health”, “women’s discussions” and “support for violence against women”, and demand we (re-)closet ourselves or lose all of their solidarity.

Fundamentally, the problem is that transphobic cis women are possessive over their experiences and anyone who shares them. Because of their binary understanding of gender, they’re uncomfortable with another group sharing many of their experiences but defining themselves differently. They’re uncomfortable with transmasculine people identifying “with the enemy” instead of “with their sisters”, and they’re even more uncomfortable with the idea that there are men in the world who they oppress, and not the other way around. “Oppression is for women; you can’t call yourself a man and still claim women’s experiences. Pregnancy is for women; if you want to be a man so badly why haven’t already you done something about having a woman’s body? How dare you abandon the sisterhood while inhabiting one of our bodies?”

Which brings me back to the TERF line about how “If I were young now, I might have transitioned.”

I’m not saying Rowling doesn’t actually feel any personal connection to that narrative - but it is a standard line, and it’s standard for a reason. Transphobic cis women really believe that there is nothing trans men go through that cis women don’t. They equate our dysphoria to internalised misogyny, eating disorders, sexual abuse or other things they see as “female trauma”. They equate our desire to transition to a desire to escape. They want to “help us accept ourselves” and “save us” from threats to their sense of identity. The fact is, this is all projection. They refuse to consider that we really have a different internal experience from them.

There’s also a marked tendency among less overtly transphobic cis women, even self-proclaimed trans allies, to make transphobia towards trans men about cis women.

Violence against trans men is chronically misreported and redefined as “violence against women”. In activist spaces, we’re frequently told that any trauma we have with misogyny is “misdirected” and therefore “not really about us”. If we were women, we would’ve been “experiencing misogyny”, but men can’t do that, so we should shut up and stop “talking over women”. (Despite the surface difference of whether they claim to affirm our gender, this is extremely similar to how TERFs tell us that everything we experience is “just misogyny”, but that transmasculine identity is a delusion that strips us of the ability to understand gender or the right to talk about it.)

I have personally witnessed an actual N*zi writing an article about how trans men are “destroying the white race” by transitioning and therefore becoming unfit to carry children, and because the N*zi had misgendered trans men in his article, every response I saw to it was about “men controlling women’s bodies”.

All a transphobe has to do is misgender us, and the conversation about our own oppression is once again about someone else.

Transphobes will misgender us as a form of violence, and cis feminist “allies” will perpetuate our misgendering for rhetorical convenience. Yes, there is room to analyse how trans men are treated by people who see us as women - but applying a simple “men oppressing women” dynamic that erases our maleness while refusing to even name transphobia or cissexism is not that. Trans men’s oppression is not identical to cis women’s, and forcing us to articulate it in ways that would include cis women in it means we cannot discuss the differences.

It may seem like I’ve strayed a long way from the original topic, and I kind of have, but the central reason for all of these things is the same:

Trans men challenge cis women’s self-concept. We force them to actually consider what manhood and womanhood are and to re-analyse their relationship to oppression, beyond a simple binary patriarchy. 

TERFs will tell you themselves that the acknowledgement of trans people, including trans men, is an “existential threat” that is “erasing womanhood” - not just our own, but cis women’s too. They hate the idea that biology doesn’t determine gender, and that gender does not have a strict binary relationship to oppression. They’re resentful of the idea that they could just “become men”, threatened by the assertion that doing so is not an escape, and completely indignant at the idea that their cis womanhood could give them any kind of power. They are, fundamentally, desperate not to have to face the questions we force them to consider, so they erase us, deflect from us, and talk over us at every opportunity.

Trans men are constantly redefined against our wills for the benefit of cis womanhood.

TL;DR:

Cis women find transmasculine identity threatening, because we share experiences that they see as foundational to their womanhood

The fact that transphobes target inclusive language in healthcare specifically is not a mistake - They do not want us to be able to transition safely

Cis women are uncomfortable acknowledging transphobia, so they make discussion of trans men’s oppression about “womanhood” instead

This can manifest as fully denying that trans men experience our own oppression, or as pretending trans men’s experiences are identical to cis women’s in every way

[yeojaa]

feed me, fight me.

pairing.  boxer!jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  relationship issues, baby angst, comfort, unprotected sex (please be responsible!).  wc. 3.5k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif​, always.  💖  author note.  i’m really into comfort fics rn so... 

What do you get when you mix a pissed off girlfriend with a neglectful boyfriend?  (Aside from trouble, that is.)

The answer is you - throwing punches far harder than you should be, completely disregarding the fact that you’re meant to be playing the part of perfect partner, meeting pads in the sequence he’s laid out.  It’s you throwing a hook when you should be swinging an uppercut.  It’s you, snapping your leg out with a satisfying thunk! of your shin when you should only be thip kicking.  It’s you, not giving a single damn as you take out all your frustrations on someone who’s growing increasingly more irritated by your childishness.  It’s you, blatantly disrespecting him in his ring - sending a reminder that there’s more to life than the four corners of this space. 

How can he blame you though, when he’s the reason?  When you’ve voiced your annoyance more than once - more than twice, more times than you care to count - and each time it’s met with a half-hearted apology (if you could even call it that)?  How can he hold it against you when you’ve asked, demanded, pleaded for more? 

“Cut it out,”  he seethes, quiet, under his breath, irritation igniting his expression, something hot and angry burning in the dark of his stare.  A withering wildfire in an empty field, smoldering coals flickering bright.  It presents itself in how his mouth curls, the hard line of his jaw as bone threatens to snap in half from the tension. 

“Cut what out?”  Your retort is punctuated by the smack of leather on leather, the worn edge of your boxing glove meeting the pad that Jungkook raises just in time to avoid a black eye. 

“What’s your problem?”  How he manages to snipe back - somehow sounding disgruntled by your behaviour - you’re not sure.  All you know is it boils your blood, searing heat within your veins when he effortlessly blocks your next jab.  He knows you well and knows the sport better, predicting each movement as if you’re telegraphing it all with a giant neon sign on your forehead. 

(You probably are.  You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions, pinning your heart on your sleeve, your sadness heavy in your mouth.  They wear you, rather than you it.  A weakness of yours.)

“You’re my problem.” 

“Shut up.”  It’s not the usual exasperated annoyance he levels you with, meaner and paired with a swat of your gloved hand.  He’s not supposed to be countering you, instead only blocking the punches you throw his way. 

(But then again - when did he ever listen to you?  When did he ever do what he was supposed to?)

(It’s not a fair assertion.  You’re just mad.  Livid beyond belief, standing atop this hill that you’ll happily die on.)

“Fuck you,”  you snap, offering the petulant comeback in the same instance you surge forward.  He blocks your jab - sees it coming from a mile away - and goes to block your hook. 

Except it never comes, your knee straightening out instead, hard edge of your shin slamming right into the side of his leg. 

He crumples more out of surprise than anything, eyes wide, all the anger swept away by something closer to astonishment.  It shines impossibly bright in his eyes, turning his entire expression upside down when his knee hits the ground.  By how he falls, you’re sure you’ve hit just the right spot, left his nerve endings buzzing uncomfortably as the feeling leaves the limb. 

“Are you serious?”  You know he’s genuinely baffled then, voice slipping, cracking in a way you’d normally find adorable.  (It goes to show how upset you are, the awkward split of his words doing nothing to soothe your temper.)  “What’s your issue?”  He’s still seated on the floor, rocking back on his heels, brow knit in consternation.  It’d take him seconds to jump up - to put you on your ass - but he chooses to remain where he is, staring up at you with that look on his face.

(That look you love.  That you hate.  That makes your insides turn to goo on his best days and misery on your worst.  That you’ve seen every single day for the last three years, as the first thing upon waking up and the last thing before passing out.  That makes you hesitate now, peering down into it.)

(Were you being unnecessary?  Unbearable?  Was this on you?)

“I’m going home.”  It’d be nice to tear your gloves off, throw them in his face and storm off in a huff.  It’d cause the scene you’re hoping for, push him to where you need.  (Because that’s the thing about Jungkook - he doesn’t react otherwise and you’re sick of it.)  Instead, you turn on your heel and slink away, silent as a mouse.  

You’re tired.  Too tired.  Why had you started something you couldn’t finish?

It shouldn’t surprise you that you’re home alone for hours that night, curled up in bed and half-asleep when light from the hallway spills into your bedroom.  It comes with hardly any noise, a tell-tale sign he’s trying not to wake you (or disturb you or get caught).  You almost let it slide when his figure appears in the doorway, broad frame swallowed up by the oversized sweater he wears.

He’s moving near silently, having already deposited his gym bag in the laundry room.  He doesn’t even switch the light on, moving around in the muted glow of the hallway, fumbling as he strips his clothes off and tosses them into the hamper against the wall. 

You expect him to head directly into the en suite, wash away whatever grime he’s accumulated throughout the day.  He’s always been this way, far too concerned with dragging in odour and dirt into your bed to do otherwise.

Except tonight, he doesn’t follow his usual routine.  Tonight, he makes a detour.

The bed dips before you realise what’s happening, grip on the pillow under your head tightening.  Words fit between your teeth, ready to spill out, lash out, tear out like a bullet deadset on landing a bullseye. 

“I’m sorry.”  Two words you’ve been waiting to hear, that startle you enough to throw your anger out the window, tossing them out with the wash.  “I don’t know why you’re upset but I’m sorry for whatever it is.”  He’s speaking into the quiet of your bedroom.  You can feel his hand settled on the bed, wrist somewhere over the line of your spine.  

Oh - he thinks you’re asleep.

“Things have been crazy.  I’ve been stressed.”  Here, under cover of night, he’s vulnerable, explanation tumbling forth uncertainly.  You can hear it in the way the words form, syllables slipping into each other - a sure sign of his exhaustion.  “I know that’s not an excuse, so I’ll be better.”  Though he readjusts, weight distributing differently over the bed, he isn’t touching you.  You can only imagine how he looks, the posture he’s taken on, arms leant over knees, hands twisting together in that way of his that begs a silent help me.  A version of him you’ve seen only a handful of times.  

(Jeon Jungkook does not let things get to him.  Never has, likely never will.  He’s immaculately put together, strung tight by years of growing up too fast, wanting too much and fearing it’ll slip away.  He goes and goes until he can’t any more and only then does he still, crashing headlong over a cliff of his own creation.)

It’s then that you realise while you’ve grown irritated with his preoccupation, coming second to the man you’ve only ever put first, he’s been suffering right alongside you.  Differently, certainly, but suffering nonetheless.  Holding his cards close as he’s always done, shouldering all the things on his own and hoping for the best.

Irritation flares first.  Anger at the fact that he hadn’t confided in you.  It burns bright, erodes everything else in its path.

And then it dims almost immediately, overshadowed by a tenderness that blooms in the small of your chest.  Rosebuds that fill the cavity and swath affection in broad strokes, colouring everything purple - a pretty mosaic made up of equal parts love and sadness.

“You should’ve said something.”  

Bambi-eyed baby is your nickname for your boyfriend - one he reluctantly wears, scowls at when you use it in public - and yet you’re still blown away by the glossiness of his stare, how wide it goes when you roll to face him, simultaneously flicking your bedside light on.  There’s embarrassment crowding his expression, lighting up every handsome facet of his features in technicolour.  He works to hide it almost immediately, moves back on the bed as if he might find himself a home in the shadows.

“I thought you were sleeping,”  he mumbles, not quite looking at you, stare focused on your pillow case, the white linen that you’d bought when you’d moved in together.  “Did I wake you up?”

Though his concern is real, you know it’s a distraction too.  His way of deflecting, shifting the focus back to you.  

(Jeon Jungkook doesn’t live in the spotlight.  Hates it, in fact.  It’s a curious combination - wanting to be praised, to show off, and yet fearing failure so strongly.  A worrying mix when he’s down and an endearing one when he’s up.)

You’re still cocooned, still held far enough away that he hasn’t run for the hills, locking himself in the bathroom to put a further physical barrier between you.  Should you move too fast, you know he’ll spook.  Push too hard, he’ll leave.  

“Couldn’t sleep without you.”  It’s true enough.  Dreams had evaded you for the better part of the evening, held somewhere by hands inked like his, blemished by scars and calluses like his. They’d been kept in his coat pocket, tucked behind his ear.  (So maybe it’d been anger, too, that’d kept you up.  That doesn’t matter now.)

The disbelief is evident, both in his words and the quirk of his mouth, bathed in dim light.  “Really?”

(You sometimes wonder how different the two of you see things.  What a day looks like from his point of view - whether he reads all of your interactions in the same way.  You’ve always been terribly incompatible in that way, opposites in so many respects that it’d frankly baffled your friends when you’d started dating.

You were intent - sometimes too intent - on resolving problems, never letting up.  Forcing conversations you felt you needed to have, demanding answers even before there was one.  He, on the other hand, was uncomfortable with conflict, choosing to ignore the things that bothered him until they went away.  It’d driven you absolutely insane at first, made you worry that it was you that was the issue, simply being too much.  

But over time - three long years, to be exact - you’d found a common ground.  Or so you’d thought.)

“Why are you so surprised?”  

“You were pissed earlier.”  There’s a lightness to his tone, careful consideration poured into each word he offers, as if he’s navigating a minefield.  You’ve had these kinds of disagreements too many times for him to believe otherwise, as if his caution is a part of him, stitched lovingly - forcefully - by your hand.  “Thought you wouldn’t wait up for me.”  

“I shouldn’t have,”  you retort before you can help it, still just a little childish, a little hurt.  “But you know I hate going to bed angry.”  Of course he knows.  He’s lost hours of sleep due to your insistence that everything be talked out. 

He hums a noncommittal sound - more of a grunt - and you know your window is closing.  Now that you’re not out for blood, he’s retreating as he always does.  Readying himself to rise from the bed, close this half-read chapter and move onto the next. 

You beat him before he can, curling your fingers around his wrist, over the dangling silver chain.  (His birthday gift this year, heavy metal that’s cold under your touch.)  

“Don’t.”

One blink.  Another.  Slow and confused - deliberately so.  Then he’s looking away, staring down at the ground as if you haven’t just read his next move.  The ring might be his domain but home is yours;  it’s the one place you hold the upper hand.  “What?”  

“Don’t leave.”  It’s easy to read the meaning in between your words, the unspoken request that might as well be brilliant red ink.  It’s far kinder than your usual demands, more pleading than begrudging, more need than want.  

“I need to shower.”  

It’s not a no - which you suppose is a win. 

“Just wait.”  Your request comes with an adjustment, whole tired frame rising from the bed only to sink back down - this time against your partner, your other half, your infuriating love.  He accepts you readily, dropping his ink-strewn hand over your covered thigh.  The weight is comforting over the warmth of the duvet, grounding you in the quiet of your home.

“I’m gross,”  he complains, though he doesn’t make to move away.  Stays right by your side when you drop your head against his bare shoulder.  “Now you’re gross.”

“We can be gross together.”  Because you’re not ready for him to leave you, to close the door as he so often does.  (And, for once, you’re not quite as angry, not seeking an argument that’ll give you the resolution you hope for.  You want communication, open and honest.  You want him, vulnerable and soft.)

A little sigh comes, a puff of breath that expands his doughy cheeks and sends wayward strands fluttering.  It’s less resigned and more endeared - you know how much it means when his acquiesces like this.  

Maybe he wants those same things, you think.  

“Do you wanna shower?”  You ask in perfect tandem, words folding together.  You nod in the same way.

Encased in the small space - it’s different.  He’s preoccupied, back turned to you, shielding you from the slow-heating stream.  It’s as if his mind is a thousand lightyears away, trapped somewhere with the stars as the water rains down around the two of you, fogging the glass and wetting his hair. 

“Babe?”  

There’s a delay before he reacts, peering over his shoulder at you, a faraway look in his eyes.  You wonder what he’d been thinking of, whether he’s still on the same page as you or if he’s skipped ahead as he tends to do.  When he speaks, you have your answer, his words flicking through paper to bring you two where you need to be.  

“Can you wash my hair?”  An indulgent treat he rarely requests, one he seldom allows.  He’s far too on the go, jumping from this to that to spend much time like this with you. 

It’s a sign if there ever was one. 

You reach for your shampoo bottle wordlessly, popping the cap and depositing sweet peach-scented liquid into your hands.  They fold into his strands carefully, tips of your fingers pressing into his scalp, delightful bubbles accumulating between your digits.  He doesn’t make a sound but you feel the way he relaxes, practically melting into your touch as you work the cleanser through his roots, careful to keep the suds from descending into his eyes. 

When was the last time you’d done this?  Weeks ago?  Months, maybe?  You honestly can’t recall.  (Not that it matters now.  You’ve found yourselves back here, terribly tender and intimate in the dead of night.  Almost as if no time has passed at all.)

Silence stretches between the two of you.  You don’t even need to instruct him to rinse, running seamlessly through the routine without hesitation. 

Conditioner replaces shampoo, deft fingers combing through the few knots in his feather soft strands.  Though there are hardly any, you know he loves when you take extra care, treating him in ways he’d never ask for otherwise.  He savours these quiet moments of almost-solitude, spoiled rotten by your familiar touch and comforting affection.  

You’d give it every single day if you could.  Had, in fact. 

That’s what’d brought you here, after all. 

“‘m sorry,”  he says - mumbles really - surprising you as you’re working your fingers into the nape of his neck, concentrating on the tension that’s carved out a home beneath muscle and sinew, turned bone iron-clad. 

“For what?” 

Any other time, it might’ve come across demanding, needing an answer that would soothe whatever inadequacy he’d somehow strung your heart up with.  Now, it’s genuine, asked more for him than you.  

You want to be let in.  Need it. 

“Being out of it, I guess.”  It’s a lot for him - admitting this.  “I’ve just been busy and I guess I kind of just—“  The imposing line of his shoulders rise and fall, a mountain range disturbed by the uncertainty in his voice.  

“Forgot about me?”  You don’t mean it meanly.  It’s a simple statement of fact, one the both of you have to face. 

“Yeah.  Something like that.”

You deliberate accepting the apology and moving on, sweeping it under the rug because he’s already come so much further than you’d thought he would.  But that’s not the kind of person you are, so you press just a little more, stand just a little taller. 

“I don’t think I ask for the world, Kook.”  Maybe more than some people.  Maybe less than others.  “If I’m being too much, I’d rather you let me know than shut me out.”

A sigh comes, so heavy you wonder whether he might be Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.  

“No, I know.”  

“Do you?”

(At some point you’d stopped massaging the conditioner in, opting to crowd your hands over his back, working into the knots that run beneath his skin.  He hadn’t been lying - he’s stiff as a board, entire broad form twitching any time you press the pads of your thumbs into a particularly sensitive spot.)

“I thought I’d figure it out myself,”  he reasons, in that oh-so impossible Jeon Jungkook way of his.  “Didn't realise it was taking a toll on you.” 

“On us,”  you correct, not at all tactful.  

“On us,”  he agrees with another sigh, smaller this time, tinged blue with something that feels like guilt and fills up the glass space. 

“We’re a team, you know.” 

(You know he knows.  You just have to remind him sometimes, anchor him with the knowledge that it’s not him against the world.  That you’re in his corner - always.)

“I know.” 

When he turns to look at you - doesn’t even flinch when the sudden movement has you wobbling on your feet, catches you when you stumble - you don’t doubt that.  He loves you just as much as you love him, sees the whole world in the small of your stare.  

“I’m sorry,”  he says again, two hands coming to cradle your face, palms warm over each cheek.  “Just give me some time.”  For what, you’re not sure.  You don’t mind waiting to find out though - willing to weather the storm just to see him happy.  

Jungkook holds you close, threads his fingers through yours and peppers love into the silk of your hair.  Dresses your skin in the heat of his affection and sears his signature into the velvet of your skin, teeth dragging, tongue gliding.  

“Is this better?”  He means how he holds you, how he treats you like porcelain as he fucks you slow and tender, keeps one leg hooked back over his own. 

It’s not that this is the kind of lovemaking you prefer but rather the one you need, with him consuming you wholly, sweetly, filling you with each fluid roll of his hips and nothing else.  No elaborate dirty talk, no overzealous bouncing, just the two of you together, curled against each other like you might not survive otherwise.  

He’s not pushing you to your finish with deft fingers over your clit, not taking his fill with greedy hands.  He’s simply there, with you, feeling every curve of your body as he sinks into your aching cunt and sighs as if he’s in heaven.  (And maybe he is - because where he is could only ever be where you are and you feel like you’re floating, weightless and lovestruck, anchored only to your bed by the hand that squeezes yours and the mouth that purrs your name.) 

“Yes,”  you breathe, exhale in a breath that seems to take all of your effort.  It’s hard to focus when he splits you open so well, fills your pussy and your heart and makes your chest erupt with a kaleidoscope of butterflies. 

“I love you, sweetheart.”

When he says it like that - folds it like a promise and tucks it into the spot behind your ear - you know it’s true.  Even if you don’t always feel it, even if he doesn’t always show it, there’s not a doubt in your mind. 

In all the ways he can, he loves you.  And whether that means enough from one day to the next, you don’t mind sticking around to find out.  Not if it means more of this. 

(Of him, of you, of your life together.)

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

[deus-ex-mona]

If I Went on a Trip with You: Chapter 11

i almost typed ‘if i went on a date with you’ in the title whoops

Previous part (Chapter 10)

Next part (Epilogue)

Aizo: I’ve seen Sannenzaka on TV and in magazines, but it really is different to actually be here in person…

Aizo: It looks just like the set of a drama or a movie!

Yujiro: It’s been used as an actual filming location before, though. Wait, I mean, don’t you think that it’s actually rather mundane?

Aizo: Ugh… Can’t you just agree with me honestly for once?

Yujiro: It’s impossible because I don’t understand you at all.

Aizo: Haah… That’s always how it is with you, huh. Well, it’s fine, though.

Aizo: We’ve seen most of the place, so it’s about time that we headed back to the inn, right?

Yujiro: Yeah.

Yujiro: Bonds don’t just exist within family members, you know?

Yujiro: This view that I can see from Kiyomizu-dera, as well as the view from the stage when I’m standing by your side, Aizo…

Yujiro: I think both of them are equally good views. I also think that we’ll be able to see much better scenery than those.

Yujiro: I wonder if such a thing can be called a bond as well.

Yujiro: (Why did I say that? That was way too embarrassing…)

Aizo: Oi. Why are you walking so far away from me?

Yujiro: It’s not that I’m doing so or anything. Legend says that it’s not good to fall here, so I’m just trying to be careful.

Aizo: Eh, for real?! You should’ve said so earlier…!

Yujiro: (I hope that he’ll hurry up and forget all about our earlier conversation.)

Aizo: Hey, going back to our conversation from just now, I’ve been thinking about what we’re lacking.

Yujiro: (...Of course he didn’t forget about it.)

Aizo: If we were a comedy duo, you’d be the funny man, and I’d be the straight man… Don’t you think it’d be pretty sweet if we had these roles?

Yujiro: Why am I the funny man? No matter how you think about it, it fits you more, no? Whatever, just forget all about what happened earlier.

Aizo: I won’t forget about it. No matter how you look at it, I’m the straight man, and you’re the funny man, right?

Yujiro: Eh… Are you serious?

Aizo: That’s what I just said, didn’t I? You can ask Suzumi too.

Yujiro: I think everyone would have the same opinion as me, though. I mean, doesn’t a funny man actually have to be funny?

Yujiro: (I was wondering what he was going to say… but it ended up being yet another weird thing… well, it’s just like Aizo to do that, though.)

Aizo: It’s been quite some time since LIPxLIP was formed, but I still don’t know you that well.

Yujiro: That’s my line.

Yujiro: (Why is he so quick to speak, yet he keeps the most important things hidden under a lonely look on his face?)

Yujiro: (He really isn’t honest… Well, not that I’m better than him in that regard.)

Aizo: …But, well, this trip was kinda fun. 

Aizo: Also… I’m really thankful that you found my strap for me.

Yujiro: Eh?

Aizo: To be honest, I had completely given up on finding it… so I’m happy that you did.

Yujiro: (That should be my line… Thanks to Aizo, my first ever trip wasn’t bad at all…)

Yujiro: I—

Yujiro: (For not giving up on me and for going out with me, really—)

Yujiro: It was really hard to take care of you.

Aizo: Huh?! That’s my line! Besides, you’re—

Aizo: …

Yujiro: ...What?

Aizo: Nah. …I don’t want to argue with you anymore today. I’m glad that I came on this trip with you, and that’s all I’m gonna say!

Yujiro: Agreed. It was a nice change of pace… Let’s go to practice as soon as we return.

Yujiro: (We have lots of things to do from now on, after all.)

Aizo: …Let’s head back to Tokyo.

Aizo: We’ve got to make all of the things that we talked about come true.

Aizo: Let’s continue to do our best together in Tokyo!

Yujiro: …

Yujiro: (He really does say a lot of unnecessary things, doesn’t he…)

Yujiro: (Even if he didn’t bother to say it aloud, I already feel the same way that he does…—)

[highdramas]

steady now | b.b.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝'𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: language, possible tfatws spoilers, mention of death? sort of? mention of the blip mostly, some angst, references to sexxxx babie

word count: 4.3k wowie

summary: bucky is not the only one with amends to make.

note: here’s another installment in the twalb story <3 again, you don’t have to read these in order, they stand independently, but they do all work together! PLEASE leave feedback/reblog! this is extremely helpful for me writing future parts to know what everyone likes or doesn’t like! i’m extremely proud of this part so i really hope that you all enjoy it as much as i’ve enjoyed writing it <3

enjoy! <3

there was once a time where you loved california.

there was once a time where you had a boyfriend with an easy smile and charming demeanor and a family in ventura. his name was felix, and you always told people that he could make anyone fall in love with him with nothing but that stupid smile of him-- of course, you never said how that upset you. you never said how it hurt when the waitress looked at him with dazzling eyes and how he seemed to relish in the attention.

you never voiced how he seemed to eventually bore of the attention that you gave him. you never voiced the way that you wished he would look at you with those dazzling eyes and give you that breezy laughter and that look that said i have you in the palm of my hand.

he did. he didn’t need to give you that look to know that.

sometimes, you wonder if he felt any sort of relief after the blip. you wonder if when you dusted right before him, if he felt like he won in some sick way. of course, you know that he would never admit that. he would never make that known to anyone. maybe even himself. but subconsciously… you wonder if you were simply an accessory that was worn out of convenience, and if your fading from reality was the biggest convenience at all.

it’s sick. you know it’s sick, and likely not true. but still. you wonder.

when you returned, the first thing that you did when you got your hands on a cell phone was call him. you called him and you cried and you said that you were okay, you were here. you asked him what the hell happened. you asked him if it had really been five years.

you heard a voice in the background. it was feminine, light, airy. the voice of a fairy. you’ll never forget hearing that voice. you learned later that she was his fiance.

you’ll never forget the sort of heartbreak that you felt. it was visceral. the knowing-- the knowing that it wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t anything that you did. it was merely the absence of you. you still wonder how long he mourned. you wonder how long it took. you saw him only a handful of times after you returned. he had cried, and you had stared, unsure what to say.

how do you apologize for fading from existence?

that was the first time you saw him. the second was worse.

the second, you were angry. you were angry and you lashed out. what was supposed to be an easy dinner turned into an explosion of tears and fury, the words this isn’t fair and what was i supposed to do? wait for you? and so desperately you had wanted to say yes. you wanted to say that you wished he had held out hope, that he stayed up and dreamt of you and that he was devoted.

it was a selfish thought. he had told you politely to not contact him again.

you had learned that he had moved back to ventura with his fairy girlfriend from some casual facebook stalking. they bought a house on the coast. they’re planning a wedding.. she is beautiful, and you noticed something from the pictures you see of them together right away. he looks at her not like he was charming her, but like she was charming him.

that’s what made you realize he was never yours to begin with.

now, you’re in california again. now, bucky sits beside you and he drives and you control the music. now, he looks at you like you have hung the stars in the sky and propped up the moon. and you look at him the same way.

bucky has amends to make, but so do you.

when he reaches over and places his hand on your thigh, you smile. you place your hand over his and you squeeze. you’d insisted that you two rent a convertible, and though he rolled his eyes, he obliged. you drive down the pch and it is april and the sun is warm and inviting but not abrasive. he wears sunglasses and he doesn’t wear the gloves. he wears a short sleeved shirt.

it’s enough to make you smile and lay your hand back against the seat and make you think: everything happened just the way it should.

bucky is here to extend his amends to the chaplin family. well… really, he’s here to set them up with the CIA. they’ve been hydra sympathizers for years.

you, on the other hand, are here to extend amends of your own.

bucky knows. bucky knows and he watched you recall the story with tears blurring your vision. you would hiccup and say, “i’m sorry. i’m not sad over him, not anymore. i’m just sad that i could be forgotten so easily.”

he had held your face in his hands and he swiped at your tears and he said, “you’re impossible to forget.”

at first, when you brought up coming with him, he had been hesitant. his endeavors with the amends and with sam, he tends to like keeping separate. you get it. you know he doesn’t want to put you anywhere near the danger that he encounters, even if that maddens you. but then, your face fell and you held out the wedding invitation that had arrived in your mailbox. “i want to go.”

bucky takes it and he studies it and he clenches his jaw. he looks at you through his lashes. “i’m going with you.”

now, the wedding is in three days. you wonder if he was surprise when you sent in your rsvp marked yes. you were surprised that he invited you at all.

once, you remember him saying to you, “sometimes, you have to extend olive branches. you’re too damn stubborn for your own good.”

this is your olive branch.

bucky squeezes your thigh and his thumb makes small circles and it instills a calm in you that you haven’t felt since you stepped foot on the plane. he glances over at you. “we don’t have to go.” this isn’t the first time that he’s said this. “we can stay in our hotel all week. i’m sure we can find something to do.”

your jaw drops and you look over at him and he has that smug look on his face. it’s been nice, watching him slip into ease with you. “you are such a pig.”

“i’m just saying, we have options.”

you laugh and you swat his hand away. he grins and he places it on the head rest, his fingers idly playing with a few strands of your hair that blow in the wind as he drives. you pull up to the hotel and you check in and bucky carries all of your bags, which you try to object, but he simply does not care. you fall back onto the mattress and he follows suit and he presses his lips to yours, presses them to your pulse point, your jaw. he whispers against your skin that you are beautiful. he whispers against your skin that you’re an angel.

angel. he always calls you that.

hours pass and you spend most of them beneath bucky, breathless. eventually it is the middle of the night and you have done nothing but fuck and you’ll be the first one to admit that they were hours well spent. he’s propped up on an elbow and he looks down at you, dewy and heavy lidded. “why’d you want to come out here? to the wedding?”

you can’t help but laugh. “that’s what you want to talk about right now?”

he blushes, moves to hide his face, but you beam and you place your hand on the side of his face. you push yourself up and sit criss cross, holding the sheet to your body, facing him. he follows suit.

the two of you do this back home. whether you’re sitting on the living room floor or in bed. it’s easier to talk in the dark, bucky once said. you’d never forgotten. so, this became a sort of unspoken ritual. you would sit with your knees brushing and you would talk and you would laugh and you never wanted this to change.

“i guess i don’t know why i wanted to come.” you reach for his hand and he offers it to you. you run your fingers along the golden grooves, and you swear that you see the hairs on his opposite arm begin to stand up. “i didn’t want to be seen as the bitter ex. i hate-- i hate being perceived. you know? like, i can’t control how anyone views me. i can’t control them thinking i’m crazy or irrational. but… they don’t know anything at all.” bucky’s eyes never leave you. “i wanted to come because i feel like i’m ready to face it. the truth of it. i don’t feel fearful of it all. i used to feel so… gross. gross about how i reacted and how i felt. i felt so selfish. but now…” you can’t help but smile a little bit and you touch the place on his chest where his heart lies in his ribcage. “i’m glad for it. all of it. it’s stupid, but… it brought me here.” you lean your palm into his chest just slightly more. he covers your hand with his and he pulls you in, your hand splayed out on him.

bucky is softening before you. so often you are the one who offers an ear and a comforting touch, but he is happy to repay the favor whenever you need it. “you’re too strong all the time.” his words are definitive, with no room for arguing. “you were hurting. you’re allowed to hurt. you didn’t have a choice in missing out on five years while the world went on without you.”

of course, you know he’s right, but it just feels good to hear it. it feels good to hear it from him. “and he was an asshole.” bucky’s jaw sets. “he had five years to mourn you and your relationship. he barely gave you a month. what sort of guy does that? to a girl he loved?” he shakes his head, as if shaking the thought from his person. “if that were me, i would’ve…”

you watch as he trails off. he looks down and away. you gently take his face and move it up, getting him to look at you again. he gives you this smile that is equal parts sorrow and loving, and you wish you could take away all his pain. “i’d mourn you for life. and i… if i got the chance to have you again? i’d--”

“bucky.” you cut him off smoothly and you shake your head. “that won’t happen.”

he smiles. “i know.” he pushes your hair back and his hand rests on the back of your neck. “i just can’t imagine someone having you and not--” he shakes his head. “he’s a fool.”

gently, your hands lay on his knees and you lean forward. “you asked why i wanted to come,” you whisper, your lips nearly touching his. “i wanted to come because i want to thank him.” you press your lips against his, and his hand goes to splay on your back, pulling you in nearer and nearer. “he recommended the apartment building.”

bucky grins and you connect in every possible place. you roll between the sheets once more and eventually, sleep overtakes you.

the days leading up to the wedding pass by in a relative blur. bucky goes to make his amends and though you offer to come, he shakes his head. “i’ll be quick,” is his promise, and he keeps good on it. he’s gone barely two hours.

you spend time on the beach and sight seeing. you don’t know if you’ve ever seen bucky this… relaxed. yes, he’s always slightly more alert than your average citizen, but you will never fault him for that. you go and get ice cream and you sit on a little bench and bucky stares at you. “what?” you asked and you raise your brows. “something on my face?”

“actually, yes.” he reaches out and swipes your bottom lip, coming back with some strawberry ice cream on his thumb. he pops it into his mouth and it makes your heart plummet to your stomach. “yum.”

you all but drag him back to your hotel.

finally, it is the day of the wedding.

bucky has been ready for hours. he likes unbearably handsome-- you’d gone with him to a shop in new york and had helped him pick out some new slacks and a nice fitting shirt. he had chuckled at the way that the pants hit his ankles and said, “it’s definitely not the forties anymore.”

you had picked out a sage green silk dress, and you smooth it out in the mirror, tilting your head to the side as you looked at yourself. bucky approaches you from behind and you’re so stuck in your own head that you hardly notice him until his hands are on you. they go to your shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into tense muscles with his thumbs. “you look beautiful, doll.” he leans forward and he presses a chaste kiss to your shoulder, which makes you smile, because it’s so him. “i wanna kiss you but i don’t want to mess up your makeup.”

“like that’s ever stopped you before.”

“i’m a gentleman.”

a smirk works its way onto your face and some of the nervous, fluttering monarchs in your stomach have begun to dissipate. you turn and he gently holds your face, examining it. he opens his mouth to say something, laughs, and closes it. “i don’t even know how…” he clears his throat. you swear that tears prick at his eyes. “i don’t even know how to say how much… how perfect you are. i’ll never be able to say it properly.”

everything about james buchanan barnes makes you melt, and this is no different. you sigh and you lean your body against his, and he holds you ever close. “thank you for coming with me,” you whisper into the skin of his neck. “i needed you here.”

he holds the back of your head carefully. “i’d follow you anywhere, doll.” he pulls back and his hand holds your face, and the vibranium is like a kiss to your cheek. “may i kiss you?”

your lips part and you nod-- and he takes his time kissing you. he kisses you long and tender, making sure that you feel everything. sometimes you think that this is easier than talking for him-- this is the way that he can show you how perfect he finds you. it’s better than any words he could string together.

the ride to the venue is somewhat of a blur. bucky doesn’t take his hand off of you-- it’s constantly holding yours. from the car to the walk inside to taking your seats-- you can feel the eyes that are glued to you, but you can feel bucky’s hand in yours more. you can hear the muffled whispers of gossiping friends and family, but you hear bucky’s murmured complaints louder, and they make you laugh.

felix is at the altar already. he’s talking with a groomsman and he laughs at something and you smile a bit. he looks happy, you think. bucky’s arm is slung across the back of your chair and his fingers trail up and down your shoulder, his eyes fixed on you.

you turn to look at him, too. you lay your hand on his knee and your smile says your thanks over and over and over again. bucky’s eyes flick to the altar, and he sees that you’ve finally been noticed. felix may be looking at you, but you will never know. you are looking at bucky.

the ceremony is pretty. bucky’s bored, you think-- that thought is enough to make you chuckle. felix’s fairy girlfriend is exactly what you gathered from the pictures-- she is energetic and kind, she is sweet and beautiful. the more you think, the more you watch the way that felix looks at her, the lighter you feel.

a part of you had feared that you would never get over him. that you would never get over the what if. possibilities tended to haunt you, but now, being here… you had known for a long time that not only had you gotten over him, you had found something so much better than what you had. but it’s the thought that thrums through you that you were not expecting.

you can see this for yourself. one day. bucky at an altar in a suit, you in white.

you smile to yourself in your seat. bucky looks over at you. you look over at him, just for a moment. your heart feels full.

felix begins his vows. “carly,” he begins and he clears his throat. you can tell that he’s already getting emotional. “never did i once expect to find you. never did i expect to find someone who fit with me so… completely.” you watch as his hands shake as he holds the piece of paper. “but i did. and i’m so lucky it was you.”

his vows go on, and they are beautiful. through it all, you can sense bucky beside you, entirely attentive to you.

the reception is on the beach. the sun is setting, and it is stunning. the food is good and every gives speeches and toasts and you’ve been placed at a table with some friends that both you and felix had known. of course, when shit hit the fan with you and felix, you hadn’t exactly kept in touch, but they’re kind nevertheless. some recognize bucky, and the questions they ask make you cringe. “so… winter soldier,” one of them, kya, begins. “you actually did all of that bad shit?”

it takes everything in you not to lunge across the table. bucky’s hand finds your leg underneath the table, already knowing what you’d like to do. you open your mouth to interject, but bucky cuts you off. “hydra did.” he gives a clipped smile. it leaves no room for discussion.

they ask about the avengers and about thanos, and all of it makes you roll your eyes. they talk to bucky as if he’s a toy rather than a human being. as everyone is mingling, you see the couple beginning to approach your table. everyone cheers and scoops them up into hugs. it makes a part of you sad. not because of him, but because it’s another reminder of how life went on without you.

you and bucky stand and approach them. you can almost feel bucky’s hesitation as he sizes up felix. the protectiveness in his stance makes your heart swell. carly smiles at you, but you can tell that there’s a hint of nervousness in her demeanor. “hi!” she says and she looks between you and bucky. “we were both so happy when we got your rsvp. a little surprised, but…”

your eyebrow raises and you look at them. “i wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” you place your hand on bucky’s arm. “felix, carly, this is my boyfriend, james. james, felix and carly.”

he shakes their hands and you note the way their eyes flick to the metal one on the other side. bucky and carly begin to make awkward small talk, and you look at felix. he looks at you. there’s something knowing in the stare. “want to take a walk?” he asks, nodding towards the beach.

you nod. felix turns to carly and you turn to bucky, who has a slightly concerned look written on his face. “it’ll be fine.” you lean in and you kiss him, wanting to take any insecurity from him. “play nice, but not too nice. if they say anything stupid, call them on it.”

bucky smirks. “you got it, doll.” he looks to felix and nods to him, and there’s something in bucky’s eyes that must scare him, because you swear felix pales slightly. and then you and felix set off.

for the first part of your walk, both of you are quiet. it’s as if both of you knew that this was inevitable, and now you’re just trying to figure out where to start. both of you begin to talk at the same time, and it causes awkward chuckles to fill the air between you. you stop by a log and you sit, staring out at the ocean. you cross your legs and you look over at him to find his gaze still on the ocean. finally, it moves to you. “i’m sorry.” you both say it at the same time.

a sad smile settles onto your face and you look away. “you first,” he says.”

“i’m sorry.” you look at him again. “i’m not sorry for the way that i felt. i’m not sorry for hurting. but i am sorry that i lashed out. i was… angry.” you suck in a breath. “people who stayed… they’ll always carry the grief and the trauma of those five years. but the people who came back? we came back to a world that had moved on. i can’t… i can’t explain to you how hard that was. it wasn’t just you. i lost everything.” you shake your head. “i took it all out on you. all that hurt. and i’m sorry for that.”

felix nods his head. “i’m sorry that i wasn’t more understanding of what you were going through. that i just… cut you off.” he swallows. “i had five years to come to terms with the fact that you weren’t coming back. even when you were back, it almost felt… fake. like i was looking at a ghost.” he swallows. “but i missed you. i want you to know that i missed you, and i thought about you.”

a small smile works onto your face. “thanks.” you look towards the crowd, where people are laughing and dancing. “she seems great.”

felix looks over his shoulder. “she is. she keeps me… in check. i can be kind of an asshole. i don’t know how either of you dealt with me.” this makes you laugh and roll your eyes. “you and bucky barnes, huh?”

“i have you to thank for that.” he looks at you in confusion. “the building you recommended me? we were neighbors.” you smile, thinking back on the memory of bucky barnes at your door, asking if you needed help building your cat tower. “he is the best thing that has happened to me,” you say it with no hint of hesitation.

felix smiles. “he looks like he’s crazy about you. he barely looks anywhere else.”

you bite down on your lip. “yeah, i’ve heard that before.” the wind ruffles your hair slightly, and you look at felix and he looks at you. “i’ve spent a lot of time being angry at you. i don’t want to be angry anymore.”

he shakes his head. “i don’t want to either.” he pauses. “maybe… maybe, one day, the four of us could… you know, get dinner or something.”

“yeah,” you nod your head. “one day.” you stand, and he follows suit, and you look up at him. “thank you. for inviting me.”

“thank you for coming.”

there’s a level of awkwardness that rests between you, and you think that perhaps it’s inevitable. but also, you can’t help the sense of relief.

part of you thinks that he’s itching to hug you, and you may be extending some forgiveness tonight, but you’re certainly not there yet. you begin to walk towards the party. “c’mon. you need to go to your bride.”

when you return, you think bucky might be ready to drive his steak knife through his eye. you approach him from behind, wrapping your arms around his shoulder and bending so that your face is beside his. “miss me?”

he snorts. “you have no idea, doll.”

you watch as felix makes his way to carly, and you meet his eye. he gives you a slight nod and a knowing smile, and you return it.

there’s a weight that’s lifted off of your chest.

“c’mon,” you say to bucky, tugging him up. “we’re going to dance.”

he groans and you laugh, pulling him by the hands to the dance floor. just as you are, you make me feel so young begins to play around you. as you step onto the dance floor, you begin singing the words quietly to him. your dancing slows to a light sway, and in your ear, bucky begins murmuring the words to you.

your eyes flutter shut and a sweeping calm comes over you. “you know… i never thought i would get married. did you?”

bucky’s hands have a firm place on your waist. “i grew up in the forties. of course i thought i was going to get married,” you two spin slightly. “but, after everything… i didn’t think that was ever going to be in the cards for me.”

your breath catches. “and now?”

“now?” bucky asks into your ear. “i can only dream i get lucky enough to have you as my bride.”

your cheeks grow warm. “mrs. barnes…” you lean back to look at him. “has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

the look on bucky’s face, you don’t know if you’ve ever seen that look before. “yes.” his voice is so firm it nearly brings you to your knees. “yes, it does.”

you two slow to a halt and bucky tilts your chin up. “guess i have some work to do,” his lips ghost over yours. “mrs. barnes.”

the world around you stops, and in that moment, it is only you and bucky. it is you and bucky at your ex’s wedding, and there is nowhere else you would want to be.

you’re beginning to understand why bucky likes making amends.

[pet-genius]

The Death Eaters as a Cult - Part 1

This is a very lightly edited old Reddit post, that I'll publish in parts because the whole thing is like 7000 words. Analyzing Voldemort, the DE and their dynamics, Dumbledore and Harry in comparison, and individual Death Eaters. Hope you like it!

Some say Voldemort is a cartoon villain, or wizard Hitler. I think he is very realistic, and that the focus on his political aspirations ignores interesting aspects of him. I cannot prove that JKR had cults in mind when she wrote Voldemort and his followers, but this is how I read them. It’s nearly impossible to define a cult, so, for the purpose hereof, I’m going with “a group dedicated to the worship of a person”. Many cult leaders in real life present themselves merely as “god’s voice” or “the messiah”, but Voldemort specifically didn’t bother to hide behind a power higher than himself.

Tom Riddle comes from humble beginnings, like many cult leaders - he’s raised in an orphanage. He already has delusions of grandeur, only in this case they’re not delusions, because he really is magic, which makes it all the more dangerous. Look how he reacted to discovering he was a wizard, and how Harry did.

Immediately following the revelation that Lily and James did not die in a car crash, and that Harry is famous, and that he survived an attempt at his life by the worst wizard in history:

Hagrid looked at Harry with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A wizard? Him? How could he possibly be? He’d spent his life being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if he was really a wizard, why hadn’t they been turned into warty toads every time they’d tried to lock him in his cupboard? If he’d once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick him around like a football?

“Hagrid,” he said quietly, “I think you must have made a mistake. I don’t think I can be a wizard.”

Heart-breaking. Harry doesn’t believe he can be special, he blames himself for the way he’s treated.

This is Tom Riddle:

“I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic.”

There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore’s, as though trying to catch one of them lying. “Magic?” he repeated in a whisper.

“That’s right,” said Dumbledore.

“It’s... it’s magic, what I can do?”

“What is it that you can do?”

“All sorts,” breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. “I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.”

His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer.

“I knew I was different,” he whispered to his own quivering fingers. “I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something.”

His megalomania and violent nature are already apparent, as is his preternatural control of his magic. It also hints at rudimentary legilimency.

Dumbledore spells out that young Tom Riddle equated magic with immortality and liked to collect trophies, and that Tom Riddle liked being special, as he resents the name Tom for being too common; he already lives behind a mask and only shows his true face in shock. This, and not Dumbledore’s magical prowess, is what always scared Tom. Voldemort knew Dumbledore knew what he was. That was the only tactical advantage Dumbledore had.

It’s also one of JKR’s strokes of brilliance: Dumbledore saw Tom for what Tom was, and others never did until it was too late, not because he was that clever, but because he knew from experience. Dumbledore had allowed himself to fall for a charismatic but heartless man before, and it took Ariana dying to slap him awake. Dumbledore knows good people can be led astray: It happened to him. It has nothing to do with intelligence or “goodness”. Gellert was able to give Albus exactly what Albus lacked, stuck at home taking care of Ariana: the promise of freedom and a bright future, and the companionship of an equal. Albus fell for it, despite warning signs that should have been obvious.

Later, we know Tom is chosen by a wand of yew and phoenix feather. Both yew and phoenix are associated with immortality; yew trees are very long-lived. Compare this to Harry’s wand, holly and phoenix feather: both these characters will experience death and rebirth, except Tom Riddle’s wand tree is yew, and Harry’s is holly.

From Wikipedia: “The Christian church commonly found it expedient to take over existing pre-Christian sacred sites for churches. It has also been suggested that yews were planted at religious sites as their long life was suggestive of eternity, or because, being toxic when ingested, they were seen as trees of death.” Also from Wikipedia: “Christians have identified a wealth of symbolism in the holly tree’s form. The sharpness of the leaves help to recall the crown of thorns worn by Jesus; the red berries serve as a reminder of the drops of blood that were shed for salvation; and the shape of the leaves, which resemble flames, can serve to reveal God's burning love for His people.”

The two orphans’ wildly different views of death are also apparent in their wand trees. Voldemort will murder to attain his goals; Harry will sacrifice himself. That the phoenix feather came from Fawkes is also meaningful - Dumbledore taught both magic in some capacity, but he never could defeat Voldemort, because they’re too alike. One of Harry’s advantages in this battle is the integrity of his soul, which cannot be compromised.

Next, Tom Riddle is sorted into Slytherin. For a child who is already prone to megalomania, the house values bring out the worst in him, and under Slughorn, he grows into a manipulative, cunning, ruthless young man. I’m not blaming Horace for Tom being a psychopath, but some of the particular ways his psychopathy manifested in seem to have been directly due to Slughorn’s influence. Slughorn is a blood-supremacist, who was convinced Tom must come from fine stock. Slughorn tests drinks for poison using house elves; Tom Riddle tests the effectiveness of his Horcrux’s protection on Kreacher. Slughorn emphasizes the importance of connections and outright praises Tom for knowing more than he needs to, and encourages an attitude of “it’s only wrong if you get caught.” But Slughorn, prejudiced and cunning as he is, is not violent - he is academically curious about Horcruxes, but he finds them repugnant. Tom’s heart is not so faint - at the point of asking Slughorn about Horcruxes, the diary is already a horcrux, and Tom has already murdered his father. This is how Dumbledore describes Tom’s original gang, who were the proto-Death Eaters:

As he moved up the school, he gathered about him a group of dedicated friends; I call them that, for want of a better term, although as I have already indicated, Riddle undoubtedly felt no affection for any of them. This group had a kind of dark glamour within the castle. They were a motley collection; a mixture of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty. In other words, they were the forerunners of the Death Eaters, and indeed some of them became the first Death Eaters after leaving Hogwarts. Rigidly controlled by Riddle, they were never detected in open wrongdoing, although their seven years at Hogwarts were marked by a number of nasty incidents to which they were never satisfactorily linked, the most serious of which was, of course, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, which resulted in the death of a girl. As you know, Hagrid was wrongly accused of that crime.

Dumbledore explains what motivated people to join Tom: some were afraid, some ambitious, some cruel. He controlled his so-called friends, and already started framing others for his own crimes (Hagrid’s framing was followed by Morfin’s and Hokey the house elf’s).

This is followed by Tom’s attempt to become a teacher (Dumbledore spells out his motivations: He is attached to the school, he wants to study its magic, and he already wants to build himself an army). He is denied, oddly chooses to work for Borgin and Burkes, a choice fueled by the desire to trace down more items to make into Horcruxes. Through the memory of the meeting with Heptzibah Smith, we see that Tom was definitely charming when he needed to be, and knew how to make people feel good. He did not use magic to trick her into showing him her precious locket and cup: he used muggle manipulation - flattery, making an old and forlorn lady feel valuable, perhaps even flirting with her (she’s certainly flirting with him). He was pleasant enough that Ms. Smith eagerly looked forward to his visits - but as she showed him her treasures, he was caught off guard by hearing about his mother and how she sold the locket, and she saw him for what he was, although she quickly fell into denial. Sadly, she was murdered two days later.

Why rely on Horcruxes to gain immortality? Tom must have known about Nicholas Flamel and the Philosopher’s Stone, and the Horcruxes require someone else to perform the resurrection ritual. Either making the Stone is so hard that it would deter Tom (unlikely), or he already expected to rely on followers who would find him and revive him - he certainly seems to have expected his followers to have searched for him earlier. Maybe Horcruxes were appealing because they require murder. In any case, this is followed by the memory of Tom asking Dumbledore for the DADA job again, a decade later. Tom has spent a decade gathering followers, and he has already changed his name to Lord Voldemort. This is reminiscent of real life cult leader David Koresh, and the leaders of the Children of God, Aum Shinrikyo, etc. The meeting between Voldemort and Albus is interesting, because it’s clear that Dumbledore had tried to teach Tom about the power of love:

“The old argument,” he said softly. “But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore.”

“Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places,” suggested Dumbledore.

This did not help. Tom never learned - how could he? At 16, he was already a murderer - who could love him now for who he was? He could never be truly loved, and he could never truly love another, and he underestimated the power of love for his entire life, leading to his downfall - twice (were that it was so simple in real life).

Voldemort is trying to obfuscate the nature of the relationship, like all cults - they never admit this is what they are.

“I am glad to hear that you consider them friends,” said Dumbledore. “I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants.”

“You are mistaken,” said Voldemort.

But LV can’t lie to Dumbledore, who changes the subject. He denies him the DADA job again, and the curse is placed on the job. LV’s ascent is due to begin in a few years. Hagrid tells the story:

Anyway, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin’ fer followers. Got ’em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o’ his power, ’cause he was gettin’ himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn’t know who ter trust, didn’t dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches...

Voldemort isn’t just interested in immortality. He wants complete control. He wants everyone fearing him - even fearing his name. He has people isolated and distrustful, fearing for their lives.

But we know his reign of terror was dreadful - what I’m interested in is the way he treated his own followers. We know little about how he treated them in the first war, but we do have what Sirius had to say about Regulus’s fate:

From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don’t just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It’s a lifetime of service or death.

We know the real story of Regulus’s disappearance, and it’s different. Kreacher tells us that Regulus died in the Horcrux cave - but more telling is that Regulus forbade Kreacher from telling his parents what had happened to him. Why did he feel the need to do that? This suggests that Regulus knew LV destroyed traitors’ families, which is a tactic used in cults and other abusive dynamics. We know LV would leverage Draco’s welfare against Lucius for his failure in the Department of Mysteries, too. We know also that instead of going to Dumbledore, or to his own brother, Regulus chose death – unless he was really dumb, and I don’t think he was, he must have been manipulated into believing that was his only option, or his world made no sense after his faith had shattered. So many people never readjust to life outside the cult.

Voldemort “dies” about two years after that, having successfully recruited about 400 followers (“the death eaters outnumbered us the Order 20:1” - Lupin). We can’t say if all these people were genuine Death Eaters or people who had been Imperiused or otherwise coerced, or allies like Narcissa, but that coercion is used to recruit shows that Voldemort did not take his own followers’ ambitions and wishes into account. People who use outright coercion don't suddenly draw the line at manipulation.