#and like I wish this website would stop assuming everyone here is a good and whole enough person to want to make things with their hands

[bodhimcbodeface]

Hot take I’m absolutely going to call it consuming media because it takes significantly less energy and engages your brain less and when it’s the only hobby you can motivate yourself to have you feel empty and bored believe me I would fucking know

[faededaway]

Aizawa x reader

(reader is a cam-girl, Aizawa is the viewer. I had this prompt rotating in my head foreverrr but a cyber sex Collab pushed me to finally write it down ! I have posted the master list of the Collab on the bottom. Please check it out!)

If someone ever asks Aizawa how it happened, he'd have to say, "it's Hizashi's fault!". After all, Hizashi saw his friend alone and sad. And decided to be a good friend by helping Aizawa cope vicariously. Using a parasocial relationship with a cam girl! (if you could call it that)

"I have preferences", he'd say.

"So does everyone else!", his friend would reply.

And Nemuri, being the sex positive goddess that she is, suggested a website where Aizawa could list out such preferences.

A cam-site where you could find cam performers through meticulous tagging after which you'd be redirected to their personal websites. A way to sort his preferences. To be petty and extra meticulous, Aizawa made sure to select a bunch of tags he was absolutely sure could not have been together.

"Submissive roleplay"

"Edging"

"Good girl"

"Faceless"

"Anonymous"

"Female"

"Nipple play"

"Toys"

"Idle talk"

"Interactive"

"Whining"

And ..... 20 more.

To his absolute surprise, there was only one show which fulfilled all of his... Requirements. Well, at least that narrowed down his choices to exactly one.

And that's how he found you.

There you were. When he was redirected to your page, you were already streaming. The video showed you sitting on your bed with your back to the headboard. It seemed like you had your laptop (he assumed) on one of those foldable tables. You were wearing a black mask and ...normal clothing. Revealing nothing ...yet. Your page was pretty good. Nothing was sketchy about it. A schedule of your lives was posted on the top banner. On the bottom of the stream was the chat box. Aizawa noticed that he could comment without any costs, only thing he needed was a name. Unthinkingly, he put down Shou.

On the right side of your page there was a cute to-do list which said "today's theme". Under that list he saw "your girlfriend video calls you when you're away". He wanted to close the tab right there, but hearing your cute laugh after reading a comment made him decide “5 minutes”.

What he didn't expect was to get hooked on so fast.

Damn the accurate tags! Damn you!

2 hours. You had streamed for 2 hours and Aizawa had been there for every second of it. You started off by talking about your day. Just as a partner would. Just as a partner might. You talked about what you had for breakfast, how many cats you saw on the streets, and even about your shit plumbing! Slowly, you eased into more sensual talk. “You know.... I miss you so much.”

Aizawa's breath hitched. Fuck. It sounded so much like you meant it. Like you said to him.

“I wish you were here to touch me”.

Aizawa was sure his heart had stopped beating.

“I really wanna show you where I want you. Can I?”

After the 100 "yes, please baby" comments, you had taken your t-shirt off to reveal your black cotton bra made Aizawa groan. Something about how you weren't trying to get him off, and how you weren't deliberately trying to be sexy was doing the opposite. It was turning him on a lot.

The stream had ended with you coming after playing with your nipples and barely touching your lower half because “baby don't touch what I can't have” had been commented by the highest tipper.

After that, Aizawa had noted down your streaming schedule and joined in regularly.

Your streams made him feel like you really were his long distance partner. It was like he was having a video call with his girlfriend. There were times you'd ask "can I do this?" "Should I take off my top?" He'd wanted to comment! But commenting anything sexual cost him!

Makes sense. Viewership is free. I should pay to ask to see the things I want.

Though he'd been able to reply for free during the 'casual session'. He'd have to pay to say anything during the sensual session. So pay he did! After being friends with a radio star, he knew better than to get free service.

Highest payers got most priority. When comments were conflicting "Can I cum?" "20 votes: yes" "20 votes: not yet"

He saw himself being the tie breaker by tipping just a tad bit too much just so his "good little girl" could cum like she deserves.

Sometimes you'd have special sessions. If it was a regular's birthday, you'd bake a mini cake and sing them a song on camera. More often than not, by the end of the show half of it would be ON your body, your tits, and places he'd never put them in.

"Please, clean yourself as soon as you can", he'd type after you come off your high. You'd giggle softly, "yes, daddy. thank you for looking out for me, Shou." And blow a kiss to the screen. Towards Shou. All his regrets about using a name too close to his real one disappeared after that.

Then came the gift session. 6 months in, you'd gotten a new feature on your site.

Apparently someone's birthday wish had been for you to open a P.O. box. You'd been reluctant to it for obvious reasons. As friendly as you are, giving away your location to perverts online wasn't exactly safe. Aizawa had almost typed "you don't have to!". When he heard of it.

But you'd found a way for things to be sent to you without disclosing your address.

"It'll take an entire week for the thing to reach me. So please don't send anything perishable. And .... Don't send anything too expensive. I want you to take care of your hard earned money. Okay?" He couldn't see your face. You had your arms on the desk, your chin in your palms. He could swear he heard the sweetest most genuine smile. He'd wanted to see it.

Your face. I really wish I could see it.

He wondered if there was a way to see it.

He'd sent you little things. His favorite book. A sweater when it got colder. Anything he wanted to show you as he went about his day. A picture of his cat, a postcard he thought you'd like, gift cards he'd never use. He was spoiling you like he'd spoil his girlfriend. In his mind somewhere, you were nothing short of his long distance girlfriend. When he saw you ruin your lingerie on screen, he sent replacements right after.

On his birthday, he'd typed "I wish I could see you smile just once".

You'd been silent for a while. His heart was in his throat.

Ah, I should have not said that.

"I wish I could see you too, Shou. Happy birthday! I know your preferences so I'll keep the leftovers in the fridge to eat later. Okay? Won't get any on myself."

You remembered him. And his preferences.... You wished to see him too... He remembers being so giddy for the next few days. So giddy that his quiz papers had even the weakest of students getting 70%. An unforgettable week for UA.

On the 2 year anniversary of his viewership (and the fictional relationship he built up with you in his head), you introduced another new feature.

One on One video sessions just for your highest tippers.

"I though about the best way to do this. I don't want you guys to empty your banks. Some of you are too reckless! I'm looking at YOU, YourDaddySupreme! So, there'll be 1 session every month. You'll have 1 chance to place your bids. I'll set up the bidding in 2 minutes. You can only bid once. I'll stop the bid in 5 minutes. Okay?"

His fingers twitched. He had to get it. He had to be it. $50? $100? $200? How much would he need? $1000? He thought of how much he could afford to give up after his rent and utilities were paid and decided that seeing your face would be worth all the meals he'd miss.

My disposable income, is at your disposal.

"Okay! Times up! I'm not sure if you guys are rich or bad with money.... If this is how much you'll bet each time, then I don't think I'll do it. It wasn't a good idea." You paused for a good while before taking a deep breath and continuing.

Oh, of course. Of course, it'd go this way.

"Don't worry. You won't be billed. You make me question my moral obligations! I don't think I'll be taking anything off today. Actually, hold on. I'll put some more clothes on. Make sure you know I'm upset with you!". Part of Aizawa was disappointed but at least no one else gets to your face either. Is what he thought until he saw his email.

Hello.

If you've received this mail, it's because you were the highest bidder in today's show.... Is what I'd like to say.

In reality, there was no bid. There wasn't going to be a one-on-one session with highest bidder. I just.. wanted to see if you placed a bet so I know you want this.

I only want a one-on-one with my sweetest viewer, Shou. The one who sends me pictures of Sushi (best cat!!), sends me funny postcards, and care baskets for the changing weather. Not to mention the fact that you help me replace my very(very) expensive lingerie every time I sacrifice one! I could kiss you just for this! Shou, you've made me grow to like you a lot! I can't help but feel like you ... Like me. Like... Romantically... Isn't this romance?? I don't know.

Anyway, feel free to ignore this email if I'm wrong. But if I'm right, please reply with a time that is convenient for you. I'll reply with the video call link!

I wish I can see you, Shou.

A ball of nerves,

Y/N (your virtual girlfriend from CamShowzzFortheBuzy.to)

Aizawa was no fortune teller, but he had a feeling Hizashi and Nemuri would be on his case about owing a favor to them forever. For some reason, that didn't make him feel as bad as he thought it would.

Cyber sex master list and post @fuwushiguro <3

🩷Part 2 🧡Part 3

[mikimeiko]

Day 4 - Rijeka

And... It's raining. Much more than yesterday, though luckily it's still coming and going.

After a walk in the old town I decide to take the advice from lovely Tumblr user @notasgoodasseven to go see Trsat castle. Rijeka has a day ticket for the buses! Very good, since taking buses is one of my favourite activities XD especially when it's raining XD

The bus climbs up a hill going through a very interesting part of town, where small houses and big high rises are meshed together in a surprising but not unpleasant mix.

On the last stretch of the road to Trsat you get a beautiful view of the entire old town and the harbour; if the rain stops for a bit I might go downhill by foot to get a better view.

The castle is small and quite pretty, they turned most of the court into a giant openair bar? It must be lovely when it's open in good weather.

I don't even have to go find a good viewpoint later because you can see everything from here!

I might come back when it's dark to see it with all the Christmas lights on.

I get a spinach burek from a bakery and head to the bus stop to go to the computer museum... But I discover the computer museum it's only open on Saturdays during winter :( apparently I could have ask them via the website to open it anyway, but a) it's too late and b) it would have put too much pressure on my visit!

While I'm on the bus going back down I see the sun peeking out of the clouds, illuminating a strip of sea in the most beautiful manner. It stopped raining so I decide to get down the bus once I get to the city centre and walk, but of course the moment I get down... It starts raining again 😅

(every time it stopped raining I took a picture XD)

The good news is that the bus day ticket I bought this morning actually covers a much bigger area that I thought, so I decide to just get on a suburban bus that follows the coast down south and just hope for some brief moments of sunlight (in any case, it's better than getting soaked while walking in the streets, not able to see anything because of my umbrella XD)

It's almost ridiculous the amount of joy just being on a bus with the outside the window gives me.

Due to some miscalculation and forgetfulness, I end up waiting almost an hour for a bus in the middle of nowhere (well, there was a cafè/bar, but it was one of those places basically just full of men where everyone looks at you - not a man, not from around here - like an exotic curiosity and with a hint of hostility, so I just had coffee, used the toilet and left). But while I was waiting for my bus the light changed: though it was still pretty cloudy there was a lot more visibility and it was in general much more pleasant, and I actually got to see the island of Krk from a distance!

(I walked on the road to get this picture, I thought I was going to die XD)

Going back to Rijeka the weather kept getting greyer and foggier and wetter, and I wished I could have kept going south but... not this time!

After a brief stop at the hotel to get the things I forgot I decided to take another suburban bus, this time going north. Sadly by the time I actually got on the bus it was starting to get dark, so I didn't see as much from the bus (but it was still lovely). I went to Opatija and from what I could see from the bus it looked really lovely, though when I got off the bus it started raining again, so I just waited for the bus back (how many minutes, how many HOURS I spent waiting for buses today? Probably too many XD but it was worth it).

I went back to Trsat castle after dark and it was indeed very pretty with all the Christmas lights on and the stalls and bar open (though it was still mostly empty, I guess I went too early).

At least four people today have tried speaking to me in Croatian at bus stops etc good job Maddalena for never looking like a tourist I guess XD (this tends to happen to me everywhere I go, people just assume I'm a local XD)

Tonight is my last night and I couldn't leave the Balkans without eating The Grilled Meat, so I found a nice place and... ate the grilled meat XD

Anyway that sauce on the spoon? It's called ajvar, it's made from peppers, eggplant and garlic and it's SO GOOD. I actually bought a jar to bring home XD

[transhawks]

What even is this so-called "hero and villain" side of fandom? Why are we so divided? Why do people assume "so and so" must be friends and obviously know of each other as "a group" thus representing, the entire "other side." Why do we believe certain "groups of blogs" must definitely hold a certain opinion because of a few posts from other blogs that are part of that "other labelled side" not realizing they're completely unaware of each other and do not agree? Is that what creates this "middle ground" of not really fitting in with either of them?

I've been shifting between all three, and I've noticed some hero stans think villain stans think a certain way, but those villain stans are the same ones you and some others disagree with, but yet those opinions seem to largely define "the other side." I've also often seen villain stans act petty and engage with hero stans in the way your anon does here, and some anons constantly share that "perceived majority view point" with hero stans, and I think this is what's causing this huge disconnect. These individual people going from blog and blog sharing stories and that colors our perceptions of each other, and we put everyone into a collective bubble despite these three sides of fandom having smaller groups with their own perspectives on the series that don't match that perceived image. A lot of these three sides even have things they agree with each other on, and things they enjoy about the series, the common ground is there, but we're too divided and chose to stay in our own areas, and I do think that is for the best because one way or another, the differences in opinion will collide somewhere.

I just wish some individuals would stop trying to stir up trouble, it leads to things like someone calling all Hawks stans annoying with a petty meme over proper communication, all because of a basic post where an anon was saying Twice wasn't a good person for his willingness to kill, and the OP clarifies that that wasn't the reason they thought Hawks called him a good person, but because Hawks thought Twice had the potential to be a good person because of the positive traits he'd seen in Twice and wanted him to channel it into something else. Which is a fine opinion to have whether you agree with it or not or think it's all wrong because Hawks is the devil obviously, but my point is: It's a basic post like every other basic post on this website where nobody is attacking anyone or being sassy or rude, which makes the response received completely uncalled for imo, and with the lack of fact-checking? Leads to a "common idea" of a certain group of people "acting a certain way" without knowing what prompted that idea and if it's even deserving. For the record, I used to be guilty of this as I thought all villain stans read the League as positive revolutionaries, not realizing how harmful they were to themselves, but it's been a good year or so since then ever since I decided to actually see what some of you were saying instead of going off word-of-mouth. But that's also why I know how much making exaggerations and spreading assumptions can be an issue.

So, I love my fandom history. I'd say the divisions were less a thing prior to 2018/9 for a couple reasons - the League were less interesting. We had less of them, and the villains were just not given the same depth...yet (i argue 115 is one of the best chapters in this manga). You had stans, of course, and essentially people into the adults over the kids really gravitated towards the villains.

I'd say a few things changed that.

The League went after Overhaul and cemented themselves as a 'group' more so than a bunch of random wackos.

And Dabi is Touya theory got really a lot of confirmation from the Pro Hero arc.

Essentially, once the Hawks Infiltration plot entered this manga, the manga shifted in focus. The villains got more time, more depth, often more than the kids for certain villains. Then MVA happened.

So it went from interest to genuine interpretation of the manga after this. Horikoshi basically threw away his earlier statement of not wanting to humanize the villains too much and started doing that. Villain stans went from people who just found the villains more interesting to being in a space where we were debating how right the villains were as the world started kind of proving they might have a bit of a point. This did divide the fandom. One of the uhh core divides is really about narratives and how we read the story.

I'll give myself as an example - I'm a Hawks-focused blog, right? From the very start I made this blog to talk about him, since I was fine on my main account randomly rbing bnha once in a while, and I was really into Deku before I caught up circa June 2018. It was wanting to write meta on Hawks that changed that. Now, a lot of the names of people who wrote meta alongside me back then are no longer active as far as I can tell, but I'm still here. And yet you know why I've not gone into the Hawks tag in a year and a half? Every time I try to do a mass rb of fan art there's always a couple I can't because I'm blocked. People I've never interacted with or seen in my life. It doesn't really bother me, just gives me pause because I'm rarely the type to block. Unfollow, yes, but not block. The only people I've really blocked were certain unhinged people I absolutely do not wish to engage with or former friends who hurt me deeply and even seeing their blog names causes me discomfort. So I always wonder what was it that made these people block. It comes down to interpretation and talking about.

I've made peace with the fact those random Hawks-likers dislike my take on the character. It's fine, I don't have to prove much to them these days. I've been right, I've also been wrong. But I've written stuff for this small fandom space for years, and I know enough that if I am wrong, I'll accept it when it comes out. But those fans are bothered seeing my posts, and I think that's where the divide is - when we challenge each other's view of the manga. And visibility is unfortunately as good as. I don't tag my meta as #antihawks or #hox because I'm not "anti" the character, just able to articulate and criticize and CELEBRATE how flawed this character is (that and I get really upset when i see people tag my stuff with #hox as it reminds me of the people I once thought were my friends).

Simply, it's about the interpretation of the manga. You have people in parts of this fandom who absolutely do not believe the villains can be saved or that the hero children should save them. There's little communication I can have with people when we so fundamentally disagree on this. Same with my views on Hawks being wrong. Those people who block me fundamentally disagree with me on Hawks having done the wrong thing. Conversations are difficult.

I just wish some individuals would stop trying to stir up trouble, it leads to things like someone calling all Hawks stans annoying with a petty meme over proper communication, all because of a basic post where an anon was saying Twice wasn't a good person for his willingness to kill, and the OP clarifies that that wasn't the reason they thought Hawks called him a good person, but because Hawks thought Twice had the potential to be a good person because of the positive traits he'd seen in Twice and wanted him to channel it into something else. Which is a fine opinion to have whether you agree with it or not or think it's all wrong because Hawks is the devil obviously, but my point is: It's a basic post like every other basic post on this website where nobody is attacking anyone or being sassy or rude, which makes the response received completely uncalled for imo, and with the lack of fact-checking? Leads to a "common idea" of a certain group of people "acting a certain way" without knowing what prompted that idea and if it's even deserving.

I get your point here. Like I don't assume all "hero" stans are like the unhinged anon who sends me asks about the kids doing emotional labor or something. Some part of me is just "we have different interests" about people who mainly focus on the kids.

But there is a boogie man kind of anon thing, you're right. A lot of people don't see the bad takes they're told of them through their inboxes. It makes things go haywire. I will say my recent stuff is in response to seeing discussions and feeling absolutely dismayed at at a few villain-focused blogs that I know interact with me. The message was for them.

But you're right in that there isn't a "common consensus" because fandom is not a hive mind and shouldn't be. I've been in a space where we tried to make a hive mind in 2020 and let me tell you, it's awful. I refuse to like censor or remove my opinions to be part of a group these days because I did that in 2020 and it hurt so badly because nothing was good enough in that space - we all watched each other like raptors looking for the slightest misstep or transgression, to the point where the person I'd consider the ringleader of it all would look at who like what post when she didn't like the post or not engage with a post. It was insanity. I wish I can attribute it to pandemic lunacy, but like.... I can't. It was just a lot of absolutism and power highs. No nuance. People got cut off quickly like contestants in a contest reality tv show.

But views change. I did read the League as that, or more was inclined to. I hoped Tomura would change his mind and break free from AFO, because even I saw his beliefs and wants as self-harming back in 2019. There was a lot of this tied into his name being Tenko, a term for the coerced ideological renouncement of communism prior to WWII of many prominent Japanese leftists who then supported the emperor. I was sure there was a "turn" somewhere in his future and I hope he'd fight AFO and lead the League to something greater. When the possession plot happened, that ruined most of that for me but it took me a year or so to really process where the manga was headed.

If anything what I'm most dismayed about is people not like... letting their earlier views go as the manga goes on. Dabi is very different than we thought initially, and very few people accurately predicted the sheer level of jealousy, or how much he adored his father (compared to his other siblings). Endeavor is far more complicated than we thought initially, and while I still call him an abuser and rapist I also ponder a lot about Endeavor with broader questions about abolitionism and restorative justice and whether rapists and abusers can be reformed because these are the sort of difficult questions all this makes me ask myself. But a lot of people refuse to even question previously held opinions. idk, sorry for rambling. Your ask made me reflect on how much the fandom has changed in the years I've been here, over and over again.

[fiona-fififi]

@starstruckbyacomet I am not here to provide proof for you. I do not go around collecting screenshots or links to prove that the people I follow are not shitty people. It is absurd for you to assume that fans just going about their day and enjoying fandom should have to collect proof to support the statement that there are shitty people everywhere in fandom and generalizing huge factions of it as all just as bad as the worst of them is fucking obnoxious and harmful. If you actually believe that, you are absolutely one of the people I will be blocking.

What I would like to do here is highlight a couple of points from my post. One, no I don't have fucking screenshots, but literally every single person who is active on my dash was calling out the shit you are referring to. There was not a single big or active blog to be found that was not signal boosting the fuck out of the CSA fics that were circulating.

If you didn't see it, you either are not following those people, not paying attention, or, consider, they have YOU blocked.

But also, since you apparently couldn't be bothered to read my second fucking sentence:

They've blocked all the crazies on their side and aren't seeing it.

If people do not see this shit, obviously, they are not going to call it out. I only know about the CSA fic bullshit because my buddie mutuals were posting about it and warning fellow fans to help them stay safe. I would not know a single thing about it if buddie fans hadn't called it out.

On the other hand, I haven't seen a single Tommy fan calling out people who were wishing death on Ryan, either, but I'm not fucking stupid, and I know damn well that everyone on that side of fandom isn't a shitty enough person to stand behind that. Not calling something out does not mean every single person on that "side" of fandom supports it. It means either they didn't see it or they realize that the person saying this shit is not worth interacting with and they block and move on.

This is the block and move on website. People circulate posts every fucking day saying "just block." And we are currently in a weird ass fucking ship war that has destroyed the enjoyment of the show for SO many of us. We have people blocked. We don't see the drama.

Half the fucking drama is coming from fucking twitter anyway. Stop bringing that shit here and pretending fans have some moral obligation to call out every toxic take out there. I do not have the time or energy. I am here to have fun.

And I'm not fucking stupid enough to think that just because someone hasn't made a special post to say "wishing death on someone is bad" that they think wishing death on someone is good.

Please fuck all the way off.

"Why doesn't their side call out the bad behavior they accuse us of??"

Because they've blocked all the crazies on their side and aren't seeing it. Just like you're not seeing all the bullshit on your side because you've blocked all the crazies over there, too.

Also, they ARE calling it out. You just have everyone on the other side blocked, so you aren't seeing the callouts.

Like jesus fucking christ, can we stop generalizing giant portions of fandom based on the behavior of the worst fucking people in them?? Because I promise you, whether you are seeing it or not, there are really fucking shitty people in ALL corners of fandom.

[pellucid-constellations]

Undisclosed - Nine

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Desperate to outrun a secret that could cost you your life, you seek refuge in a small mountain town. Its deep forests and small cabins make it the perfect place to hide, but the travel website hadn’t mentioned anything about the quiet, burly lumberjack that wouldn’t leave your thoughts. No one had warned Bucky about you either.

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: Angst, cannon level violence, injury, major protective bucky, crime

a/n: Thank you to everyone that’s been so supportive recently! These last couple weeks have just been thing after thing and I’m really grateful that I get to share my writing with everyone :) Feedback is always appreciated!! 

If you enjoy my writing, consider checking out my ko-fi♡

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

~~~

Everything hurt. 

It wasn’t a sharp pain. It was an ache that spread through your entire body, licking down to your toes and blooming across your head in the type of headache that seemed to linger days after it passed. A ringing in your ears followed your eyelids as they struggled open like weights being dropped to the bottom of the ocean. 

It took you a moment to remember everything that had happened. And then a moment later, you were thinking of Bucky. 

You were going to die, and he was going to think that you left him. You thought you were going to die before, but it was somehow worse now. Because Bucky—sweet, loving Bucky with the smile that made you melt—was going to be heart broken. 

You knew you were being irrational. 

Lying in some grimy cabin, your nose caked in dried blood and your face throbbing with a bruise you couldn’t see, you were worrying about breaking your boyfriend’s heart. But you remembered all too well the look on his face that day you ran from the Christmas party, and the thought of him feeling that way again sent a pain through your gut. 

You rolled over on your side, inhaling deeply through your nose. Wherever you were it was dusty and unkempt; the wood under your cheek had no carpet to cover the logs, and every time you cracked your eyelids open you could see dust floating past the light of the fireplace. 

At least Beck didn’t want you to freeze. 

No, he probably had other ways of doing this. Whatever ‘this’ was. 

You assumed he was going to kill you. That’s what his goal seemed to be when you ran from that old warehouse back in New York. His eyes were filled with rage while he chased you down the rickety old stairs, menacing promises preceding a sharp stab in your side. But if he wanted to just kill you, why didn’t he do it in the car? You were completely helpless in the backseat for the entire drive down the mountain—the perfect victim. 

And yet, here you were, broken and bruised on the floor in the middle of nowhere. 

“Waking up then, sleeping beauty?” 

You almost wished he would have just finished you off in the car; hearing his voice had always been enough to set your nerves on edge. 

“You can pretend not to hear me, but you and I are about to have a lot of time to chat, so you better stop being a bitch before I get pissed off.” 

You let out a dry cough and shakily raised yourself up on borrowed arms. It had only been hours maybe, but you felt as if you had been deprived of so much for so long. Food, water, soft hands that caressed you to sleep when your eyes wouldn’t stop moving under sealed shut lids; you had gotten too used to the comforts that came with Bucky Barnes.

“What do you want from me?” you croaked. 

He laughed. You were getting so sick of the sound. It already grated on you when you thought he was a good guy back in New York. But knowing what you knew now, and feeling the ache throughout your body that was caused by him, the throaty sound made you sick to your stomach. 

Beck crouched down in front of you, taking your battered chin between cruel fingers. “I don’t want anything from you, dearest.” 

“Kill me then,” you seethed, and your eye contact never wavered. “Stop with this game you’ve been playing with me since we were teenagers and get it over with.” 

They were empty words. The last thing you wanted was to die. Not after meeting Bucky and not after this wonderful life that was offered up to you in the form of Stowe Mills. No, for the first time in your life, you had something meaningful to live for. Not the aspiration of attention or the desire for approval; you had a family.

Beck’s eyes went wide for a fraction of a moment as if imagining such an offer. He let his tongue dart out to wet his lips as his gaze tracked over your face with the blankest expression you’d witnessed on him. And maybe you’d be scared if it wasn’t so obvious that he was going to keep you alive. 

But you didn’t take a moment to consider what that all would entail. 

You just wanted to get him as far away from Stowe Mills as possible. 

“I’d like that,” Beck whispered, voice hidden behind a man you had never encountered up close. “But unfortunately, people have been asking questions. It’s one thing to take the rich with no status—barely anyone knows what they look like. But when someone like you goes missing, there’s… talk.” He released your chin with a snap. “That, and your silly mother started to get sentimental after you left. Struck a deal with me that would benefit both parties.” 

Beck started to pace. It was a habit he’d picked up from his father. With your face free from wooden floors and punishing grips, you finally had enough strength to sit against the wall of the cabin. You watched as the man that planned on ruining your new life, your favorite life, thought up another grand lecture for you to sit through. 

“What was the deal?” Through dry, cracked lips, you played into his narcissism. The man loved to hear himself talk, and as long as he wasn’t touching you, you could handle that. You had handled that. For years. 

Beck smirked as if he was sharing an inside joke with himself. “We’re getting married. You, me, and all our secrets. I keep you alive, and if you try anything, little miss y/n becomes America’s most wanted. It’ll all be on your head. Your father helped us stage the evidence.”

There was a type of dryness in your throat that you hadn’t felt since that one winter when you needed your tonsils removed. You tried swallowing a few times, but the distinct patch in your airway refused to find comfort. You briefly wondered how long you would have until your body succumbed to hypothermia if you simply ran for it, but then the voice that kept chipping away at you added another addition to the heaviness in your heart. 

“Say no, resist in any way, and that burly idiot back in that stupid town bites it.” 

Your mind went into a frenzy. Nothing hurt anymore, but you simply couldn’t breathe. Up on shaky knees you begged with unpracticed words, “Please, anything but that. Just leave him alone and I promise I’ll do anything you want. I didn’t tell him anything. Please, Beck—” 

A flash of white light that tasted like heavy iron cut off your rambling. The assault was jarring, but this time, you stayed awake as you were knocked back against the wall that kept you upright just moments before. 

“Your mother said alive,” Beck hissed. An unwanted sob broke past your busted lip. “She didn’t specify that you had to be unharmed.” 

Silent tears mingled with the blood on your face, and silent you would continue to stay. Beck never liked when you shared your opinion, or when you spoke at all for that matter. But he was now free to act on that distaste, and for the sake of your already battered appearance, you would try to avoid those actions as much as possible. 

You could feel the panic begin to bubble up in your chest like a weight dangling by a thread; one wrong move, and it would all come tumbling down, ending you, ending everything. You had to keep it together, because there was no other way for this to go. You had to go with Beck willingly and you had to accept this life that you had run so far away from. 

God, you missed Bucky already. With Beck now angrily typing away at his phone that he kept smacking against his hand as the service failed, you ached for the sweetness that you had grown so accustomed to. You let your head roll to the side and imagined the softness of the touch that juxtaposed Bucky’s calloused fingers running through your hair, catching your tears, brushing past the angry red marks on your face. 

Bucky would lose it if he saw what you looked like right now. 

You remembered the look on his face when you fell down that icy hill all those months ago and the care he put into his words when you showed up at his door in the dead of night. You could distinctly remember Bucky’s reaction that one time you went rooting around in his attic for some snow equipment Sarah insisted was up there, the horror in his eyes when he noticed that your head was bleeding. 

“Oh my sweet girl, let me take a look at that. It hurt at all? God, I wish you wouldn’t do this kinda stuff when I’m not here to help you out. What if it knocked you off your feet and I was stuck at the office?”

Cold hands that felt like home tilted your head from side to side. 

“Buck, I’m fine. Just a little bump on the head. You know how much worse these things can look. I just need to clean it up a little and it’ll be good as new.” 

“I get home and see my girl bleeding and, I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna believe that you’re fine.” 

If you thought hard enough, you could feel the imprint of his soothing hands on your face. The coldness after he got home from work that didn’t leave your skin prickling, but instead reached through you and trickled into your bones in the most comforting way possible. It felt like a gentle sort of reminder that he was there, that he was the feeling you would never be able to experience without him. Your next breath burned. 

“Brock sent the private jet, so no one has to look at your… state other than the pilot.” 

You were numb to his words, still reminiscing on Bucky, trying to feel him when he wasn’t there. Maybe you had enough memories to last you a lifetime. Maybe you would be able to live out this awful, angry life solely on the thought of him, on the way your skin replayed his touch. 

“You’ll speak when I talk to you,” Beck sneered. It was beginning now, it seemed—the new normal. “I don’t care if you don’t love me. I expect you to play the role of the good little wife, or I’ll be sure to live up to my promises.” 

Your resolve was slipping. “Yes, Quentin.” He always liked when you called him that in public. It kept up the appearance of a relationship with secret intimacies and love. Nothing like when you called Bucky James. Tired tears lazily fell down your cheeks at the thought. 

He finally looked up from his phone, taking a moment to size up your broken frame as you cried silent tears against the wall. “Good.” 

And then he went right back to typing.

Your head was beginning to throb, an unkind accompaniment to the sharp pain that began to form when Beck struck you again. You focused on the rhythmic nature it had, the way it followed the beat of your heart and sunk into the crevices behind your eyes. Your eyes were closed now. 

Beck finally stopped pacing and took a seat on the dusty couch in the living room. The silence that followed was a welcome one, and the stillness under your fingers as you pressed them to the wooden floor allowed you a wicked sort of peace, because at least he was settled and not looming over you as he would be for the rest of your life.

And it was almost imperceptible, but a humming vibration began to replace his once unbearable footsteps. For a moment, you thought the feeling was something your groggy mind had conjured up, but then the feeling started to visibly shake your fingers as well, and you knew you weren’t that far gone. 

The vibrations were soon paired with the sound of an engine, and stones took the place of your stomach. You could taste the dread on your tongue like a sour balm that assaulted each one of your tastebuds, and your mouth twisted up at the phantom taste. You would take endless brutal words and heavy-handed touches if it meant you weren’t able to recognize the engine that was closing in on the cabin at a pace that was slowly killing you. 

That engine was usually associated with gas station food and Bucky’s hand on your leg as he drove you to some town in some state that you barely paid any attention to. When you heard that low rumble it was right after the man in plaid that you loved so much had tugged on the tough-palmed gloves and hauled out lumber with men you would never meet. It meant a kiss before he backed out of the parking lot and a sweet, well-meaning arm helping you down from the tall seat before he ushered you home for the night. 

It meant Bucky. 

And in this moment, you never wanted to hear something less. 

“What the hell is that?” Beck muttered under his breath, unaware of the panic you attempted to hide behind shallow breaths. He whipped his head to you when the sound of a car door echoed past thin-paned windows. “There was nothing on you in the cab. How is someone here?” 

Bucky. Get him away from Bucky. 

“I don’t know,” you stammered. You garnered the strength to stand, using a wooden beam for support. “But—but we can hide. There’s probably a back door we can slip out of. Whoever it is, they’ll think it’s abandoned.” 

“There’s a fucking cab outside, y/n. It’s obvious—” 

“Hey! Anyone in there? I just wanna talk!” 

Oh. 

Bucky wasn’t just here. He was looking for a direct confrontation. You eyed the pocket knife sticking out of the waistband of Beck’s jeans and bit the inside of your cheek until you tasted a coppery twang. 

“Beck, c’mon. We can—” But instead of leaning into your grip as you tugged him toward the hall of the cabin that’s walls seemed to be closing in on itself, his eyes flashed with a dangerous rage, a recognition you so desperately did not want to see. 

“That him?” he spit out, fingers prying your vice-like grip from his arm. “That your little boyfriend?” 

Your response was a panicked mess. “No—I don’t know. Couldn’t be. There’s no way he would know where we were, just like you said.” 

A frustrated sound ripped from the back of his throat, and you were shoved behind the wall between the front door and the window. “Stay. here.” 

Chest rising and falling with a rapidness unfamiliar to you, you pressed against the ridges of the wooden wall and watched as Beck threw on a fake smile and opened the door. Bucky would know it was him immediately; you’d shown him a few pictures of Beck from the articles on your family’s fundraisers. But maybe Bucky would be smart about this and pretend not to know him. Maybe Bucky would save your heart some pain and return back to his truck in one piece. 

“Oh, hey man. You new to this area? My dad owns the land a few miles down and we haven’t had anyone occupy this house in years.” 

Lies, lies, lies. 

Bucky’s dad hadn’t owned any land at the bottom of the mountain. What was his game here? 

Unknowingly, Beck fell into it. “Nice to meet you, buddy.” With one foot out the door, Beck offered Bucky his hand. You could hear the way Bucky’s boots scuffed on the porch. “Yeah, I bought the place off of my aunt’s family. Thinking of turning it into a nice winter home.”

You held your breath. Bucky was so close to you; you were just a single step away from falling into his arms and listening to the sweet way he would whisper in your ear. You caught a reflection in the metal of the knife on Beck’s waist and let that thought dissipate in the warmed air. 

“Nice, nice.” Bucky didn’t sound like himself. “Hey, look. I got an issue with my truck and I don’t think it’ll make it all the way back up the mountain. Think you could give me a hand with that?” 

Beck’s posture shifted. What was once a feigned confidence crumbled in on itself, just slightly, until you caught an almost invisible twinge in his right shoulder. You bit the other side of your cheek. No blood this time. 

“I don’t know, buddy. I’m not really one for cars. Never been much good at fixing them up. I’ve been to more mechanics than I can count, if I’m being honest.” 

You heard a creak from the porch, and then Bucky’s voice sounded deeper. “That why you took a cab?” 

Within a moment, the air felt colder. You were facing the fireplace before, your panic heated by the crackling logs surrounded by dusty bricks. It was a small living room, so even as you stood prone to the far wall by the front door, the heat sunk into your skin. 

But then you were pulled, then spun, then pressed against someone at an uncomfortable degree, and the air felt cold.

Even colder was the sharp metal held at the soft skin of your neck. 

The coldest thing was the feeling in your chest when you pried your eyes open and saw the devastation and fear on Bucky’s face. 

He was wearing his plaid overcoat today. You had missed it at the diner earlier, the material most likely thrown in the corner of the booth or tossed carelessly over a chair. Thinking about him putting his arms through each sleeve and fixing the collar before he came to save you made a simple kind of joy inch its way into your heart. It wasn’t the time for that, but it would be something you could hold onto later. Once you were miles and miles away from Stowe Mills and Bucky was safe. 

Lips by your ear made you recoil, but the action only pressed you further into the knife. You reared back just as quickly. “I took a cab because I needed a reason for this pretty thing to get in my car. Figured with a brooding hunk such as yourself as her constant shadow, I’d need a decoy. Bucky.” 

You opened your mouth before anyone else could. “Beck, we don’t need to do this, okay? If we just—” 

“You don’t speak unless I tell you to,” he grunted at you, yanking your hair back to expose your neck fully. 

You couldn’t see Bucky very well, but you heard him as he rushed forward and demanded, “Don’t do that to her. I swear to fucking god, you keep touching her like that and you’re gonna wish you were a dead man.”

There was a struggle occurring on the porch that wasn’t tangible. Like two of the same poles of a magnet repelling each other the more they came together. Bucky would inch forward, and Beck would press the knife at a new, intimidating angle. So Bucky would step back. His hands were always raised, as if that would be the reason why Beck didn’t just kill you now. His hands had solved many of your life's problems, but this would not be one of them. 

Beck’s chuckle rumbled through your back. A tear escaped the corner of your eye. It felt warm when paired with the mountain breeze. 

The deep vibrations turned into words. “You think I’m scared of some small town boy with too much time on his hands? I’ve got some news for you, buddy—this girl right here?” A tug at your hair. Another reach from Bucky. “She’s not the type you do all this for. Little y/n is the type you use. She’ll do anything if you tell her you love her, won’t you, honey?” 

A sob fell from your lips when Beck's nose brushed your cheek. You’d do anything to make this be over.

“Don’t—” Bucky started through gritted teeth, but he seemed to correct himself. He calmed down. You blinked another tear away and finally met Bucky’s gaze through a deep breath. His jaw ticked. His eyes looked fleetingly down at your neck and you could see the breath he let out from his nose.

Bucky placed a relaxed hand in his coat pocket. 

“You noticed that too?” 

What? 

The grip on your hair loosened for a fraction of a moment. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Beck questioned, and you could tell by the inflection of his voice that he had no idea what his next move was. 

Bucky rolled his shoulders back. “I thought it was just somethin’ she did for me, but now I can see it’s a pattern for her. Probably has to do with her parents, right?” 

It felt like getting punched in the gut. Beck had a knife to your neck and your hair in a vice and somehow Bucky’s words hurt more. You furrowed your brows and blinked impossibly fast to clear your vision. 

Bucky looked back at you—directly in the eye. His fingers twitched at his sides. 

From beside you, Beck let out a whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned. Weren’t you just begging on your knees for this guy a few minutes ago? And look at him now—making fun of you right to your face.”

You struggled against his hold, the embarrassment and the fear and the agitation of the knife against your skin all becoming too much. You just wanted this to be over. Why couldn’t Bucky just stop this ploy, whatever it was. 

“Ah ah ah,” Beck reprimanded. “You think just because your little boyfriend admits that you’re annoying I’m gonna let you go? I wasn’t born yesterday.” He smiled up at Bucky. Bucky looked strained. “Do go on.”

“Well I mean, she told me that everyone kept that big secret from her forever. Said that her parents were never really interested in anything she did until you came along.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, just once. “So I figure, maybe she just latches on to whoever… does that for her, you know?” 

“Interesting theory, but you just about bought yourself a death sentence, Buddy.” 

“No.” You fought harder against him now, pushed at his arms and kicked your feet back until his wrist ricocheted back and the corner of the knife nicked your neck. The pain was imperceptible, but Bucky’s reaction wasn’t. 

At the first sight of blood, all nonchalance was erased from his demeanor. Bucky surged forward, thick arms jutting out to rip you from Beck’s hold. You didn’t have time to question why he didn’t do that sooner; the sound of bodies colliding into the rickety cabin only registered once you’d hit the ground where Bucky once stood. 

“Fine, you wanna do this the hard way?” Bucky seethed. “You touch my fucking girl and I’m gonna have to do this the hard way.” 

The size difference between the two men was jarring. Bucky towered over Beck, yes, but it was the sheer space that Bucky took up that shocked you. He reared back and slammed Beck against the wall of the house again, pure fury in his gaze that you could not see. 

And it must be terrifying—the look Beck was witnessing. Because for the first time in your life, you saw fear on Beck’s face. It was quickly masked with an indifferent arrogance once Bucky stopped his assault, but you saw right through it. “You wanna kill me, Bucky? Go ahead. Kill me. There’s about fifteen other people in New York City alone that want that girl dead. I’m the only chance she’s got at living past 30. We’ve had her general location for months, we were just waiting on a pinpoint—a confirmation. We’ll always find her. And now we’ll find you, too.” 

Bucky hauled Beck’s unwilling body to the outer rim of the porch. From your place on the ground, you could see their side profiles as silhouettes, backed by the headlights of the lumber truck. Puffs of white breath billowed out between them. Bucky gritted his teeth and laughed.

“You? You really expect me to believe that you’re the leader of somethin’ like that? Must not be a very good leader if you’ve spent months searchin’ for one girl. Kinda pathetic when you think about it.” 

The fear on Beck’s face was replaced by rage. A clatter left you breathless as the pocket knife went clattering to the ground. You stumbled forward to grab it and shuffled back just as quickly. He was disarmed, as easy as that. Beck never was one to keep his head when he was insulted; a man of pride, through and through. 

“You’re a fucking dead man, Barnes,” Beck struggled through an uncomfortable grimace. He pushed harder against Bucky’s hold, but to no avail. “They’re going to hurt you worse than anyone we’ve dealt with. And they’re gonna do it to her first. Make sure you sit through it all. She’s real pretty when she screams, promise.” 

The sound of air being forced from his lungs was audible as Bucky knocked Beck harder against the railing of the porch. “No one’s gonna touch her. You don’t have that kinda pull anyway. I know a weak man when I see one.” 

Bucky’s plaid coat was ripped. Beck gritted out, “I’m the fucking leader, you prick. I want someone dead and I got half of New York asking me where to do it. I know just where they’ll do it to you, too. Have them take you both back to the place I almost finished that one off.” Beck nodded to you on the ground. 

“You don’t look at her,” Bucky commanded. He sounded eerily calm. 

Beck simply laughed. “I spent years looking at her. Trust me, I’m done with it. But I’ll have the entire mob breathing down her neck in just a few days.” 

With that, Bucky released Beck. He pushed him away and left him toppling over the three steps that lead up to the porch, and he simply watched as the other man fought for his breath in the wood chips below the awning. 

“What?” Beck huffed, still with that arrogance as he struggled to remain collected. “Finally decide that she wasn’t worth it?” 

“No.” 

Bucky took a single step back when Beck stood, as if making sure that you were securely behind him. He let his right arm fall back and positioned his body so that you were completely out of view. 

“No,” he reiterated. “You just finally solved the Cold Case. And on video too.” 

The beaming headlights that had illuminated the struggle up until now increased tenfold. They were blinding, washing out Beck’s desperate move to cover his eyes and his jerky movements as he panicked. If someone was in the truck, he was completely outnumbered. 

As expected, Steve and Sam slammed the door to the front just moments after the lighting changed. And then the back opened as well. And then there was shouting. 

“On the ground, now!” 

It startled you, the yelling and the commotion on the ground below the porch. Your mind was still in a daze and your fingers were still shaking around the cold, rigid pocket knife and you weren’t sure, but you thought you might’ve been going into shock. You felt cold, but your skin was growing clammy. Breaths got harder to take in, until they didn’t, and then they breezed through your lungs too easily and at a pace you didn’t find pleasant. You were trembling, the lights were too bright, nothing made sense—

“Hey, sweet girl. Hey.” Bucky. You blinked, and the hands you had been aching for delicately brushed across your cheeks as a soft voice assured you, “You’re safe now. Look at me, y/n, I’m right here.” 

You could definitely be imagining things. Beck had hit you in the head quite a few times and you remembered how badly you wanted this exact moment as you lied on the cabin floor breathing in old dust. Maybe this Bucky in front of you wasn’t real. Maybe you were dead and this was—

“Look at me, baby. Please. It’s me, it’s James. I’m gonna keep you safe now, okay? I just need you to tell me you’re alright.” 

Imagination or not, the sadness in Bucky’s voice was too gut wrenching to not listen to him. So you shifted your eyes away from the man in your nightmares being hauled away, and you looked at your Bucky. He had a bruise forming on his right cheek and a cut just above his eyebrow and you were suddenly very aware that you must’ve missed a lot of the fight from earlier as your body went into a state of panic. 

“I don’t understand,” you croaked. The first words you had spoken in forever. In years maybe. 

Bucky’s expression crumbled. “I know. I know, I’m so sorry, y/n. But I had to say those things. They were part of the plan, originally, to get him to talk sooner but I’d already screwed it up when I threatened him right off the bat. I was just losing it seeing you there like that. I shoulda known I couldn’t switch gears on the guy.”

He was talking too fast and his fingers were too gentle on your face. Your eyes drooped a few times and you struggled to keep them open long enough to get out, “Not… that. I don’t—I don’t understand what’s going on. Who are those people?” 

Bucky sat back on his calves and tugged you into his lap, encasing you in his arms, holding onto you as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His touch trailed down to your neck where he brushed over the cut there, and then they came back up to feel around at your head.

Taking inventory. Making sure you weren’t about to go limp in his arms. 

The sound of tires on loose rocks didn’t make you raise your head from Bucky’s chest. 

“Steve got mad at his Ma one summer after we graduated. Left to join the army for a while to prove some point like the punk he is.” His hands stopped assessing you. He dropped a lingering kiss on your forehead. It hurt less. “He made it big time over there. Became a captain and gained a lot of connections. Like big connections. Let’s just say there are people above the police that’ve been looking into this for a while.” 

He began rocking you when the shock started wearing off, when the tears stuck in the back of your eyes thawed and the pain in your body bloomed. 

“All they needed was a lumber truck dashcam and someone threatening my girl.” 

You wept. Burrowed into Bucky’s chest, rocking in his arms, you wept and you choked on air and you cried so hard that you couldn’t even register the comfort that his scent would usually bring you. Bucky shushed you almost instantly, cooing words of love and adoration into your hair as you released every emotion you’d ever felt into his plaid coat. 

You were happy, and then you thought you were going to die, and then you thought you were living through hell, and now you had Bucky. And Bucky had fixed everything. He had fixed everything and then he had apologized for words spoken to a man that held a knife to your throat. 

You could live a thousand lives, do a thousand good deeds, and you would never deserve him. 

“My sweet girl,” Bucky sighed. You thought you heard a siren in the distance. Sirens were unnecessary this far up the mountain. “You’re okay now. I got you. I love you and I got you. Always.” 

“I’m so sorry, Bucky. I didn’t want to leave. He just said that he was going to hurt you and I thought that if I—” 

Bucky gripped your chin softly between his fingers, eyes boring into yours with a fierceness you were sure Beck witnessed earlier. “You don’t apologize for anything you had to do today, or any day, when it comes to that man. You hear me? You being alive is the only thing I care about. We’re gonna get you checked out at a hospital and then we’re gonna get that man put in prison and then it’s me and you.” 

“Me and you,” you repeated, simply because that was the one thing you could hold on to. 

He kissed you before the ambulance showed up. He kissed you as you sat in his lap and the tears on your cheeks wet his skin when he held you even closer. 

He didn’t leave your side when the paramedics checked you out in the back of the van. Bucky held your hand when the flashlight was shoved in your eyes and he squeezed your fingers when they told you that you had a concussion. When your words got lost behind tears, Bucky spoke them for you. And when the men in suits rounded the ambulance with notepads and stern faces, Bucky told them no, they could talk to you after you had some time to yourself. 

Steve was needed for that conversation. The men in suits listened better that way. 

The men in paramedic uniforms did not listen to Bucky when he told them they didn’t need to stitch up the cut on his face. The interaction almost made you laugh. Almost. 

When the ambulance shut its backdoors with you inside and Bucky sitting on the bench that was much too small for him, you closed your eyes. “Y/n, you can’t go to sleep.” Calloused, familiar hands ran up and down your arms. “Baby, you gotta keep your eyes open.” 

You briefly wondered if the concern in Bucky’s tone would be permanent. You opened your eyes just in case it would be, lashes fluttering until his beautiful face was all you could focus on. 

“There’s my girl,” he smiled. It was a sad smile. 

But despite it all, everything felt okay. 

[blueink2k]

Propaganda in Death Note and How It Played Into Light’s God Complex

[This is based on information from the anime, as I have yet to read the manga for myself. Caps from or references to the manga may be included to emphasize points or provide visuals, but the version of the plot I'm referring to is taken from the anime.]

Light Yagami does not pick up the Death Note knowing he’s going to use it to commit mass murder and become the God of his New World.

Actually, he does the opposite. He kills someone to test it as he’s under the impression it isn’t real, convinces himself it was a freak coincidence, and decides to try it out in a way that will provide a more concrete conclusion. When it does end up working he’s stunned, to say the least.

“I killed them both...I killed two men. Those were human lives. I-It won’t be overlooked. Besides, who am I to pass judgment on others?”

Light Yagami, the perfect, straight-A, model student, has just confirmed he killed two people using some strange supernatural notebook that just happened to fall into his hands. He’s always believed strongly in his morals. He’s been on course his whole life to join the police force like his father an deliver justice, and here he is, an indirect murderer. 

So what does he do about it?

...He comes up with a reason to justify himself. 

The people he killed were criminals. Mere scum who do nothing but rot and infect the world. Wouldn’t everyone be better off without them? It isn’t that he’s never considered this before, he has, albeit not to the same degree as taking their deaths into his own hands. But now that he has the power to do so, why shouldn’t he? He’s smart, he’s determined. He’s capable of it.

In fact, in his mind, he’s the only one who is.

He’s kind of right. He’s the top of his class, he comes out on top in national tests, he barely even has to try. Plus, he’s the only one that has a Death Note, and therefore the power to do this. 

At this point in time, he doesn’t consider himself a god. He doesn’t want to rule the world, he just wants to change it. Something else important to note is that he doesn’t refer to himself as Kira or anything other than Light. 

...That is, until...

Websites start popping up all over claiming that whoever this mass murderer is is named “Kira”, a god among men risen to punish criminals and save the world.

Two things to note here;

Apparently, “Kira” is returning, meaning there must have been some kind of previous belief in an entity that either did something similar to Light or had the same beliefs. There isn’t any other canon mention of a previous Kira, and this in and of itself is pretty vague, but given that there’s tons of religions in real life that have never had a big breakthrough, it’s reasonable to believe this could be something similar. That, or a creepypasta. Or a cult.

Light created this understanding that he had to be the one to change the world to cope with his murders. Actually - that might be the worst way to put it, since we know how strongly he feels about justice and being given an outlet to carry out this wish of world peace just enhanced this, but nonetheless... It’s impossible to assume he’s doing all of this without even a speck of guilt. Therefore, this is the first hint of appreciation or even just acknowledgement that what he’s doing is right. 

Disregarding the first point (as interesting as I find it), this is really the first time Light is ever told what he’s doing is good. His own father - who he idolizes -considers Kira evil. His sister flat out says she hates him. Of course, this is all after Kira actually does become popular, but still, all he receives from that point on is disapproval from the people he cares the most about. The online love for Kira is all he has.

So, yeah, he probably internalizes it.

He thinks he’s doing the right thing. He thinks he’s giving others justice. He thinks he’s the only one who can do this. Others agreeing is only enhancing this. They’re the ones who call him God.

As the story progresses, Kira’s power and popularity grows. He gains direct news coverage, people begin sending him names of people to kill, his following grows. So much so, that when someone gets a Death Note and figures out that must be what he’s using, their immediate response is to find a way to contact him.

Cue Misa Amane and Sakura TV.

Sakura TV is a news program known for its unreliability. Demegawa, the director, even says he’s willing to make things up for publicity. And that’s when the Second Kira tapes arrive. 

This, however, is only the first encounter with Sakura TV.

After this, the only direct involvement the police has with it is in the Yotsuba arc, when it’s used to lure out Higuchi. Otherwise the program promotes Kira all on its own, even going so far as to create Kira’s Kingdom - half a scam for viewers’ money, half a way to get more people to see Kira as God. And it works. He gains a following of people who believe he will create a new, better world, and will even give themselves up to help him. 

An example of this following is when a mob of followers attacks the SPK under Kira’s orders. They’re so quick to join in, and are even willing to put their names and faces on TV in trust that Kira will not kill them.

All of this publicity sparks fear in the general public. People begin fearing that if they do something wrong Kira will kill them, causing crime rates to drop nearly 70% over Kira’s 6 year reign, as well as completely stopping wars.

Demegawa is eventually killed. Other news programs begin scrambling to claim the voice of Kira, topped by NHN, where we are reintroduced to Kiyomi Takada as Kira’s spokeswoman as well as one of his greatest supporters.

Light, as much as he hates Sakura TV and NHN’s depictions of Kira, uses them to his advantage as much as he can.

But really, imagine what this is all doing to him.

At the beginning, he struggled with grasping what he was doing as right. His sense of justice, righteousness, and perfectness shattered by a single notebook. But this is perfect, he figures that if he really wants to fix the world, this is one surefire way to do it. And yeah, his family hates Kira, but online he’s worshiped as God. We already know he has a pretty decent ego, and all of this is doing nothing but fueling it.

To top it all off, as he continues with his killings, his following grows. More and more people begin to support him, every single day there’s news stations upon news stations covering his story, some negative, some positive. People from all over express admiration towards him, even the President of the United States sides with him. He is literally worshiped as Kira, as God.

This all makes it sounds like his god complex starts later in the series, so to clarify; no, he does not pick up the book with plans to become God, but the second people start fueling his ego, the more twisted his ideals and motivations become. He’s the only one who can fix this rotten world. He holds the power of a god in his hands, he does what only a god can do, and everyone treats him accordingly. He is Kira, he is God.

Between websites, news programs, and his cult-like following, Light had enough attention to feed into his ego for a lifetime. He was perfect pre-Death Note. Smart, charming, set for success. There never was a time where he was particularly not narcissistic, it was just that he only felt this way inside of himself. The way he presented to others? A perfect, cool guy persona with an - in all honesty - annoying prickly jerk hiding inside. But no one ever knew this, he never let them know, and because he was always naturally successful it was more of an expectation he just met rather than surpassed, so he wasn’t consistently praised and this incredible self-esteem wasn’t propped up by anyone but himself.

To cycle back to the title of this rant-essay-analysis-whatever you’d like to call it, I want to share some examples about exactly why I even classify this news coverage and whatnot of Kira as propaganda.

Kira’s supporters cause a riot at SPK HQ under Kira’s orders and Demegawa’s direction.

Mikami providing his insight as to why he supports Kira on television, openly promoting Kira and encouraging others to join him.

Takada announces her new role as Kira’s spokesperson on NHN.

Mikami uses his power as Kira to kill members of Kira’s Kingdom, supposed followers of Kira who have been using his publicity to gain money and attention.

Most of this doesn’t exactly look like your standard propaganda posters or news story, but it does fit the overall criteria;

Information from a biased viewpoint used to promote/publicize a certain view (accepting Kira as God)

Shows exclusively positive views on Kira

Assigns Kira positive adjectives and makes him appear as good (God, savior, messenger from Hell), never considering or showing the bad

Presenting only positive statistics (Light does this in his monologue where he brings up the 70% crime rate drop, and given there’s no way he could have calculated this on his own he likely got it from one of these media sources. Not that it’s incorrect, per se, but he does fail to mention how many innocent people he’s killed in order to do this.)

Appeals to regular, everyday people by talking about how he’s doing this for the betterment of the whole world. People who are directly affected by crime are also likely positively impacted by this.

Initiates and spreads fear by explaining how Kira only attacks those who do wrong.

In the end, Light’s personal descent into his god complex, as well as his effects on the world can be attributed to many things, but it would be a crime to ignore just how big of a role news and other types of media played in this without his direct input. To think, if Light had won and overtaken the police like he was going to, he’d have absolutely no problem stepping into his shoes as God. Everyone else already set the stage, he just had to get there first.

-

This is my first Death Note analysis, so please excuse any errors, I just watched the anime for the first time and am doing my best to piece together all of the plot and especially Light’s deep characterization the best I can. If I ever read the manga or find something new, chances are this will be updated. But as for now, it’s finally finished after a week or so of procrastinating. Thank you for reading if you got this far! <3

[billiedeanhwrd]

when i fell you were there, with your hands in the air

cordelia goode x fem!reader

summary: your depression is hitting you harder than most days, cordelia comforts you 🤍

warnings: depression, slight mention of childhood trauma, it's angsty mental health fluff basically

word count: 1.7k

a/n: this is my first ever fanfic and i'm very very nervous about it, so pls don't be too harsh, constructive criticism is very much welcome though!! also i'm sorry about any grammar mistakes, english is not my first language. i also have to add that this was very much self indulgent and based on my own experience with depression, so if you don't relate, that's fine, everyone experiences it differently. I hope you enjoy it tho, have fun reading <3

today was one of those days again. one of those days where everything seemed grey and pointless. one of those days where taking a shower was too exhausting. one of those days where it didn't matter if you left your clothes on the floor or a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. one of those days where you isolated yourself. one of those days that seemed to return to you every morning for almost 3 weeks now.

you had been struggling with depression for years now and attending therapy regularly still didn't take away from the embarrassment you felt about your illness. cordelia didn't know, you didn't want to burden her with your subjectively "silly" problems. It wasn't easy hiding something so life consuming from your lover, but whenever you were with her you felt as though you could reach for the stars and there was no point in ruining happy moments with sad stories.

Whenever you felt really depressed and unable to function, you isolated yourself. Cordelia and you had been together for 7 months now and the first time she thought she had done something wrong which had resulted in you needing space from her, but when she confronted you, you reassured her that sometimes you needed some time to yourself because you were a more introverted person. While that might be true, you wanted nothing more than for her to take you into her arms and tell you everything was going to be okay again, but the fear of possibly burdening the already very busy supreme held you back from confessing what was weighing you down.

you were used to this already, you always kept your darkness to yourself, too afraid of being too much or being abandoned by your loved ones, while the rational side of you knew that the people in your life who truly meant something to you would never abandon you because of your chronic depression, anxiety left no room for rationality.

you were always feeling kind of down, but some days it was easier to cope and enjoy your day despite that... and then there were those phases where you felt unusually down, those phases that caused you to isolate yourself and wait for the storm to pass in solitude. They usually lasted only a few days or maximum a week, but this one had been going on for much longer. cordelia was worried, you had never needed so much "alone time to recharge your social battery", but she didn't want to overstep your boundaries and possibly push you away, because what you weren't aware of was that cordelia too struggled with abandonment issues and fearing she would be "too much" (which she could never be for you, you adored every single second you could spend in the blonde witch's presence).

After leaving multiple text messages and trying to call you, only to be greeted by your voicemail, cordelia took it upon herself to see what was going on with you. The knocking on your door would've usually startled you, but you had just ordered a pizza, too tired to prepare a meal yourself and assumed the delivery was faster than they had stated on their website. your jaw fell open and the door was quickly closed again, shit shit shit, what am i supposed to do now? the place looks like a mess, i can't let cordelia se-

"y/n can you open the door please?" she asked in her gentle voice. "Uh, yeah, give me a second" you replied, hastily throwing on a hoodie that had been lying around on your couch, coincidentally that hoodie being one you stole from cordelia a few weeks ago, something that made your girlfriend's heart warm up a little and relieve her of some of the worried thoughts she had that this might be your way of signaling to her that you no longer wished to be in a relationship with her.

"can we talk? i haven't seen you in three weeks and you haven't answered any of my texts... what's going on? you know you can talk to me about anything..."

"uhm, yes, of course. sit down, make yourself at home, would you like anything to drink?"

"no, thank you, i just want to talk to you"

you didn't have the energy to lie to the woman who held your heart in her hands anymore, you were terrified of her reaction, not only to you being mentally ill but also to you hiding it for so long.

"i'm so sorry delia, please don't be mad", you anxiously stuttered out. cordelia grabbed your hand and smiled reassuringly, signaling for you to continue talking.

"I didn't tell you before because i know you've already got so much going on with the academy and i didn't want to pile onto that with my irrelevant issues... I was diagnosed with depression amongst other things a few years ago, it's something i have to deal with every day and some days are easier than others, but sometimes it all comes crashing down on me and i feel like i'm lost in an ocean of a sadness so powerful, i can feel the pain on my body. I know it can be challenging to be close to someone with severe mental issues and I understand if you don't want to continue being with me, i would never want you to stay with me because you pity me or because you're afraid i'd do something to myself if you'd left, you're not responsible for my feelings or actions and i would never want to impose you with such a burden and-"

you stopped rambling when you noticed the tears flowing down cordelia's cheeks.

your eyes widened and your heart started pounding rapidly in your chest. "i'm sorry, was that too much?"

"no, no, no, no, no... it just pains me to know that you've been dealing with this on your own for such a long time because you don't value yourself enough to believe that other people might want to support you through your everyday battles. y/n, i know you, you're the girl who's always there when someone else needs a shoulder to cry on, anytime, anyplace, you always go out of your way to make others feel seen and accepted, why would you ever think that you don't deserve the kindness you so openly give to others?"

now it was you who was crying, cordelia was right, you didn't value yourself enough to believe that. you didn't actively think of yourself as less than others but that thought always unconsciously motivated the way you dealt with the things that were bothering you.

cordelia patted her lap, signaling for you to sit on her lap and come into her arms. you hesitated though, you weren't used to being so vulnerable and open with your emotions and it scared the shit out of you. you feared cordelia was possibly annoyed at you and was only doing this to get it over with and then get out. she watched you, while you were anxiously deciding what your next move would be, her heart broke for you, you looked like a scared baby dear when all she wanted to do was to comfort you.

"baby, look at me"

her chocolate colored eyes were so full of love, simply looking into them managed to get your heart rate down.

"it's okay, i'm not mad at you for talking about your feelings and all i want to do right now is to hug some of your pain away, so please, let me hold you"

you melted at her gentle words and understanding nature, cordelia was an incredibly smart woman, who went through traumatic things herself and even from that little information you shared, she understood you. she saw her younger self in you, so incredibly lonely but oh, so scared of being vulnerable with another person, due to the emotional abuse her mother subjected her to, and while she might not have gone through the same things you did, she felt like she understood your feelings in this exact moment and she wanted nothing more than to make you feel safe with her.

you slowly crawled into her lap, still afraid this was all a trick to hurt you, but when she started combing through your hair and reassuringly whispering "i've got you" and "you're here with me, i promise you, you're safe", you relaxed into her arms.

after about half an hour of laying there with each other, calming down and enjoying the other one's warmth, you spoke up.

"delia?"

"yes, my love?"

"so you're not leaving me?", you hesitantly asked.

cordelia sat up and looked straight in your eyes while asking "would you leave someone you love because they're depressed?"

"no, never"

"then tell me, sweetheart, why would i leave you?"

her response left you speechless, you almost missed her confessing her love. "you love me?"

she hugged you tight and pressed a kiss on your forehead. "more than anything, and please, never worry about telling me about what's going on in that pretty little head of yours, no matter what it is, i wanna know, okay?"

you let out the breath you didn't know you were holding and confidently replied "okay"

a few minutes passed before you spoke up again when you remembered you didn't say those 3 special words back.

"i love you too, by the way"

cordelia smiled lovingly and stood up to reach out for your hand and pull you up. "i know, now let's go to bed, we can clean up this place tomorrow"

you accepted her helping hand and engulfed her in a hug. the way she so naturally used the word "we" and didn't seem to mind helping you clean up your mess of an apartment made you more emotional than you'd like to admit.

And while you knew this would not be the last time you were overwhelmed by your depression, you now knew that you could count on the woman who loved you to stand by your side and help you get through even your hardest day.

[lysershine]

@willwoodimagines​ lore timeline (what is my life)

So firstly, a fuckin massive thank you to @hotsinglelemonsinyourarea​ because I cannot do this shit alone and he’s helped me compile all of their old posts because I, apparently, underestimated how long they’ve been doing this. So from this point forward, I’m assuming nothing is a joke. Here we go!!

I am so sorry. Let’s do this.

So earliest posts that are likely lore come from around April the 9th. This post is a conversation seemingly between Three and One where Two is gone on a road trip, -- although it might not Actually Be A Road Trip, -- and then One tells everyone to stop acting like Two is dead, because he’s not. Which, fair enough, although later in the conversation, Two replies and seems to invent that he’s at the beach, probably to calm down the people speculating about his whereabouts. I am Anything But Calm. 

There’s also this post, presumably from One or Three but it’s hard to tell cuz Three didn’t start signing posts until much later and they type pretty similarly, where they tell us we should be grateful for them feeding us and keeping us warm, and it’s tagged with ‘#I wish I was warm.’  

So here’s where stuff gets very interesting! Backstory, people! In this post, we start to see some pieces put together. The imagine reads:

IMAGINE: Will Wood invites you into his home for an exclusive performance of I/Me/Myself. You are so excited! But then, he asks you to come down into his wine cellar, explaining that his keyboard is down there. You go down there hesitantly. You don’t realize for several minutes that he did not follow you down here. The only things here are a laptop and a sticky note with the words “POST IMAGINES” written in sharpie. You are so afraid and attempt to leave the way you came in but the door is gone. You are trapped. It is so cold and you just want to see your family again.

So that’s horrifying!! But it gives us insight into how the mods were probably captured and why they’re running this blog. It’s a great blog. 10/10, doesn’t make me solve codes. Oh wait. 

After that post, -- which I am assuming comes from Three, -- we’re treated to a bunch of morse code that the wonderful Nigel was kind enough to translate for me:

They then added in a reblog, “It seems I have made a typo! I meant mod 1 won’t let me speak, I am mod 3.” So, it seems like One is trying to quiet any cries for help.

This is shortly thereafter followed by this post from the 11th, and to quote directly, it says:

IMAGINE: Inside of the cellar basemeant, there is a suit. It is tempting but Weill said you are not allowed to touch. YOu know you want to. Touch it. he is guarding it. he is hiding something. follow for more will woof imagines.

So that’s riddled with typos, and if you stick them all together you just get eeOf so I’m gonna assume that all this means is that this post is courtesy of Two. There’s also a skeleton circled so maybe Will has previous victims or something? Who knows.

On the 12th, we have a couple posts, one about being in Will’s basement and watching him cosplay the onceler, another about Will being vaguely inhuman. Don’t know how important that is but I’m gonna make note of it anyway, because Will being inhuman especially might make sense for some stuff.

The next seemingly important post is this one:

So this one is probably about Two, my evidence being this post and the fact that, following this, Two gets significantly worse at spelling and more confused about what’s going on with their captivity. My best guess is that Two gets in trouble either for the lack of imagines OR they did touch the suit from that earlier imagine and now they know something that they shouldn’t. Either way, Will takes him away and brainwashes??? Lobotomizes??? Bite of ‘87s???? Idk???? I’m gonna go with lobotomy, it seems the most accurate to Two’s behavior from here on out, I really have no idea but he comes back Very Different. And in the tags it says ‘Laplace’s Angel 2:14!’ and the line at that time is “Somebody, help me!” so you know, pretty straightforward cry for help. 

Though it makes me think that in the cellar, they are probably limited to interaction with only things directly connected to Will Wood, which is why “as a treat” they watch the documentary and they communicate with his music like this. They’re not allowed any media other than his. 

Anyway, here’s an important note: From this point forward, Two is an unreliable narrator. Everything he says from here on out should be taken with a pillar of salt. (H.A.L.T., it’s not my fault!) 

So with that in mind, the next post of importance is this one, a conversation that goes Three, One, and then Two. Two says Will let them watch the documentary as a treat, One tells them to stop making it seem like Will is holding them captive, and Three just says “movee :-)”. Which, fair enough.

The next posts that are worth noting are this one, where Three simply says “mental anguish” and One shuts them down saying that no one on the blog is experiencing that, and threatens them in the tags, and then this one where someone is being silenced.  

There’s this post, which in the website version of their blog links to itself, I don’t know how or why or if that matters but if someone figures something out with that, please let me know. There’s also this imagine, which is about bodyswapping with Will -- storywise, I don’t think this is something that really happens, -- but it’s tagged with ‘#I miss my family.’ So that’s Not Good.

There’s some posts in between solidifying that despite this wackiness, the mods are indeed still friends. And then we go straight back into absolute horror with this post:

And so evidently they are Less Than Okay and probably being held captive by Will Wood. It’s immediately followed by this morse code, presumably from Three because he seems to use morse where One uses binary, and when deciphered, it reads: “I am blinking. Hear my cry.” Three’s post is then followed by One trying to shush them once more, saying: 

“[W]e at Willwoodimagines would like to apologize for last night. We might have, perhaps, made it seem as if we are being held in a wine cellar against our Will (Wood), and that some of us have been down here for six years, and that we may miss our families, but I, Mod 1, would like to remind you that we are fine and need no help! Cheers!:) #We are NOT blinking. At all. #Not at all. No blinking from us! Blinking? Aha! Not at all.”

So what can be gathered from this is that they’re absolutely being held in Will Wood’s wine cellar, and some of them have been there for six years, and they miss their families, are NOT fine, definitely need help, and are CERTAINLY blinking. Also the random bolded letters spell “help” again.

Then there’s this post, which Nigel translated for me (ty man ily):

We also have this crudely-drawn map from Two, but it doesn’t seem to be related to anything. Anyway, the address is totally garbled, yep, but nonetheless if you put it into Google you get the address for a relatively poorly-rated landfill in New Jersey:

So clearly someone picked up on that, because then we have an ask from an anon who wants to know what the recycling situation is where they are being held. One seems very confused by this question, and Two pipes in saying that have a trashcan. Their confusion would make me assume this is the wrong address, but I don’t actually have to assume, because One(?) confirms it later with this post containing binary that can be translated to read:

“oh god the address was wrong i don't know where we fucking are help“

So you know, concerning! This is immediately followed by another ask, this one in binary. The conversation goes:

“Are you good?” “Absolutely not”

Which kinda speaks for itself. There’s also a quiz they made and I took it to see if there was any lore and uh apparently I’m most like One, so that’s poggers, I think? Idk there wasn’t any lore though. There is this post where Three says that Two’s favorite song isn’t a Will Wood song, and One threatens to knock them the fuck out, and I’m adding this as a point to my theory that they’re unallowed to consume media unrelated to WW. They make up though, so it’s fine.

It gets more quiet and more confusing for a while, Three saying “wake up” and this post being tagged with ‘#I’m cold and I am afraid.’ Two leaves again, Three goes quiet cuz they’re having a rough time, Two hates being smol-bean-ified and is behind held below One and Three, who seem to be in the same room? They’re also all starving, and Three could be an arsonist if you let them out.

Blah blah, they called me out and I cried about it, and NOW we’ve reached the 100-follower-special. Thank fuck.

Three posts this, it leads to binary, and that binary says:

“Listen carefully. The video that Will (Wood) be posted is extremely important. Do not skip it.“

This is immediately followed by this video of Two sprinting through the woods, presumably to freedom, if you read the tags. Three follows that with another post, saying “It has begun.” One shuts them down again in this post, but it links to binary that says:

“hello? can you read this? mod 2 is free! and hopefully will be coming back for us both. you all did absolutely nothing to help so i'm not thanking you for this. however i am thanking you for following us all! you've given us moral support thank you, mod 1“

As I’ve said earlier, I’m fairly certain that their captor is Will and he has access to this tumblr, which is why One especially is trying to be quiet about this. Like in this post where they apologize for the insanity on the blog, which links to binary, and it reads:

“we’re not in ddlc. i am not monika. listen to me closely. mod 3 and i are still stuck here. we have been posting cries for help for weeks. go look for them! they’re like easter eggs. just for you! thank you, mod 1“

DO I LOOK LIKE I’M COLLECTING EGGS YET??? DO I??????? Anyway, I got named the official lore account so now I’m fucking trapped here, and then we get some posts about how Two has made it to a McDonald’s.

Then One posts yet another apology, with two links. Link one directs you to a groupchat between the three mods, detailing Two’s escape and everyone’s very odd adoration for fast food. But then again, Three says they’ve been eating slop for a while, so. Fair enough. To bring back my old commentary about this, though; in this conversation there seems to be a bit of confusion over who exactly put them in the cellar where they’re captured, but as we saw earlier it was indeed Will Wood himself who is keeping them prisoner. However, Two also asserts that very soon he will be able to save One and Three, apparently with the help of Will? So there are two possibilities here:

1. Two is still an unreliable narrator, so it’s a possibility that his lobotomy or whatever has ruined his ability to perceive threats and he is being tricked by Will, who is indeed their captor, and will get thrown back in the cellar with the other two.

2. Something bigger than Will is controlling the situation. It makes no sense that all three mods would remember Will putting them in the cellar if he didn’t. So someone else could be controlling Will, I don’t know. They allude to a person from the documentary and initially I assumed it was Will but I actually haven’t seen the movie (shock and horror, I know, I’m sorry), so maybe it’s someone else and that’s the piece of the puzzle I’m missing? Idk, if you’ve made it this far and you’ve seen the documentary, check the conversation and let me know.

Link two leads to binary, and when translated it becomes:

“i do think it’s less endearing and more terrifying how people on a blogging website care more about my freedom than my own friends and family did i dont need to sign this. you know who it’s from“

Which, maybe, but I love ARGs and Nigel and I are already incredibly invested so whoops. Besides, who’s gonna do it if we don’t?

Anyway!!! I sent an ask in response to some of my confusion for the groupchat, and because One said to keep sending messages. One responded, and I was redirected to even more binary because of course! This time it says:

“THANK YOU FOR ASKING MOD 2 SAID THAT HE HAS INTERACTED WITH WILL. SO I DO NOT THINK WE ARE BEING HELD BY WILL HIMSELF. I BELIEVE MOD 3 KNOWS BUT WHEN I ASKED AGAIN HE JUST TOLD ME THAT IT WAS THE GUY FROM THE MOVIE. THIS WAS NOT VERY HELPFUL THANKS  MOD 1 P.S. THIS IS IN ALL CAPS BECAUSE I'M VERY EXCITED!!” 

Then there were two posts in quick succession, the first one was a new puzzle type! Morse code! And grandma taught me that, so I can tell you it says:

“I think we posted an address once but it was wrong and we got caught doing it. I didn’t like that day. This entire computer has safety settings on it so I can’t just ??? (this looks like a keysmash or something to me?) stop writing. Hold on, I hear something.”

And I would’ve thrown it directly in a translator, but as One acknowledges in their next post with a link to more binary, I had to translate by hand because:

“well! you'll never guess what desktops do to morse code! we're back at binary! anyway. we did post an address but everything went wrong, i don't like thinking about that entire week, the pain was unimaginable! more importantly, though, i've asked mod 3 and he s hold on i think i hear something.“

That post was immediately reblogged with more binary that just says:

“well that’s not good”

Which is horrific!! So I sent an ask, like, ayo homie what the fuck, and I got a response! The text itself is just a dismissal that anything’s wrong, but the bolded text spells out “footsteps” so that’s terrifying! Also Two apparently slept in the McDonald’s parking lot and One slept in a sleeping bag in the cellar.

They posted that this morning when I started working on this post, -- I’ve been here for like eight hours now I think, -- and so I replied expressing my distress that they were active again and One responded with backwards text, which when read normally, says:

“Did you think we were going to sleep forever? The show must go on!”

Death undertones, I dig it.

Anyway, @hotsinglelemonsinyourarea​ my beloved asked why they were watching @emerald-whale​, and One hit back with binary that says:

“you don't think we're watching all of you? tell the lorekeeper to write this one down. sincerely, mod 1″

Which is fucking horrifying, but no worries One, I am writing it down!! I am making a whole ass fucking timeline!! Because I am but a humbled servant that kneels to whatever story you’re trying to tell here. :) Apparently. ::) I hate it here.

Anyway, an anon sent in an ask that is one of the funniest interactions ever:

“ooohhh pizza mozarella pizza mozarella rella rella oohh“

“alright no more lore for you guys until you learn how to behave”

And then Two felt like pitching in as well:

Now keep in mind all of this was posted very fast and I was writing this post, -- still am, whoops, -- so I sent this very stressed ask telling them to SLOW DOWN THE LORE PLEASE IM FUCKING PLEADING as well as asking each mod a question, and I got shot back more binary cuz they hate me but they did answer my questions so the conversation goes:

Me: “One, are you in the same room as Three? What about Two?”  One: “yes. no. i miss 2 dearly.” Me: “Two, who did you bite to get out? Two: “the  ghuy from the movee !!!!  i bit him and sstole hias phone!!!!!! his passw ord was "willwoodsux"  :-)” Me: “Three, how long has it been since you’ve consumed any media that isn’t WW related?” Three: “It’s only been a year since I entered the cellar, so not that long ago :-) Around July you're welcome, lorekeeper sincerely, the three mods

So to clarify what and why I was asking:

1. My theory about One and Three being together while Two is separate is confirmed, yay me! Kinda trivial but I want to understand what’s going on in the cellar, so that stuff makes sense in context.

2. I haven’t seen the Will Wood movie, so this means nothing to me! Lucky for me, I have a friend, @indubitablyswag​, who has seen it, so I asked them!

They have no fucking clue either!! So I will probably be renting that movie tonight, because this lore is worth money to me now, apparently, -- and I’ve been meaning to see it anyways. 

3. Three made a comment about having never seen Ratatouille, which Nigel thought tied into my theory that non-WW things weren’t allowed in the cellar. I think this confirms that, but it actually doesn’t excuse Three from not knowing Ratatouille because it came out much longer than a year ago. (Unless this ARG takes place in a different year? I’ll have to ask about that.)

Then there’s another pizza mozzarella whatever ask, but it’s okay cuz Two fucking murders them. 

I got my numbers screwed up and hurt One’s feelings, (IF YOU’RE READING THIS, ONE, IM SORRY, I MEANT THREE!!) something???? hurts, and I have wasted a solid nineish hours of my existence on this.

Then One gave me a whole ass heart attack by asking my favorite flavor of ice cream. (Theirs is birthday cake, apparently.)

I’m posting it before any of those fucks give me any more lore to add to this timeline because I’ve been here for like ten hours and I honestly just Can Not Keep Doing This, so I’ll be back with more theories later, -- especially after I’ve seen the movie. 

In the meantime, au revoir, I’m gonna go have a stroke. I hope you guys are pleased with your lorekeeper. Cuz if you’re not then literally what has this been for? :::))

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 21: Prinxiety (pt 2)

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 21: Combine two soulmate prompts. (This will make sense soon, I promise.)

It’s the sequel you’ve all been waiting for! This is the second part to day 16 (read that first!!!!!), and y’all finally get to see what happened to Virgil! Please heed the trigger warnings below.

TRIGGER/content WARNINGS!! Anxiety, food mention, crappy foster system/group homes, implied past abuse, religious guilt/negative view of religion, homophobia, conversion therapy/abuse, starvation, sneaking medication (antipsychotics/side effects), electrocution, seizure, ambulance. I’m sorry. 

Word count: 3.8k

Unlike most kids in the foster system, Virgil didn’t know his birthday. He knew it was sometime in December, but that didn’t do much. Technically, birthdays weren’t really a huge thing anyways, not when the group home he rarely left was awfully underfunded, and a party came second to little things like working sinks and clothes without holes. Even still, all the other kids at least got a little cupcake and a half hearted birthday song on their special day, and his festivities were pushed onto Christmas. He didn’t get a weak excuse for a celebration, because the other kids ‘found it unfair’ that he got that and Christmas in the same month. To prevent an upheaval, the workers told him that he’d just have to be happy with what he got.

But it wasn’t fair, because some kids got Easter and a birthday, or Halloween and a birthday, or New Years and a birthday, and poor Virgil didn’t. The fact of the matter was, they plain didn’t like him. The other kids didn’t like that he got extra free time because of his anxiety, or was allowed to leave the table when they weren’t, and they especially didn’t like he was the youngest of the bunch. The youngest had the highest chance of getting adopted, it was just facts, so they had seemingly decided that if his stay here would be the shortest, it would be the most tortured. 

It wasn’t the shortest stay, though. With his barrage of anxiety related issues and group-home-toughened demeanor, no foster home wanted to deal with him. He was snarky, ran away, regularly got in fights with the biological children of the parents, and was promptly labeled a problem child. Eventually, it was deemed easier for him to just stay in a group home until he outgrew the system, since he seemed set to escape every other place. Virgil tried to pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it did; it was his fault, after all. As he watched all his older tormentors grow out of a crooked system, he resigned himself to the same fate. After all, he was almost sixteen now, and he knew his chances were out. So he stayed stuck in his group home, lashing out at his caretakers and therapists, refusing to eat unless it was alone in his room (technically, three kids slept in there, but he so rarely left it, and they wanted to avoid him, it was unofficially deemed his room), and listening to music on his phone.

He’d been given the phone on his fifteenth birthday, a gift from one of his caretakers. It was the cheapest piece of crap he’d ever seen, glitched out every other minute and needed to be charged at least three times a day, but it was a phone nonetheless. Granted, he had no one to text. But he had access to a computer, a totally one hundred percent legal music downloading website, and a strong sense of determination, so he’d soon filled the phone’s entire measly storage with all the music he could cram on the thing. 

That’s what he was doing on the night of December 18th, listening to his “Emo Playlist” on a pair of $4 Dollar Store earbuds, laying on his bed and finding shapes in his popcorn ceiling as the moon shone through the window. In the bunk beds across the room from him, his two other roommates were fast asleep, but he couldn’t follow suit. It was sadly normal for Virgil to have sleepless nights where no matter what, his anxious brain just wouldn’t shut off, and it just felt like one of those nights. His hands shook and his eyelids flinched every few seconds for no reason, so he turned the music just a little bit louder and tried to calm his breathing. 

It was just past 1 am when his life changed forever. 

He was on the fourth cycle of his playlist, eyes no more heavy than hours before and just as flinchy. It was just entering the “existential crisis” time of the night where he started questioning reality, and he was about to give in and start letting his mind drift to darker places, when a song distinctly not his began to play in the midst of a song switch.

How can you miss someone you’ve never met?

Because I need you now but I don’t know you yet,

But can you find me soon, because I’m in my head,

Yeah, I need you now but I don’t know you yet.

He froze, eyes suddenly wide open, and yanked the earbuds out of his ears. The song continued; not in his headphones, but in his head. It didn’t take an idiot to realize that it was his soulmate, responding, and as an afterthought, Virgil suddenly identified that today was probably his birthday. Both amazing revelations, but one was slightly more time sensitive. 

Desperately scrolling through his playlists as the song stopped after the chorus, he tried to find a song that would be an adequate introduction to this new person. When his eyes landed on a song from his Adele phase (he didn’t talk about that time) that he hadn’t had the energy to delete yet, he simultaneously groaned and grinned. Subtly meme-y, heartfelt like the song his soulmate had played, a decent greeting. He tapped play. 

Hello,

It’s me.

He hoped his soulmate had the same sense of humor of him and had actually given a laugh, since he was trying to stifle laughter behind his sleeve to avoid waking the sleeping kids. He paused after the first verse, since he didn’t really want to remember that phase of his life more than he had to, and waited for the other to play the next song. Hopefully they could work out some sort of rhythm, play songs back and forth. He for sure wouldn’t be able to sleep now.

(The next song his soulmate played was an almost atrocious obviously-musical-theatre song that almost made Virgil hit his head against the wall, so he retaliated with a favorite of his, the most ear assaulting screamo he could find on his playlist.)

The clock had just passed four in the morning when there was a small pause in the routine, before his soulmate played a children’s lullaby. It definitely wasn’t something you’d listen to in everyday life, so Virgil could only assume it was the other’s way of indicating that they had to sleep. As if I’m going to let you go that easily, Virgil smirked, opening YouTube and begging that the video he’d chosen would play without an ad.

It did, filling his crackling, cheap earbuds with the opening chorus of Baby Shark. Fight fire with fire, he decided, chuckling to himself as he turned off the song just before the ‘mommy shark’ verse. Silence filled his head and he mentally wished the other a good night, turning onto his stomach and screaming into his pillow, grinning madly. 

Eight months later, their new way of life was deeply imbedded into him; getting woken up at asscrack o’clock in the morning by a worker who wanted to be there as much as he did, and either playing his morning playlist to get himself slightly more ready to face another monotonous day or waiting in silence until his soulmate woke up and played their own music. He’d begrudgingly started to even enjoy the showtunes. Everyone around the home had noticed his gradual shift in attitude, and he couldn’t help the natural smiles that pulled at his cheeks when a new song played out of nowhere. It got to the point where his therapist noticed his lifted mood, and the other kids stopped avoiding him and, unknown to Virgil, his social workers decided that he was ready to try another foster home. 

That’s why, eight months later, there was a knock on his bedroom door and his main worker poked in her head, asking him to come downstairs. He’d been playing music for his soulmate, so he silently apologized and joined her at the dining room table, giving her a half hearted smile. 

“Virgil, we’ve found a new home for you. A foster home that specializes in… harder to place cases. They’ve opened their doors to you, and we’re hoping to get you into a trial period there within the next week.”

At first, Virgil vehemently refused. No. He didn’t want to go back to foster homes, not after… everything he went to in the first few. The ones that hurt him, the ones that were more densely crowded than group homes, the ones that turned him into the angry shell he was before he had met a sign of a possibly happy future. He didn’t want to lose the progress he’d made. 

But Bev looked so hopeful, so pleadingly at him, that he gave in after three days of denying. He said goodbye to the kids he’d unfortunately grown attached to, threw his few belongings into a black garbage bag, and got into his worker’s car for the first time in years. Just rebuckling that seatbelt caused a shudder to run up his spine. 

------1 month later------

“Virgil, what are you doing? Do you have earbuds in? We’ve made it abundantly clear that you are not to have technology at the table.”

Virgil fought every urge in his body to roll his eyes, flicking his hair behind his ears to show they were empty. It had gotten long and shaggy, just reaching his jaw in the back. “No earbuds. My soulmate’s listening to music, and it’s catchy.” Frankly, he was surprised he hadn’t been caught bopping along to silence before by the stiflers. 

They were nice enough, a woman and a man and their two biological children, but they were too religious for Virgil’s liking. He’d never had qualms with religion before, but he had grown tired of spending Saturdays and Sundays (his only days off from their homeschool regime) in a church, surrounded by older people singing repetitive songs and being yelled at by a guy on the pulpit. Faking being sick only worked so many times before they refused to listen to his excuses. They also insisted he go to a specialized youth group on Tuesdays, but that was easy enough to escape. He just waved by and booked it to the closest 7/11 when they left, making sure he was back at the church by the time it was over and made up some bullshit about the gathering. Jameson, the attendant at the gas station, was becoming the closest friend he’d ever had. 

“Your soulmate?” One of the children asked around a bite of toast, spitting a decent amount onto Virgil’s sleeve. 

“Like daddy and I, Mariam.” The woman explained briefly, not bothering to chastise her about speaking with her mouth full. 

“Yeah.” Unlike most of the kids at his old group home, he wasn’t warming up to theirs. They were too spoiled, too bratty. One had even bit him in his first week here and he was still bitter about it. 

“When did you connect with yours, Virgil?” The question wasn’t asked kindly, more for the sake of being polite, and he assumed if he didn’t answer in an equally polite tone, they’d probably make him paint a fence or something. 

He knew they cared about his bond about as much as he did about theirs. Which was approximately none. The mom took her children’s empty plates and placed them in the sink, Virgil quickly following suit. No use losing more computer time because he didn’t clean his plate.  

“Last December. I didn’t even know it was my birthday, and they started playing music out of nowhere. It was pretty cool.” He finished rinsing off his plate and was confused at the sudden stillness in the room.

“‘They’?” The mom asked, giving her husband what she must have believed to be a subtle glance.

“Uhm… yeah?” Virgil said slowly, “I’m bisexual. So I’m not sure if my partner’s a guy or a girl or… something in between. So… they?” 

He stared with rising anxiety as the two parents had a silent interaction over the kitchen island, before the dad stood up. “Kids, plates in the sink and then go get ready for church. Virgil, you too.”

There was minimal whining as the younger ones did as they were asked, racing each other up the stairs. Virgil followed, slower, listening to hushed beginnings of a conversation, unable to fight the feeling that he’d just royally fucked up. 

------------------------

“Virgil, may we speak with you for a moment?”

He froze, slowly turning from where he’d been half way up the stairs. They’d just wrapped up lessons for the day (Virgil never thought he’d miss an actual school building before, but alas) and the kids had been excused, leaving just him and the parents behind. It had been almost a week since the incident, and a part of him had been hoping they’d just drop it. There wasn’t much they could do, anyways; if their religion conflicted so badly with his sexuality, the worst they would do is send him back to the home anyways. In all honesty, he kind of hoped they would. He was sick of being here, and it was better for his record if he didn’t run. 

Not that it mattered much anymore. He was almost aged out of the system anyways. 

He took a cautious seat back at the dining room table, which they had just cleared from classes. The mom sat back in her chair, eyeing him carefully, as the dad began to speak.

“We spoke with our pastor the other day, and we think it would be best if we put you in therapy.”

“I don’t…” He’d stopped regular therapy at the group home almost a month before coming here, and he couldn’t imagine why he’d need to go back. He definitely wasn’t happy here, but he didn’t figure a grumpy mood was enough to warrant counseling. “I don’t understand.”

“After… what you told us? About your… urges-”

“Urges.” He couldn’t help his own disgusted tone. Of course they were homophobic.

“Yes. Our pastor suggested we try conversion therapy.”

Virgil scoffed, but he couldn’t ignore the way his heart started pounding, “Right. As if you could ever get my social workers to approve that. Ward of the state, remember?” He tapped his chest a couple times.

“Fortunately, we already talked to your social worker, Virgil. We had it approved just this morning.” The man finally stopped, as if waiting for a response.

Virgil’s eyes grew wide as he looked frantically between the two of them, the woman quickly avoiding eye contact. That wasn’t normal. 

“There’s no way in hell that you-”

“Profanity, Virgil!” The man barked and Virgil shrank back in his chair, impulsively ducking to avoid a fist that didn’t come. They hadn’t hit him so far, but old habits die hard. “We’ve already signed you up. Your first session is tomorrow. First thing’s first-” He stood up, reaching a hand out to a still-shaking Virgil, “Hand over your phone.”

-------------------------

His hair was short now. Shorter than he could ever remember it being. He missed his bangs, he missed the tiny boosts of confidence it gave him when the rest of his appearance disgusted him. Now there was nothing for his hands to run through. There was no style to it, just an electric razor in the hands of his silent foster mother. He should have fought it, he really should have, but he was shaking far too much to try to move.

He didn’t like hands so near his throat. 

------------------------

Surely, his social worker didn’t approve of this. The only explanation Virgil could possibly rationalize was they’d lied about the purpose of the therapy, or the method, or something. But any type of change in a foster kid's life had to go through about a million different levels to get approved, so how the hell were they getting away with this?

It wasn’t too bad. A lot of it was using religious guilt, something Virgil did not have much of, saying he was immoral and inhumane. The rest of it was just his new therapist trying to dig into his supposed ‘trauma’ that made him ‘this way’, as if there was something that caused it. They talked a lot about his old foster homes, and his therapist seemed positive something there had to be the root to everything. It made his blood boil.

It didn’t help that they still hadn’t given his phone back, and they confined him to his room when he wasn’t doing school work at the kitchen table. He could hear the way his soulmate was losing morale, the longer he didn’t respond. The songs were darker, and were few and far between. They still refused to play songs on what he’d called ‘his days’.

--------------------

His ‘therapy’ had ended hours ago, and yet he couldn’t stop twitching. Every time he closed his eyes in a vain attempt to sleep, it was like the electrodes were attached to him again. The images they’d shown him flashed before his eyes, of men kissing, holding hands, and were quickly followed by the sharp sting of electric shocks. He couldn’t close his eyes without flinching violently, no music to calm his nerves.

Virgil didn’t sleep that night.

----------------------

He held to the music like an anchor, soaking in every rare song his soulmate played like a sponge. It was his only relief from the hunger pangs in his stomach, reminding him that he hadn’t been allowed to eat at all in the day leading up to another therapy session. Apparently they wanted to put him on some kind of medication, try to increase the intensity of his sessions. It was getting to the point where Virgil was tempted to pretend it was working just to make them stop. 

He missed his soulmate. 

----------------------

No. He’d said no to the drugs. They wanted to put him on anti-psychotics, claiming he was severely mentally ill, and he’d downright refused. There was no way in hell he was going on anti-psychotics. Finally, after days of their demanding being met with stubbornness, they’d given in. 

That had been a month ago. Maybe. Time had gotten kind of funny, like in that limbo between Christmas and New Years, or in the depths of summer break. It had been a while, for sure. They still fed him so rarely a growling stomach was more common than a full one, claiming it was part of his new therapy. He couldn’t help wonder why he was gaining weight, though. He’d been underweight for a majority of his life, thanks to a constantly overworking metabolism and genetics, along with the nasty food they served at group homes that he gladly avoided, but he was starting to fill out slightly. His ribs were barely showing. 

That would be a symptom of being on antipsychotics, he knew from previous research. But he wasn’t on them, so why…?

He took another sip of his apple juice his foster mom had brought him, trying to focus on his homework. Had apple juice always tasted that bitter?

-----------------------

They’d gone too far this time, Virgil knew that much. Curse his stubbornness, his inability to just lie and go along with it. He could have just claimed the conversion therapy was working, ‘oh golly, I’m healed!’, and go on with his life, finally talk to his fucking social worker, but no. He wasn’t capable of that. 

They’d shown him more pictures, shocking him more frequently, refusing to stop the session even as tears streamed down his face. It just hurt so bad. Then he remembered a shout (maybe his own?), blinding pain, and the next thing he knew, he was in his foster dad’s car. He said he’d had a seizure, but he was okay now, so they were heading home. A cup of water was forced down his throat and he was laid down in bed, commanded to rest. He was so confused, but also so tired, so he let his eyes drift shut. 

Just before he lost consciousness for the second time that day, he heard a soft melody drift through his mind as his soulmate played another song. It had been so long since the last time he’d heard them play music… despite his exhaustion, he fell asleep with a smile on his face. 

--------------------

The days had been a bit of a blur since his seizure. It was probably because his brain had done the human equivalent to ‘Have you tried turning it off and back on again?’, but even that was hazy in his mind. All he wanted to do was sleep, to rest, to not have to do the school work that they were still shoving down his throat. From where he was laying motionless in his bed, he watched the slowly setting sun dip below the horizon. 

There was a knock at the door downstairs. Virgil flinched from the noise, triggering a series of twitches down his spine and into his limbs. People were talking downstairs. He could distinctly hear the voice of his foster parents, but the others were unfamiliar. They were getting louder, near shouting, and there were pounding footsteps echoing up the stairs and down his hallway. 

He couldn’t even find the energy to be scared as his door was thrown open and a man’s voice shouted, “He’s in here!”. A flurry of people stormed into the room, the ones in the lead dressed in blue. 

Clambering, people shifting to make space, a woman holding his hand. She was asking him questions as they loaded him into a stretcher and he tried his best to answer, but he was just so tired. His name was said multiple times, as well as the names of his foster parents, but it was hazy, so hazy… 

“We were just trying to help, I didn’t want this to happen, I don’t-”

“Quiet, woman!”

She raised her voice but it was growing farther away. Virgil realized with a start that he was looking at the sky, bumping along on the gravel path, the bright lights of an ambulance flashing across his vision. 

The husband shouted again, trying to silence his wife. That was the last thing Virgil heard as the doors slammed shut, and he finally allowed his eyes to close. 

Part 3 HERE

Taglist: 

@sapphic-satan 

@anxious-logic 

@wigsnatchedhoteltrivago 

@extraintrovertedalien

@punk-academian-witch 

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[gypsydanger01]

THE STORM - Part twenty-five

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x OC

A/N: So sorry for the wait!!!! I'm back and ready to write! Here's part twenty-five, hope you enjoy✨ it's a bit of a fluffy/filler chap but it leads into the rest ;)

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot. I don’t own “Thinkin bout you” by Frank Ocean.

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

I have your back

[Next morning]

Luckily, the next day was Saturday and Sarah rolled over in bed with a content sigh. Lengthening her arms out to her sides, she patted the bedding beneath her: she had fallen asleep on top of the comforter. Suddenly, the evening before came rushing back and she stilled, a barely contained smile stamped on her face.

He must’ve carried her to bed, she realized as she stood and stepped out into the hall.

She padded into the living room where she found Noir scrolling through her mp3 player.

He didn’t need much sleep to function and had soon grown restless. First, he’d skimmed through the books she’d salvaged from her bookcase; two were charred beyond recognition but he appreciated the rest of the book collection. Then, he’d made his way back to the stack of picture frames she had piled in a corner. There was the picture of her in Tokyo, which he marveled at tracing the lines of her face; a few other pictures displayed rolling landscapes and he wondered if she’d taken them herself; another picture of a desolated beach sat at the bottom.

Finally, he’d fixated on her mp3 player.

He knew of her fondness for music and quickly scanned her playlists: a mix of rap, 90s rnb, and alternative rock were oddly bunched together.

Noir slipped her earbuds in, settled back onto the couch and let Dr. Dre, Ludacris, and Frank Ocean keep him company in the early morning hours.

Time passed, and soon he heard Sarah moving in her room. He waited for her to come around the couch, gazing at her as she went. She smiled, seeing that he hadn’t slipped his mask or gloves back on.

She enjoyed seeing his expressions, the emotions that seemed to flash in his eyes. It was like being granted a glimpse into another dimension, a version of Noir no one else was privy to. It felt intimate, like another line of communication they shared.

Sarah was surprised to see him holding her mp3 and she leaned in, checking the screen. Noir inhaled her scent and tensed at her close proximity.

“Hey, Kendrick,” she approved, “that’s a good one, it always lifts my spirits, y’know.”

He looked at the screen, printing the title, Alright, into his memory.

To his surprise, she plopped down next to him, pulling her legs up to the side and leaning into his side. He tentatively reached behind her, gathering her closer. Sarah grabbed one of the earbuds dangling from the device and slipped it into her ear. Gently, she took the mp3 from his hands and flipped through her playlists. Finally, she settled on one song.

A tornado flew around my room before you came

Excuse the mess it made, it usually doesn't rain in

Southern California, much like Arizona

My eyes don't shed tears, but, boy, they bawl

 She leaned into his side and let the mp3 fall back into his lap.

“One of my favorites,” she murmured, and he could avert the sleepiness in her voice. “Do you listen to music,” she asked.

He signed. A little.

Sarah glanced around for the notebook but assumed it had stayed in the kitchen. Too comfortable to go fetch it, she went with the alternative.

“Ok, I’ll go through some genres and you stop me when I hit the ones you like.”

With her close proximity, looking up at him through heavy eyelashes, he thought he’d do anything she asked. He knew he should feel concerned at the amount of trust he’d placed in her, the strong hold over him he’d allowed her to develop. But he’d chosen, and he felt liberated.

She was still waiting for an answer, and he simply pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Sarah settled her head back on his shoulder, “Hmm…,” she mused, “Let’s see, rap and rnb.”

He pinched his fingers close together. A little.

She continued, “How about pop,” small pause but no response, “Rock music? Punk?”

The woman sped through a few more choices, ranging from trap all the way to gospel. Finally, she ran out of options and paused, thinking of other music genres she hadn’t thought of. However, she was pulled from her train of thoughts as he brought one hand forward, his fingers dancing close to his knee.

She quickly caught on, “You play the piano?”

He squeezed her slightly against him, and she took it as confirmation.

“So, you listen to classical music, I assume.”

Noir nodded. It had always soothed him to play the piano. It was comforting to excel at something so delicate and precise, when those same fingers could destroy anything they touched. It reminded him of the control he was taught to maintain ever since he could walk.

Sarah covered his hand with her own, her warm skin tone touching his.

I'm lyin' down thinkin' 'bout you (Ooh, no, no, no)

I've been thinkin' 'bout you (You know, know, know)

I've been thinkin' 'bout you

Do you think about me still?

Do ya, do ya?

 Or do you not think so far ahead? (Ahead)

'Cause I been thinkin' 'bout forever (Ooh, ooh)

 “I’ve always loved music,” Sarah began, and Noir immediately focused on her voice. “It’s what I need in every situation. Sometimes it makes me feel strong, invulnerable…” she trailed off before clearing her throat. “Other times, I’m just detached from everything and I need it to remind me I feel, and I’m human.”

Noir brought his other hand over hers, trapping it between his.

In the early morning, cream colored light filtered through the curtains and lazily traced their features on the large couch. After being up for three days, Noir was starting to feel the pull of sleep. And with her softly leaning into him, the mp3 playing soft music between them, he felt at peace. Utterly detached from the world outside.

He gently moved her so he could rise from his seat, passing his ear bud back to her. Sarah’s eyes widened and she stayed silent waiting for his next move. He’d spent the night and she knew he probably needed to head back to the Tower. Still, she felt an odd tug in her chest, like a string tightening around her. She settled down on the couch, stretching her legs out. Propped up on one elbow, she pressed back into the soft material.

She was surprised, however, when he began to dismantle his suit. She looked away flustered when she caught a peak of his toned stomach. Finally, lifting her gaze from the carpet, she found him stripping the last part of his chest armor, revealing a grey shirt underneath. He set the armor and weapons on a chair in the corner and returned, the top half of his armor gone.

Sarah stayed quiet, watching him as he laid back on the couch, facing her. He finally looked at her and wondered how it was possible to find such comfort in another person. She smiled and let him slip an arm under her head, the other one tracing lines down her sweater-clad arm. They were so close, she thought he could read her mind.

With the soft, hazy morning light filtering through the window behind him, the man appeared angelic.

She whispered, “I’m going to make you a playlist,” she promised, slipping his earbud back in place. Noir felt a shiver down his spine at her touch and reveled in the feeling. “And one day, I’d like to hear you play the piano.”

He nodded and his fingers began to dance against her arm, as if he were playing right then and there. She smiled again and snuggled against him with a deep sigh. In the enclosed space between the couch’s backrest and Noir’s body, she felt warm and safe.

And at that moment, he too felt himself slowly drifting off to sleep in the morning light.

 [A few hours later]

A few hours later, they finally woke up. While Sarah stretched, Noir quickly patched his armor back on and ducked into the kitchen where he gathered his gloves and mask. She watched him grab their notebook and jot a few words down.

I must go back

She nodded, understanding.

I will be back, he quickly added. He then mentally paused and wondered if that was a mistake. On the internet, he’d found multiple websites with dating tips where over-eagerness was something to avoid.

Sarah smiled at that, “You’re welcome to come over any time.”

He mentally sighed in relief. The silent man looked at her and reached forward to push a strand of curly hair behind her ear. She gazed at his pensive face and wished she could search his thoughts, understand what was bothering him.

He finally dropped his hand and took the pen back into hand.

Stay away from Homelander

Sarah stilled. She already knew to stay away from that man and avoid being noticed. She was supposed to blend in with everyone else. She already knew all of this and more, so why was he telling her this?

She frowned, “I know to be careful…” she trailed off. “Is something going on?”

He gazed at her for a long moment before cautiously answering.

He seems fascinated by you, she read. Underneath he added, Bad feeling

A shiver ran down her spine and she suddenly felt cold.

I will not let him hurt you.

She nodded more to herself than to Noir. They would need to accelerate the timing on her and Martha’s plan. They needed to finish before someone sensed what was going on. Before Homelander looked into her profile a little too closely.

Finally, she looked up at Noir and spoke with a hint of amusement, “You know I can hold my own, right?”

Believe me, I know, he wrote, and Sarah was surprised to see a mischievous glint in his eyes.

She laughed but quickly grew serious again and thanked him.

He had her back and she felt comfort in knowing it.

Noir slipped his dark, skull-like mask back on and quickly head out the back.

She watched him disappear and thought of his words. Her heart sighed at the idea of seeing him again, while her mind sharpened at the work ahead.

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724 ​  @proximio-5 @damiminator @omegahighendpro @rpgluvr95 @sweetrabbitteamx @rayray1463 @mialexisrodrigues @angelocipriano @reborn-rekall

[mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog]

Damian’s Sister

So I read @unmaskedagain‘s Lady Noire In Gotham and @monkeebratz‘s SMOL DAMIEN MARIBAT AU. Which created this idea.

A tad bit of background info.

Marinette, as well as most of the class, is between 15 and 16.

Damian has barely turned 11, having spent barely a year with the Wayne’s, so some of the things that they are teaching him are slowly root in his mind, which is why in the beginning he will come across as a bit of a lost boy. Not entirely sure of himself but sure of what he wants.

Marinette has the Black Cat Miraculous, and is notorious among everyone in her class for taking phones. Everyone just laughs about it whenever a phone is missing because it is most likely with Marinette.

*Line Break Inc.*

Marinette sighed as she looked around her classmates, everyone very unimpressed. They all realize that their lives are at stake and that a gun is being pointed at Marinette’s head. But Marinette wasn’t panicking, so why should they?

Marinette wasn’t panicking because she realizes that she had died before. While they aren’t pleasant memories, she still knows how it is to die, and she doesn’t panic just because some villain thinks that they can have a large pay day from the people in her class, from the French government.

Only thing is that they never negotiate with terrorist.

So, no. Marinette was not worried. Not for her life. For her parents, yes, she is worried for them. But not her life.

Marinette looked back to her class and see that the men that have surrounded the class with guns, weren’t paying attention to their guns, very much. Allowing Plagg to slip in and go through the guns, doing whatever it is that Plagg will do to cause luck on their side.

“Hey,” The class president called to her class. Every single one of their eyes turned to her, while also keeping an eye on the men in front of them. The men also turn their entire attention on the young Parisian fully ignoring their guns at that point. “Have we or have we not survived akuma after akuma?” The teens straightened their backs and looked more defiant. “And how did we survive them?” Marinette saw Alya and Cholé smirk before the two and every other female kicked the men in front of them, in the pelvic.

Marinette looked away from her classmates as they cause havoc and escape. The man in front of her smirked as he pulled his trigger, causing nothing to happen.

Marinette is so lucky she is Lady Noire.

The Asian Parisian raised a single eyebrow before she kicks the man in his jaw with her heel. Shame she was wearing her flats that day.

She looked around to her classmates and how they captured the group of men. Adrien and Nino were rounding up the guns and putting them a safe distance away from everyone. Ivan and Myléne were sitting on one. Cholé and Sabrina were putting makeup on one, who looks to be happy to be having makeup being placed on him, or her, Marinette wasn’t getting into that. Alya and Alix had one on his knees and were each pulling his arms behind him. Nathaniel had somehow convinced one to pose for him, every time that the guy tried to move Nathaniel would scream about aesthetic, in French. Rose, Juleka, and Lila were talking to one about all of his regrets in life, well Rose was getting him to talk about it and Juleka was there while Lila was digging into for everything that the man said. Kim and Max were arguing over the best way to hold a person down while demonstrating with two different guys.

“Alya, switch me and call it in.” Marinette walked over to where Alya was with Alix and took her spot, planting her foot in the man’s knee cavity and pulled his arm back towards her. Alya walked away and pulled a phone out from somewhere on her body. Marinette wasn’t going to question it. “Adrien, Nino, will you two check on Madam Bustier?”

Their teacher was rather violently knocked out when she took a stand, alone, against the men. They waked her with one of their guns on the side of her head, she fell over and has been bleeding from where she was hit.

It took another twenty minutes before police or paramedics showed up. Twenty minutes listening to Max and Kim argue, of listening to Rose comfort and Lila berate the same man in broken English, of listening to Cholé give the man (or women) makeup tips in perfect English and listening to Nathaniel occasionally scream in French about aesthetic.

Marinette was proud of her class.

Yeah, they could survive in Gotham as long as they were together.

However.

Three hours later, Marinette has winded up alone. She simply got lost in a crowd and thought she had heard her teacher call for her in one direction, the paramedics had slowly cleared the class and the teacher. The mass hysteria of the area, from the police, to the paramedics, even ten different new reporters (some yelling over each other after having set up too close to one another, both looking like they want to destroy the other one with their mic) has caused Marinette to completely miss her class getting onto their bus back to their hotel.

So, Marinette made a mistake and ended up walking down Crime Alley. She admits it is her fault.

And looking a group of three men in the eyes, all of them having knives, Marinette has had it for the day.

“Plagg, transform me.” She felt the power of creation wash over her as she continued to look the men in the eye. “You are all the worst. I just wanted a vacation from my own villain, but instead I had to come here to deal with other heroes’ villains.” They were in such a state of shock she was easily able to take them down tie them up to a light pole and left an anonymous tip on the GCPD website. When she turned around, she saw a jaw dropped Robin.

“Welp. I’m died.”

“No, no you are not.” He quickly countered and started muttering about five different things and he paced back and forth in front of her. He was talking so fast and so low it was hard for Marinette to understand completely.

“Uh, so sorry but I must be going to my temporary home.” Marinette waved to the side before taking her staff and launching herself the other way that she waved. Marinette got all the way to her room, with there being nine girls on the trip Marinette ended up with her own room. She had just closed the window and dropped her transformation when she heard a tapping on her window.

“AH!” Marinette screamed, jumped, and spun around wielding her purse as a weapon. A throat cleared, making Marinette open her eyes, finding Robin there. “Oh, hello.”

“Hello, I wish for you to be my sister.” Robin stepped off of the windowsill and took a step into the room before turning around and closing the window and the curtain.

“What?” Marinette did not know what was happening, do people just adopt other people in the States?

“You’ll get to know who I am under the mask as well as the rest of the dubbed ‘Batfamily’.” He kept his back towards Marinette as he talked.

“Wait.”

“As well a bit more formal training. You are good; however, you could use some work.”

“Stop.” Marinette finally got Robin to stop talking and turn towards her. Marinette also saw how tense he is. His posture, his face. Marinette was sure that if she could see his eyes, she’d see tears welling up in his eyes.

“Do you not wish to be my sister?”

“Well, it’s just that…”

“Yes of course, it was foolish for me to assume.” He turned away from her and clenched his fist at his sides, Marinette swore he had his eyes clenched underneath his mask.

“Robin, stop.” Marinette reached for him and brought him to sit on the bed with her. “I have parents.”

“Better than mine, I’m sure.” He continued to not look at Marinette, his fists tightened even more.

“I was a sort of miracle child. My parents never thought they could have me, or any child.” Marinette brought his face to look at hers.

“You have no siblings?” His fist unclenched as realization came upon him.

“I’d like one though.” Marinette opened her arms to receive a hug. She kept them open while Robin turned away and took off his mask, bringing his hand up to his face to rub at before turning back around, without his mask, and buried his head in her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her middle.

“I have three brothers and one sister as well as two sorts of sisters. But I had no say in them. I had no say in my parents. But I want a say in who my family is. It would mean the world to me to be your brother and your parent’s son.”

Marinette knew that this moment was very delicate. She had to remind him of his own family, but she didn’t know the situation of his family or how they treated him. Marinette sighed as she ran her fingers through his hair, deciding to just be quite for now and talking to Robin either in the morning or the next night.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment. In a second Robin had gotten across the room and hid in the bathroom and had silently closed the door. Marinette just blinked not sure if what she saw was correct. She slowly stood up and got to the door just as the person on the other side knocked again.

Marinette waited for the knocking to finish before opening the door to her teacher.

“Hello, Madam Bustier.” Marinette smiled brightly and subtly kicked her shoes off, to show that she has been there the entire time.

“Hello Marinette. I need you to do bedroom checks. You know where everyone needs to be. My head is still killing me.” Caline Bustier held up a clip board with a sheet with names across the top, room numbers right next to the name, as well as boxes underneath the names and numbers.

“It is a good thing that tomorrow is supposed to be a free day.” Marinette grabbed hold of the clip board and held it to her chest.

“That is another thing. Everyone is supposed to report to me tomorrow, but you mind if they reported to you?” Bustier leaned against the door jam, seeming to have a difficult time to just stand at that point.

“Not at all. Let me just get my slippers to walk around in the hall with, and I can get started on those bedroom checks as well as tell everyone that you will need to rest tomorrow so they will need to report to me.” Marinette backed out of the doorway a tad to start heading towards the bathroom to put her slippers on her feet as well as warn Robin of what was going on.

“Thank you, if anyone has any questions have them email me.”

“Of course. Rest well, Madam.”

“You’ll also need to do a morning check in and check ins through the day tomorrow.”

“How often do I need to have everyone check in with me?”

“Once an hour, use the clip board to keep track of the times.” Marinette nod and ensured that Bustier made it to her room before slipping back into her own and heading to her bathroom.

“Hey, I need to go…”

“Room check, I heard. I know French.” Marinette nodded, he seemed more hesitant.

Marinette after a moment of neither saying anything asked,  “Do you need to go home?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” He moved back to the bed and picked up his mask and turned back to her still as hesitant. “I’d like to spend the day with you tomorrow. If you are alright with that?”

Marinette smiled and pulled him into a hug. “I’d love to spend the day with my brother.”

[cafedanslanuit]

✦ • ° *.  — Ｓａｅｒａｎ＇ｓ　Ａｆｔｅｒ　Ｅｎｄｉｎｇ —  . * ° • ✦

chapter guide  |  chat with me  |  maybe a coffee?

summary: Saeran has finally found MC and is ectasic to finally be able to enjoy the good ending his tumultous life has reached. But with Saeyoung still missing and Mint Eye around, his happiness may have to wait a little more. Was love really capable to win against his inner demons or will he have to learn to fight for himself?

chapter warnings: [check chapter guide for story warnings] mentions and/or descriptions of night terrors

c h a p t e r   f o u r   —   it’s not like me to be so mean you’re all i wanted

“Are you sure about this?” MC asked as she stepped into Jumin’s office. He closed the door behind her and sat on one of the sofas, inviting her to do the same.

“I already told you it’s more than okay. We have an interior designer but I… I am discontent with how this office looks. I want to change it and you need a job, what’s there more to ask?”

“I guess you’re right,” she replied with a smile, taking out a notebook from her purse. “I guess I was just worried you would have a problem with your father about hiring a different interior designer.”

“Not at all, I made all the normal paperwork C&R asks for a new employee, like a background check and some other revisions. You will also get the benefits freelancers get from our company, in case you were wondering.”

MC shot her eyes up at Jumin. He looked back at her, his eyebrow slightly raised. The silence between both of them became thick, the notebook on MC’s hands trembling slightly

“You’re worried about what I saw on the background check,” Jumin rationalizes, crossing one of his legs over the other one. MC nodded, her eyes darting from her notebook to the man sitting in front of her. Never before had she felt so vulnerable with someone from the RFA.

All this time, she believes only Saeyoung knew about it, since he was a hacker. She had done the best to hide her steps, never commenting on anything she shouldn’t have, knowing that even though Saeran was a better hacker than Saeyoung, he trusted her enough to not dig around her past and she planned to keep it that way.

She would tell him eventually, she had told herself. When she was ready.

“You shouldn’t worry about that. It’s not like you did something wrong,” the man in front of her said. “By your reaction I assume no one knows? Well, Saeyoung probably does. Does Saeran…?” MC shook her head. “I see. Well, he won’t hear it from me,” he assured her. “You can stop worrying about that.”

MC stayed in silence for another moment and then opened her small notebook with a long sigh.

“I’m guessing you’re going to want cats somewhere?” she asked with a small smile, to which Jumin imitated her.

“I actually do. I’ve been thinking about getting some cat pottery. I’ve found a couple of those at a designer website that seem to be a good fit.”

“Can you send me the link, please?” she asked, taking a note. “I will try to see if they still have them.”

The rest of the conversation fluctuated between casual conversation and ideas about Jumin’s new office. Even though she tried her best, she couldn’t shake the feeling of someone else knowing what had happened a few years ago. She wasn’t ready to tell everyone (and a part of her was sure she would never be) and now she felt as if Jumin was finally looking at the real her. The way he talked to her was the same, but she couldn’t shake the feeling something was bound to happen at any second, that if too many people knew about it, somehow history would repeat itself.

Jumin insisted she returned home with Driver Kim and, as soon as she jumped out of the car, she went straight to the kitchen. Distract yourself , had been the clear indication she had been told whenever her thoughts were too much. She put her earphones on with music on high volume as she followed the recipe.

Distract yourself , she repeated the words someone else told her before. No. She didn’t get to break down at something that didn't happen. Jumin didn’t question her about it. Hell, Saeyoung had never questioned her about it. Why would she allow herself to feel like this?

No, she deserved to feel like this. She had the right to feel scared, she had the right to feel whatever she wanted to feel. It had happened a while back, yes, but it was not going to happen again. She felt her chest tighten. It was not happening again. Just because people knew didn’t make it any different. She wasn’t in the wrong, she hadn’t done nothing to feel shame about what happened. It was okay, she was going to be okay, she was--

She felt a hand over her shoulder and screamed.

“It’s me, it’s me!” Saeyoung said, raising his hands in surrender as you took your earphones off. “I’m sorry, I asked you something and you didn’t listen. I’m sorry.”

MC shook her head. “It's okay. You just startled me, that’s all. Not used to you being without  the leg cast.”

“How did it go with Jumin?” Saeyoung asked carefully.

“Oh, it was okay. He has some ideas so maybe I’ll work on that later. I have to bring him a proposal by the end of the week,” she explained. Saeyoung nodded and waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. He understood.

“I was just going to ask what you were planning on cooking today,” Saeyoung said, his tone playful, trying to lift her mood. “Honestly, I’ve been so blessed since you started taking care of the food around here. God listened to his humble server and said: You! You deserve good food!” he joked, pointing at a corner in the kitchen. MClaughed. “And I was there, choking on a Honey Buddah probably, agog, aghast,” he said, running to the same corner and playing himself. “Thankful. Blessed. Touched by God’s light and MC’s cooking.”

More laughter erupted from MC as Saeyoung kept joking around. The door opened and they both saw Saeran entering the apartment, hands on his pockets and a dull expression on his face.

“Saeran! I made dinner,” Saeyoung beamed.

“I made dinner,” she corrected him, elbowing him on the ribs playfully. MC looked over at Saeran and smiled at him. “It’s going to be ready in twenty minutes or so.”

“I don’t want it,” Saeran muttered, leaving his keys on the small coffee table. Her smile faded and she did the best to bring it back up.

“Should I save you some for later?”

“No,” he said, avoiding her gaze and heading over to his room. The smile on her face finally vanished and she felt once more a hand on your shoulder. Saeyoung looked at MC apologetically and she shrugged, trying to rest importance to what just had happened.

“I’m guessing you do want some?” she asked and he immediately nodded with a smile.

“Please, I’m starving,” he sighed, putting a hand on his neck theatrically. You giggled and went back to your cooking, listening to Saeyoung rant about something he had seen on a movie the past week.

You had never been so thankful to have him.

…

Apparently, decorating an office with little cat motives while also maintaining a professional look was harder than MC had expected. She had been up all night in her room looking for new furniture and items she could add, drawing and drawing Jumin’s room in her pad and checking the photos and measurements she had taken earlier over and over again.

It felt good to finally be back to work again. After months of thinking only about religious cults and Saeran’s recovery, she knew she needed to get back on track. She had been without a job for about two months when Saeran had first contacted her to try out “an app”, and thinking she hadn’t many job opportunities before and rent wasn’t going to wait for her, she had taken it.

And now there she was, four months later trying to get back on the saddle.

MC clicked the next page on the website and a pop up of a blonde woman offering her help navigating the website made chills run down her spine. How long would it be until she could stop thinking about Rika? She took a sip of her coffee and let out a long sigh.

She still couldn’t believe Rika was found unimpeachable. Her attorney had brought a psychiatrist to the court who claimed to have assessed her as she waited for the trial. Apparently, Rika had been through her fair share of trauma as a child. Thanks to Yoosung, MC already knew Rika had been adopted by cruel parents and judging by what she’d seen at Mint Eye, she was sure Rika wasn’t in her best mental state. The updates MC read online didn’t provide any video of the trial itself as some subjects were private, but the source did confirm Rika was practically delusional. She had talked about a childhood friend named Mika, who she claimed has given her the idea for Mint Eye. But when Rika’s attorney tried looking for her, he discovered said Mika had died at the brief age of ten years, just a couple of years after being adopted.

Apart from the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder the psychiatrist had diagnosed Rika with, it seemed Rika couldn’t differentiate real life from her imagination anymore. The psychiatrist claimed she also had a complex personality disorder that could take time to correctly diagnose. The information presented on trial was enough for the judge to find Rika unimpeachable and sent her to a mental facility to spend the rest of her days.

The night she read those updates from the trial, as she rocked Saeran softly to help him sleep again after a nightmare, MC let herself cry again, torn between the feelings of wanting her to suffer and trying to understand she hadn’t been in her right mind from a very young age. As she looked through the window, she thought about V. She remembered Saeran mentioning V had been a victim of Rika as well and her heart broke by how much suffering he had been into while also being kind to her during the days MC spent at Mint Eye.

MC closed her eyes and wished V were healing as she was thinking about him.

A loud crash startled her, making her look at the door. Another crash and screams followed and she quickly stood up, recognizing Saeran’s voice immediately. She opened Saeran’s room and found him tossling on his bed, eyes closed and face damp with sweat.

“Saeran, wake up,” she whispered, standing on the edge of the bed. “Saeran, baby, it’s a nightmare,” she said in the softest voice possible, grazing his arm with her fingertips.

The door opened again and Saeyoung entered, his honey eyes widening at his brother screaming on the bed. He quickly jumped on the bed, ignoring MC’s protests and took Saeran by the shoulders, sitting him up.

“Saeran, wake up!” he said, shaking his shoulders. Saeran’s teal eyes opened and Saeyoung smiled again. “Hey, it was a--”

And that was when the first strike hit.

Saeran had punched Saeyoung in the face, who had fallen on the bed backwards. Saeran hit him once more as his brother tried to cover himself. MC gasped loudly and quickly latched herself on Saeran’s back, trying to restrain his arms the best she could.

“Saeran, it was a nightmare!” she yelled. She could hear Saeyoung’s grunts underneath his brother and she wished she had more strength than Saeran. “You’re safe! You’re not in Min Eye, you’re safe!” she assured him, using all the force she had to restrain his arms, stopping him from hitting Saeyoung any further. “Saeran, you’re safe!”

It took Saeran a moment to stop his movements. His body immediately tensed up and MC figured out he had noticed Saeyoung’s body underneath him. When she demeaned safe, she let go of his arms, which fell limp against his sides.

“Are you okay?” she whispered and looked at Saeran nodding slowly.

“What happened?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

Saeyoung got up from bed and MC noticed the faint stain of blood on his cheek. He put his hand over Saeran’s shoulder and shrugged nonchalantly.

“You had a nightmare, but it’s okay now!” he said with a grin. Saeran looked up with a grimace.

“I hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I hardly doubt she did,” Saeran muttered, his head leaning to MC’s side. Saeyoung dismissed him, moving his hand.

“Don’t worry about it. Gonna get cleaned up, try to get some rest, bro,” he said, leaving Saeran’s room.

Without a word, Saeran got back into his bed and even let MC put the sheets over him. Her face was full of concern and he realized for the first time, she was quiet after one of his nightmares. She would usually talk to him, trying to get his thoughts to stop swimming around like they were in that moment.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, making her eyes look at him. She quickly nodded.

“I held you back, so you didn’t hurt me,” she replied, putting a strand of his hair behind his ear. “But don’t worry about that now. Did you take your pill before falling asleep?”

Saeran nodded, watching MC’s lips purse.

“They will start working better soon, I promise,” she whispered. Saeran watched her lean down as she always did to leave a kiss on his forehead but stopped herself. His chest ached. “I’m still working on that Jumin project, so I’ll be awake for a while. Knock my door if anything happens, okay?” she asked him sweetly and he nodded once more.

Battling with her intense desire to stay, MC stood up and left Saeran’s room without looking back. There wasn’t anything in the world she wanted more than to stay by his side until he fell back asleep but she also knew he needed to get better without the need to have her around. He couldn’t depend on her, no matter how much she was craving to go back and snuggle up with him, trying to chase all his nightmares away.

There was also the lingering concern about Saeyoung.

She found him in the bathroom, trying to pour alcohol over the wound on his cheek. She stopped him and made him sit on the toilet gently, trying to assess the damage. Thankfully, his cheekbone didn’t seem to be broken and the wound on his cheek was small, so there wasn’t the need for stitches. MC started cleaning it up in silence with a cotton pad, taking her time.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. She quickly shook her head.

“You didn’t know. But in the future, when he gets those night terrors… you need to wake him up gently. Works best on him or he gets confused and sometimes violent,” she explained. A move of her hand made Saeyoung hiss. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“Duly noted,” Saeyoung tried to smile, but failed. MC some cream on the other cheek, hoping it didn’t bruise too much.

“Just give him some time, please,” she asked him softly.

“Don’t worry for me, MC,” Saeyoung grinned. “I’m okay.”

MC wished she believed him.

previous chapter | next chapter [tba]

[the-light-finds-its-way]

Velliks Lightkin

Guardians name: Velliks Lightkin, formerly Harn Amrok

Age: Unknown

Race: Eliksni, formerly Awoken

Call signs/alias: The Waking Eliksni, Ahamkara-born, Wishborn

Pronouns: He/him

Class: Warlock

Preferred subclass(es): Ark, Stasis

Ghost’s name: Teka

Their Vanguard: Zavala, Ikora, Cayde-6

Fireteam name: Harbingers of Destiny

Fireteam teammates: Magnus, Dominus Ghaul, Anthem-99, Velliks, Gadrax, Kahun

Favorite legendary weapon: Steelfeather Repeater

Favorite exotic weapon: Thorn

Favorite exotic armor: Claws of Ahamkara

Favorite ornament armor set: Lightkin set

Favorite weapon ornament: Book of the Dead

What stats do they focus on: Recovery, Mobility

Are they offense, defence, or support: Support

Do they prefer being close, mid, or long range: Mid-range

Do they lean more “Element of Surprise” or “Upfront and Aggressive”: Upfront and aggressive

Strikes, Gambit, or Crucible: Strike

Who was their mentor(if they had one. If it is a character you created, tell us about them!): Mithrax

Who are they mentoring(if they are. If it is a character you created, tell us about them!): Nobody at the moment. Velliks is a young Lightbearer, and thus, is too inexperienced to train anybody.

What ship do they have: Kabr’s Glass Aegis

What is their Sparrow: Micro Mini

Favorite Ghost shell: Orbweaver shell

Favorite shader: Byzantium Lotus

Favorite color: Purple and green (they’re tied)

Favorite food: Ether

Favorite piece of Pre-Collapse tech(if they’ve seen any): None. Velliks wasn’t born before the Great Collapse.

Favorite Pre-Collapse music(if they’ve heard any): N/A

Favorite place in The Last City(if it’s a place you created, give a little description!): The Eliksni Quarter

Favorite NPC(s): Mithrax, Zavala, Ikora, Cayde, Osiris, Eris Morn, Elsie Bray

Favorite patrol location: Anywhere in the EDZ

5 things your Guardian likes(can be anything): Ether, Eliksni, snuggling, being Eliksni, fighting the good fight

Least favorite food: Salmon

Least favorite shader: Nessus Mirage

Least favorite patrol location: Anywhere on Europa, as the whole planet almost caused the downfall of his entire species.

Least favorite Pre-Collapse tech(if they’ve seen any): N/A

Least favorite NPC(s): Eramis

Least favorite weapon ornament: Coup de Main

Least favorite ornament armor set: Moonfang X-7

Least favorite legendary weapon: Calus Mini Tool

Least favorite exotic weapon: Bastion

Least favorite exotic armor: Verity’s Brow

5 things your Guardian dislikes(this can be anything): Eliksni haters, cowards, the House of Salvation, anyone or anything malicious, broken trust

Your Guardian has to rest. What is their living space like: A small house, with a living room, bedroom, bathroom, and a room for the servitor and materials for it to convert into Ether. The overall place is beautiful, modern, and neatly-kept.

Does your Guardian have any casual wear?(Y'all remember Polyvore? The website URSTYLE works very similar if that helps!): Velliks is actually the only Guardian I have without a casual style. He insists on wearing his House Light clothes as his everyday clothes.

What hobbies and/or skills does you Guardian have: Gadrax hasn’t discovered any hobbies yet, but he’s skilled in healing the wounded, more so than many other Warlocks.

What would your Guardian’s lore book be called: Wishborn

Where was your Guardian reborn?(If you created the location, give us a little description!): Somewhere in an abandoned part of The Tangled Shore, a place without name or purpose to anyone.

What were they wearing when they were reborn: Tattered Awoken Corsair clothes.

What was their reaction to being reborn: Confusion

What was their reaction to their first rez: Amazement and laughter. Velliks felt invincible entirely.

After being reborn, did they meet friendlies first or hostiles: Friendlies. The first people he met were the House of Light, and specifically, Mithrax.

Who was the first other Guardian they met?(Same thing! If you made them, give a little description!): Osiris

Did your Guardian get reborn with, or find, any indication of their past life? If so what do they have/found: Velliks’s only indication of his past life was the Corsair clothes. Beyond that, he knew and still knows nothing about who he was, other than that he was clearly Reefborn.

How did your Guardian get their name(if they didn’t rez with past life momentos): After spending months helping House Light, the Eliksni saw the Warlock felt alone without a name. One day, an Eliksni called him “kir-Velliks”, or “strong Velliks”, as he was seen as a strong commander of the House. Thus, he took on the name Velliks, and became a commander within his House.

Going back to your Guardian’s lore book, what would be some some quotes or passages from their book: “A Wish, a Wish for my sake, but at the cost of how many others’?” “Worry not about what will happen to those who wish to help you. They’ve taken the desire you hold, and shared it. Let them rejoice as you shall in your success. Let them help.”

Does your Guardian have a significant other: Nope

Did your Guardian go explore first before going to The Last City? If so, where to: Velliks explored wherever the House of Light went before they finally arrived in The Last City.

What was their reaction to first seeing The Last City: Awe and wonder. It was everything he was told it’d be. Velliks assumed he was on his way to discover it when he’d escaped the Reef, and finally seeing The Last City with his own eyes gave the Eliksni a sense of accomplishment and wholeness.

Is your Guardian a part of a clan: Mithrax’s House of Light

Does your Guardian’s clan have a back story? If so, what is it?(if you want to or able to share): N/A

If your Guardian would have a quote as a flavor text for a weapon and/or piece of armor, what would they be: “A Wish, o Eliksni mine.” “What lovely gloves you’ll make, o Granter mine.”

If your Guardian has had any interactions with any civilians (The Last City/The Farm), Eliksni, Cabal, Vex, Hive, Taken, Scorn, Rouge Lightbearers, or Iron Lords/War Lords(if your Guardian is an Old Light) tell us about it!: Velliks was found upon first revival by the Eliksni of House Light. From there, Velliks began to take on Eliksni habits, lifestyle, personality, everything, and tried to be as much like them as he could, even going so far as mimicking chittering sounds and whatnot. He insisted on speaking Eliksni more than English, and being as much like an Eliksni as he could be.

Does your Guardian have any unconventional allies or connections(By Vanguard standards): Nope, not as of yet

How does your Guardian feel about themselves or others using Stasis: Velliks trusts Stasis entirely, as it was the only way he could stop Eramis from destroying his kind. He knows for a fact that Stasis can be wielded without corrupting the user. Himself and Elsie are proof of this.

Did they run The Last Wish raid? How did they react to seeing a live Ahamkara a.k.a Riven: N/A

Did they run The Deep Stone Crypt raid? How did they react to the Crypt and seeing Exo Eliskni: N/A

Is your Guardian from D1? How did they react to seeing Taniks alive once again: N/A

Where did they go and what did they do during The Red War: Velliks wasn’t revived before the Red War, so he doesn’t remember what he was doing during that time. He assumes, based on how he was revived, he’d been attempting to flee the Reef, however.

Here are some characters that are either polarizing or have created a strong enough mass emotion within the community. What opinion does your Guardian hold on each of them(These are only a handful of characters!)>>>

Osiris, First Warlock Vanguard, originally exiled: Trustworthy, a great teacher, and his ally.

Eris Morn, Bane of the Swarm: He feels bad for Eris, but also admires her DEEPLY! Velliks aspires to be as persistent and driven as Eris, though he’s unaware of just how driven she can be, and how that has proven dangerous.

Cayde-6, Sixth Hunter Vanguard: An interesting guy. Velliks didn’t meet him until after the events of Forsaken and when the Traveler brought him back in my canon, so Velliks is unaware of what the Vanguard has gone through.

Ikora Rey, Second Warlock Vanguard: A deeply dear friend, and his greatest teacher. Velliks has learned everything about being a Warlock from Ikora, and appreciates her, aspires to be as skilled in wielding the Light as she is, and hopes to live up to her name as her student.

Commander Zavala, Second Titan Vanguard: A hesitant ally, but an ally nonetheless. Velliks places his trust wholeheartedly in the man, but the question arises of whether or not Zavala returns it. That remains to be seen, and hoped for.

Saint-14, legendary Titan, First Titan Vanguard: Velliks doesn’t trust him. He wants to, he hopes to, but Saint has been pinned up as an enemy and slaughterer of his kind, and thus, he hesitates to go anywhere near Saint.

Lord Saladin, Iron Banner handler, One of the last remaining Iron Lords: Velliks doesn’t see anything bad about the man, other than his sternness. He’s unaware of what the man has done.

Lord Shaxx, Crucible handler, Hero of Twilight Gap, living megaphone: Noisy, eardrum-shattering man, but kind and loving and supportive. He likes Velliks, and Velliks likes him in turn! They get along amazingly!

The Crow, New Light, Ex-Enforcer to The Spider: A brother, a friend, someone to trust entirely. He’s a part of the House of Light, and must be treated as such.

The Spider, The Shore’s Only Law, founder of “House” Spider: Don’t trust him at any costs. Velliks hasn’t met Spider, but he also hopes he never does.

Uldren Sov, Prince of the Reef, Master of Crows: Velliks never met Uldren, so he has no opinion on him.

Mara Sov, Queen of the Reef, Queen of the Awoken, Ex-Kell of Wolves: A misguided woman who let the Darkness take her and control her.

Variks, the Loyal, founder of House Judgement: An ally and someone who must be protected. Variks is trustworthy and, although mistaken, everyone makes mistakes, and thus, Velliks forgives him.

Mithrax, the Forsaken, Kell of Light, founder of House Light: A father to Velliks, his hero and savior. Mithrax treats Velliks like a son in return.

The Exo Stranger/Elizabeth “Elsie” Bray, Granddaughter of Clovis I and Sister to Ana Bray: A great ally, and teacher in using Stasis. She can and must be trusted, and if he can help ease the burden of teaching other Guardians to use Stasis all alone by doing the same and spreading knowledge of its benefits, he will do that for her sake.

Eramis, of House Salvation, Kell of Darkness: Killer, evil witch, someone who Velliks was glad to eliminate personally. He can’t stand to look at or think about Eramis. She threatened all his kind, and that’s unforgivable.

Empress Caiatl of the Cabal Imperial Empire: Although she’s Cabal, Velliks trusts her. He believes in unconventional alliances, considering he’s Eliksni and a Guardian. Velliks seeks to speak with Caiatl and become a good friend of hers at some point.

Taniks the Scarred, the Perfected, the Abomination, the Shadow Thief: N/A

The Darkness is fast approaching. How is your Guardian handling it: Velliks is scared, but he’s ready to fight. He will give his life fighting the Darkness’s evil if he must do so. And he’s ready for that day, whenever it may come.

And finally, does your Guardian have any advice for any New Lights: “Follow your heart. Only there does the Light guide you. Nowhere else inside.”

[casijaz]

Well turns out the other post won’t be the last one.

Decided not to put anything under a cut but this post is tagged ‘long post’ so you can click on it at will. I’ve added shorter sections in (brackets) to put together the point.

It’s always been like this. In fact a couple of months ago I made a silly post about it. Please stop giving each other ass-pats about how not-racist you might be. Or how your one non-white friend says whatever you posted is not racist.

White people: Stop being performative allies.

My fellow peas of the seas, or individuals who aren’t white who interact on this western website: Being a poc is not a trump card to claim we can’t contribute to specific forms of racism.

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I remember back when I was 17 I defended some (then not obvious to me) clearly racist art a white friend of mine made. I spoke to the people who came onto her art and told them they were trolling, they had to be. Spoke in all caps sometimes, had bolded stuff, all weird ways of talking with this demeaning or passive aggressive tone. I remember thinking ‘hey, do they know I’m a person of colour? They must feel silly! Here I am, a poc, who clearly says this is ok!’ But it wasn’t. In this instance the racist art depicted an indigenous person, and this was an instance of racism against indigenous people, and I am not indigenous. (Translation: Defending racism is bad, even if the people who say racism is bad might be mean to you.)

I also have defended white people who lived in a bubble of whiteness. I figured, well, they live in the bubble, or they’re young, and their actions weren’t coming from a place of malice because they didn’t know any better.  (Translation: Even if you’re a nice person, your actions can still be bad, and you should acknowledge this.)

When someone points out to you that something is racist, you shouldn’t jump to a knee-jerk defence or being passive aggressive in acceptance of this fact. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but you’ll have to go through it. Remember this is not about coddling white feelings, it’s about the reproduction of white supremacy and racist ideologies in a multitude of settings. (Translation: Even if you don’t know anything about racism, or don’t think you’re racist, you could still be. Racism is not as simple as one action. It is a global structure that influences the world.)

Reproducing racist ideologies is something that people of colour can also be guilty of. This means that they don’t have the power to be racist (as racism is about a hierarchical power structure where whiteness is as the top, aka white supremacy) BUT they have the ability to reproduce (or repeat, mimic, etc) the racist ideologies that are prevalent all over the world. (Translation: Because racism is everywhere, everyone can do it, even if they don’t wish to.)

Yes, not everyone has the luxury of being able to understand English to a level that certain concepts come across. Which is why I’ve taken the liberty of adding tl;dr to the end of each paragraph to get that point across for my fellow ESL speakers. However not speaking English well enough can be used as another excuse for condoning racist actions by others. (Translation: Saying I don’t know better is not the solution to stop being racist. Trying to understand the other person is.) 

The point is to stop making excuses. Stop defending the racist. Stop defending racist actions, no matter how small or big they are. 

It is also not up to the people who are actually hurt by this to coddle you and teach you. If you wish to learn more please follow blogs that are specifically talking about these issues. Here’s one. Here’s another. Here’s a fandom specific one. Here are also my own posts about xenophobia and more xenophobia. Unfortunately they are heavy with academic writing but I’ll hope to make a simple English version of it one day. (Translation: Here’s helpful blogs for you to learn more from!)

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As for the people of colour who talk about adding nuance, different perspectives, and how racism is complicated. Yeah. It really is. But whichever argument I see brought up about ethnic issues are still ethnic issues. That’s about xenophobia. I often talk about xenophobia and racism not being the same thing for a white audience, but I feel like maybe I’ve left fellow people of colour out of the conversation.

I’ll speak from my own experiences regarding this, because I could pull situations from all over the world but it wouldn’t be genuine nor would I be the expert. So. In my mother’s country we have many different ethnic groups who most of are not white (I’m pretty sure they make up less than 1% of the population), who sometimes get into conflict with one another. When they discriminate against one another, that’s definitely a bad thing. However when these groups fight both discrimination against ethnic groups and racial categories come to light, as the two are almost always heavily interlinked for people of colour.  (Translation: Racism and xenophobia overlap and connect when it comes to people of colour.)

This country (Suriname) was colonised by western forces so it brought along a lot of strife. While no Surinamese person would probably refer to themselves in Suriname as a person of colour, when they are put in a Western context they definitely always do. When groups fight against each other they use both rhetoric imposed on them by western colonial forces (racism) and hatred for other ethnic groups (xenophobia). Because both groups are still groups of colour, they are only capable of reproducing racism, not producing it, as they have no power to in the structure of racism. (Translation: People of colour can discriminate one another with something they have power over, and reproducing racism.)

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This entire conversation has also highlighted something that I’ve deliberately avoided in my previous posts, but my fellow black Tumblr friends haven’t, and that is the issue of anti-blackness.

Throughout all of this it seems like many different ethnicities have obviously come together and argue on different sides, but one side seems to be devoid of a certain race that has spoken up against these issues over and over. 

When black people tell you that something is racist, your knee-jerk reaction shouldn’t be ‘but it isn’t, because I’m not white, and I approve of this.’ Going back to that story of 17-year-old me, I was not the racial group affected by the drawing. I was not offended, because it wasn’t my racial identity that was being mocked. When black people tell you that something is racist, you can assume that they’re telling you something is anti-black.

Don’t turn this a conversation only about the voices of people of colour when at the heart of the topic it’s been about anti-blackness shown by a multitude of people from different ethnic groups, white or not.

I’ve seen people act like they’re on the good side because surely they’re supporting people of colour who’ve told them that the side I’m arguing on seems to be ridiculous. I’m calling people names! Making assumptions! I’m stuck in a western perspective talking over non-western people.

Then turn around and they’re not boosting black voices. They’re not mentioning anti-blackness anywhere. I see MLK quotes taken out of context. They’re clamouring to reblog or create art depicting black characters or meta about them, while that art is either fetishistic or was proven to be made by a racist (who was proven to be so like 2 whole minutes ago).

(Translation: Don’t throw black people under the bus. Listen to us when we’re talking about anti-blackness. All poc are indeed not the same, so don’t treat it like it is.)

I hope this will be the last time I’ll talk about this. But I have a bad feeling it won’t be.

[inspector-montoya-fox]

here’s why Thieves in Time is a bad game

before y’all try it, i just want to say that i’ll be as unapologetically petty and sarcastic as i want and fucking rip this game to shreds. yes, this is how i’ve spent my days since Thieves in Time came out. sitting alone in my room, staring at the wall, crying and complaining. because it has since been my life’s aim and dream to think about it every day, state the negative things about it, and become an evil essay witch on this half-dead website. *evil laugh*

Story:

References: i want to start with the smallest problem, but one that annoys me to this day. in the original trilogy, there weren’t a lot of references but the ones that were included were meticulously researched and well thought-out (i’m specifically referring to that Neil Diamond Carmelita vinyl gag, but can’t find the original post). the references in Thieves in Time however, were obviously just the creators’ interests. Turning Japanese, Clan of the Cave Bear and Bentley’s “hacksona” presented as Rambo just scream 1980s (which i’m assuming is the decade the creators grew up in), and Of Mice and Men is classic literature about the Great Depression, which subsequently started being taught in school in the US during the 1980s. it feels like the creators just went ‘let’s discuss what our lives had in common during our teen years and put that in’ instead of researching it first. and, here’s the thing: when you’re adding references, in order to make them funny or interesting, they have to fit in with the property or the character that’s connected to them in some way. Don Octavio was an opera aficionado so his episode’s title card pays homage to the Phantom of the Opera, young Muggshot was influenced by the movie “The Dogfather” because he’s a gangster, etc. these were funny because they were so spot-on with these characters. if every character in the Sly Cooper universe references the same type of stuff (from the 1980s) and shares the same interests, it’s just claustrophobic and uninteresting. i’m pretty sure i’m not the only one who had to look up these ultra-hetero, scrotum references when the game came out. that’s because they were specifically tailored to be funny to them, and not their target demographic which were kids in 2013.

Narrative: now that we got that out of the way, let’s look at the narrative. at the end of Sly 3, Bentley says he’s building a time machine. Sanzaru took that joke and decided to run with it as the premise for their game. ok, not the best idea, but i get it - you’re literally picking up where the last game left off. since all the storylines were wrapped up, they could’ve done something different like Sly’s kids or Bentley and Murray’s families, but this isn’t an essay about suggestions so...... time travel (i want to say that it’s, again, an 80s reference but whatever) was pretty ��out there’ in 2013. i mean, even Plants vs Zombies 2, which was released that year, had to do with time travel (yes, i’m referencing an app). but Sanzaru had the advantage of applying this premise onto already established mythos and lore. the story had definite potential: someone is threatening Sly’s lineage so he has to travel back in time to save the day. the player would get to explore new locations and iconic eras in history, and, of course, the main selling point: playable ancestors. how could you screw that up? welp.... let’s think about the plot holes here for a sec. Bentley’s device would take the gang back in time when given an item from the specific era. stop. this right here is called ‘over-complicating’. how did they know the items would take them directly to the point where the specific ancestor was in danger? the Feudal Japan period lasted for 700 years: how did the machine know when and where to drop them off? and if the gang could return to the present at any time, why didn’t they do so when they were in trouble? oh right, the machine was broken. so how did they return the baddies to the present after they defeated them? i mean, why did they use the Grizz’s crown to travel to Medieval England if they went back to the present to drop him off to Interpol first? and on that note, how did they drop the baddies off to jail without getting caught and without Carmelita being around? i can already hear you thinking but these are total details that aren’t important, you jerk! well, yea, they truly are details and i truly am overthinking it. and yes, i truly am a jerk. but let me tell you something: when Sanzaru chose to make a new Sly game, did they not think ‘oh we’ll have to follow up Sly 2 and Sly 3′s stories’ which were well thought-out narratives with depth and various themes and didn’t have huge plot holes (as seen by my analysis through the episode project) ???? and did they also not think that their game would come out eight years after the last one, having expectations at an all-time high???? yea, that’s what i thought.

Characters: i’ll make a different section for Sucker Punch’s characters, so this is for Sanzaru’s original ones. name one iconic original character from Thieves in Time. i’ll wait... nope. not one. that’s because all of them were absolute shit. and here’s where i want to touch upon Sanzaru’s over-reliance on the trilogy. Ms Decibel (perhaps the most obvious copy) is a mix between Don Octavio, Miz Ruby, and the Contessa. El Jefe is Rajan if he went to the gym. Toothpick has Sir Raleigh’s temper and tendency to grow in size. and the Grizz is... whatever the fuck he is. (don’t worry i didn’t forget Le Paradox and Bob). there’s a difference between studying & creating similar characters and blatantly plagiarizing older characters because you lack the creativity. oh, boo-hoo this evil jerk’s telling it how it is. this set of villains is so lacklustre, i don’t even know where to begin. El Jefe is a tiger, even though we’ve already had two major tiger villains and one tiger flashlight guard. ok. Rajan could summon lightning because of the Clockwerk heart but El Jefe can do the same, how exactly? Toothpick is an armadillo (good) from Russia (better) with an obsession with the West (excellent) who can also grow huge (very bad). it’s never explained how or why. why?????? just tell me why. i want to know. i really want to know. Ms Decibel is an elephant who got into a tragic accident which left her with the power of hypnosis. music and hypnosis have already been done, but ok, i’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. so how do we use this character? spend the entirety of her screen time making jokes about... wait for it... her weight !!! this is top-notch comedy... really? like... really? the creators’ humor is a crime, at best. fart jokes and fat jokes all around. oh, and then there’s the Grizz. what the fuck where they thinking? just, what the fuck. i guess the guys at Sanzaru thought black people speak in rap? is that it? apart from it being extremely offensive, it’s also a blatant copy of Dimitri’s backstory. like, his introductory cutscene even has his paintings thrown at him and into the trash, like the intro cutscene for The Black Chateau. honestly, all of these villains caused me several types of pain, but not as much as...

Bob & Le Paradox: the absolute worst. i can just imagine the meeting going something like this: Sly’s ancestors are awesome! i wish we could fit them all in the game... here’s an amazing idea! what if we use one of the game’s few levels to introduce a brand new ancestor! yea! let’s make him dumb as fuck, strip him of any athletic prowess, and retcon the entire lineage by having him be the first Cooper ever! the kids will love a prehistoric level! ..... could you kindly point out where and when did ANYONE ask for this? i remember @ironicsnap​ saying something like the game is good until Bob. no, it was already bad - Bob just lowered the standard. like, a lot. people love Murray and his gameplay is neat, but no one ever thought ‘oh i wish we had a Cooper character with Murray’s game style’. why would they waste the opportunity to bring in Henriette, Thaddeus, Otto, literally any ancestor? why??? but they went ahead and created their own Cooper, and that wasn’t even the end of it. they had to make him dumb. they had to make him unbearable. they had to ruin the Cooper ancestry by adding this mess to the lineage. Sucker Punch made sure that all the ancestors were unique, but at the same time made all of them suave and funny and slick and you wish you could be them! well, fuck that. also, his name is Bob. Bob Cooper. it’s been 7 fucking years and i still can’t wrap my head around it.... so now, let’s talk about Le Paradox. i don’t have to mention the previous main villains, but i will. Clockwerk killed Sly’s ancestors and father, and was seemingly an eternal threat. Neyla was a psychopath who fooled everyone on her journey to becoming immortal by resurrecting Clockwerk. Dr M opened up the possibility for Sly’s dad to be a jerk instead of a hero, and died trying to unlock the Coopers’ legacy. how does Le Paradox compare? well, he’s a sleazebag skunk who was mad because of his dad’s downfall to the Coopers. that’s it. no twist, no depth, no clever dialogue. nothing. there’s nothing there. this is a new character, unfamiliar to everyone, who was hyped up for 5 levels and defeated in the conclusion. why was he a match for Sly? i don’t know. how did he fight for his life and ultimately tricked Sly into helping him? i don’t know. how the hell did he kidnap Carmelita? i don’t know. was it the power of persuasion? no, he’s revolting. so i literally don’t know. there’s no backstory, no fleshing-out the character, nothing. all we’re given to work with is a brief info-dump about his dad and how he escaped prison. i don’t know what else to say apart from how big a humiliation this was for Sanzaru and their team of writers. you had 8 years to work on something and this is what you came up with? anything would be better. anything would best this utter cliché of a villain, a distasteful misogynist, crybaby, idiot with an accent. literally anything.

Arcs & Themes: let’s take a look at the formulaic subplots for the gang’s members. apart from dealing with Le Paradox, everyone had a small arc. Sly had to deal with his break-up with Carmelita. Bentley had to deal with his break-up with Penelope. Murray had to deal with playing second fiddle to Bob. Carmelita was a damsel in distress and sex bait for the ancestors. the ancestors had their own mini storylines along with reacting to Sly’s presence. there you have it. i summarised it all for you, nice and neatly. are there any themes like in the previous games? nope. i promise you i’m not lying when i say that i tried hard to come up with something, even some speck of a detail i could use to over-analyse the story and come up with some ideas on themes. nothing. there are no themes. the subplots are character-driven and the player gives it 0 emotional investment. there is nothing to analyse, nothing to talk about. maybe even a theme for each level, like a spooky level or something? nope. the levels are dependent on eras and historical periods. the variation here is ok. Feudal Japan, Wild West, Prehistoric Australia, Medieval England and Ancient Arabia  - pretty good selection. i’ll give them credit for it. but that’s it. due to the absence of themes, the hubs feel empty. there’s no replayability factor. after you collect the bottles and masks and treasures, there’s nothing. i would spend hours revisiting the trilogy’s hubs, just roaming around. the hubs here are huge and empty. there’s nothing to reminisce about. nothing to recall. oh that’s where this mission went down. no, nothing like that. the aforementioned subplots are resolved during mission cutscenes and then they’re gone. you don’t have to explore spooky Prague alone as Bentley to have him overcome his fears, you don’t have to find out miners abducted Murray’s beloved Guru and search the Australian outback for him, you don’t have to hold back your tears when you’ve reached the end of the Cooper Vault and Sly asks his dad for help. nothing.

Gameplay:

Controls: as soon as i laid my hands on the controller the first time i played the game, that fateful afternoon, i knew something was up. Sly would respond 1 second late after you pushed something on the controller. it felt clunky, is what i’m trying to say or, as my sister put it, it felt heavy. and she was right. the controls were clunky and heavy and didn’t feel light, like playing as a thief should feel. i don’t know shit about game mechanics but this definitely didn’t feel right. the hubs are also chunky in design, the cliffs are huge and so cyclical or hexagonal, that when you parachute your way to them and are just an inch close, Sly will automatically just drop because he can’t grab onto them. running as Sly doesn’t feel fast, silently obliterating guards from behind feels slow, and swinging, grabbing, pickpocketting, and hanging aren’t fun anymore. presentation-wise, @designraccoon​ goes into detail here, in an absolute gem of a post. in short, the gameplay animations make Sly look less sneaky. Sanzaru didn’t even consider a thief’s movements.

Missions: why the fuck would you remove the player’s option to choose between which mission to do first? why would you do that? the game lays out what goes first, sometimes having only one mission available in the hub. and the missions aren’t even enjoyable. firstly, the loading screens take up to 5 minutes, maybe even 7-8. secondly, there’s hacking every 2 missions. the missions don’t have any dialogue to make them fun, lack in interesting puzzles, what more can i say? they’re overly easy and lack any challenge whatsoever. at least there’s variation in gameplay (hacking, RC car, fishing, costumes, ancestors, turret etc.) but because of the controls, even these get tiresome. the missions are solely there to progress the story and that’s why the operations are merely ‘storm the main baddie’. the trilogy had some pretty interesting missions which made sure to complete jobs required to take down the big bad. e.g. kidnap General Clawfoot to take down the security, hack Contessa’s computer to make sure Carmelita will be freed, steal voices to tempt Neyla, and then take down the Contessa. the missions in Thieves in Time lack substance and variety. and the hacking (all three styles) sucks.

Collectibles: here’s another fantastic idea: have players collect costumes in order to collect bottles in order to collect treasures in order to collect masks in order to unlock funky Sanzaru logo-themed merch! what was the reason for the collectibles? in previous games, collecting all bottles would unlock special abilities. that was it. it’s the same thing here too, but there’s less incentive? i mean when you have to collect 1000 things, what’s the point? the treasures are random and very few are references to the trilogy, so whatever. and the masks unlock... superhero costumes for what reason exactly? oh, and then there’s also the achievements for your Playstation account, like ‘open the map in every single location you visit’. what fun! if the reason for collecting the treasures is to play godawful hacking minigames in order to get masks, what’s the point? decorate your paraglider with the Sanzaru logo? or have Bentley dress up as discount Robocop? i mean including masks in the interior locations was cool, but the bottles were always supposed to be something you could do whenever your soul desired. sometimes i left them last before the operation, sometimes i collected them before the first mission. so i was pissed when i found out that, in some cases, you had to unlock the episode’s costume in order to get the all the bottles. so, fuck off.

Animation: i’ll keep this short. the animation was terrible. do you remember that tumblr blog from a while back, where she dedicated the posts to pointing out the mistakes in the animated cutscenes? yeah. point is, there were lots of them. the animation style was bad, the character design was ugly, the characters’ movements were unnatural. everything about it was shit. looking past the bad decision to drop the trilogy’s comicbook-style animated cutscenes, couldn’t they have hired someone better? someone with more experience? their concept art was awesome. couldn’t they hire that guy and have it be comicbook style if he wasn’t trained in animation?

Legacy:

The Players: let me ask a genuine question: who was this game made for? kids growing up in 2013? maybe so. because it feels like Sanzaru didn’t even consider the fans of the trilogy. actually, it felt like a huge fuck you. Sucker Punch made their trilogy for whoever. there were great stuff for kids, but adults would pick up and appreciate the references, the real-life setting (e.g. tobacco use, existence of nightclubs, spice instead of drugs, etc.). that’s why all three games are timeless classics. judging by Thieves in Time’s humor, the game wasn’t targeted for adults. so, it doesn’t make sense to use an already established property, beloved by its fans, to attract a new audience consisting of nine year-olds who’d laugh at Murray dressing up as a woman. if they really wanted to appeal to the fans of the original, why retcon everything? why change who the first Cooper was? when the gang’s stranded in Saudi Arabia, why have Sly say ‘i couldn't remember a time since we've teamed up that we felt so defeated’? the gang’s been in way deeper shit before. why the ‘Sly’s dad vs Le Paradox’s dad’ deus ex machina? Sly’s dad wasn’t famous because of stealing the world’s largest diamond, what the fuck are you even talking about? do the guys at Sanzaru have such big egos and bravado that they needed to change the original games’ lore? were they so preoccupied with leaving their signature on a property which was never their own? i don’t know who needs to read this, but i’m stating FACTS.

Characters: now let’s talk about Sanzaru’s treatment of the Cooper gang and the ancestors (female characters will get their own section). why would you change the characters like that? if it wasn’t for the voice acting, i’d say this is a completely different Cooper gang. there’s no wise-cracking band of best friends, going on heists and being proud of their brotherhood and bond. all that is replaced with the formulaic story arcs for each member. the trilogy’s cutscenes and dialogues made sure to establish how Sly, Bentley and Murray have lived together since they met at the orphanage, play videogames all day and order chinese food and pizza and whatever. through missions and their adventures, they face obstacles they have to overcome as a gang, and when Sly 3 came around, their friendship was put to the ultimate test when they almost disbanded. Thieves in Time was too lazy to add to this. Sanzaru thought ‘oh the trilogy showed how they’re best friends so we might as well have them focus on their own stories separately’ and if this is truly the case then i ask again: who was this game made for? because new fans would never know how tight the gang was just by playing Thieves in Time. there’s a lack of genuine friendship moments. like, what happened when Sly came back after faking his amnesia? that’s completely ignored. where’s the witty banter? the ‘wizard & sitting duck’ type of jokes? nothing of the sort. what we get is fart jokes and Murray wanting to dress up as a woman. on that note, what was that all about? ok, have him dress up as a geisha to get in. fine. have El Jefe slap his ass, have him perform in a painfully lengthy dance sequence, have him dress like that during the rest of the episode, and then have him be persistent about getting the belly-dancing gig? the hell? Murray was always kinda goofy but this just feels kinda homophobic? it feels dragged out and unfunny. and then there’s the ancestors. i said it once before and i’ll say it again, Sanzaru deprived me of a buff Arab daddy Salim Al Kupar and gave us that elderly shit instead. all jokes aside, the redesigns were uninteresting. why take away Tennessee Kid’s facial hair and give it to Galleth? i legitimately think all the ancestors were boring. i mean, their gameplay was cool, especially Tennessee Kid’s guns, but in terms of character, they were just some dudes. did they believe that Sly was their descendant from the future? maybe. did they care? nope. they all had the same storyline of dealing with Sly’s arrival, flirting with Carmelita and getting their canes stolen. that was it. the fans waited for so long to get even a glimpse of the ancestors in action, and Sanzaru downplayed all of them. they reduced them to useless idiots too occupied with women and food, incapable of getting their canes back from stupid Le Paradox. and they didn’t even stick to the lore. no ma’am. let’s make Rioichi the inventor of sushi !! because that makes total sense and would defo fit in with the character and the property! why. just, why. you were handed the lore !!! you were given all this rich backstory and you threw it all away to replace it with trash !!! complete trash.

Changes & Inconsistency: i want to briefly mention some changes that pissed me off. where’s the laser glide move? it was an important turning point at the end of Sly 3, so why did they get rid of it? Sly is a master thief who’s traveling back in time, so you’d think they’d actually make him a master thief. also, the changes in the binocucom and Bentley’s slideshows in order to modernise them. if Sucker Punch managed to place the mission starting points at locations where the binocucom would show the objective clearly, so could Sanzaru. instead, they chose to have it be a moving camera, floating around the hub. and Bentley’s slideshows were absolute classics, opportunities to include gags and have Bentley show off in his own way. you just had to change it into a tablet, didn’t you. omg you’re still looking at small details like these? yes sweetie, i consider the details because i think they shape the game more than anything. if i didn’t consider the details, then my opinion on the game would be incomplete. when i praise the trilogy i don’t only look at story and gameplay. because i’m unbiased like that. here, i’d also like the mention Dimitri. what a fucking waste. you either include him in the game or you don’t. but don’t give me some half-baked shit on how he’s working for the gang back in present day. Dimitri staying home, waiting on the gang to call him in order for him to give them details on the villains. how does that even slightly resemble anything about Dimitri’s character? they didn’t even include his voice, some greasy sweet Raccoonus Doodus dialogue.

Female Characters: you know it’s all been leading up to this. this is the crux of the Thieves in Time hate. i don’t want to say the game is misogynistic so i’ll call it anti-feminist. why? just answer me. why? why did you have to disrespect Carmelita like that? right off the bat, they swapped the pants for the skirt. in what world does an active inspector who’s always on the scene wear a skirt? Carmelita now wears a skirt because her only role in the game is to be the love interest. Carmelita now wears bright red lipstick and has a new hairstyle, which would be ok if only it wasn’t Carmelita. Carmelita now plays up her inner sassy Latina because she’s pigeonholed into the ‘angry ex girlfriend’ role. they compartmentalised her, tried to sexualise her because she couldn’t possibly be one of the boys. nope. let’s take a respected woman, high in rank and as physically able as Sly, and turn her into a cliché, an angry ex girlfriend for comedic relief, strip her of her abilities and have her be kidnapped twice, have every exchange with her be about how attractive she is, have almost every male character in the game flirt with her, have her boyfriend be jealous of his own ancestors because they’re flirting with her in order to create purposeless love triangles, and then, after all that, dress her up as a belly dancer and distract some guards while the rest of the gang do the heavy lifting. that last one was really the nail on the coffin. did Bentley have other ways to enter that door? absolutely. so, what the fuck? why did i come back for a good Sly game 8 years later and receive a game where you have to shake your controller to have Carmelita shake her ass? why did they have the guards’ eyes pop like that? why did no one stop them? and it isn’t just Carmelita. it’s Penelope too. god forbid we have a female character who doesn’t have a waist smaller than my finger, and a voluptuous physique. why was the redesign so drastic? the story stuff is also nonsensical. why did she leave? wasn’t she happy with Bentley? i watched her speech about turning on the gang about a thousand times and it still doesn’t make any sense. like, i literally don’t understand. what was her motive? and why reverse her story of overcoming the Black Baron persona and the connotations of a meek woman hiding behind a man’s disguise? why repeat it, shamelessly? do the guys at Sanzaru only know women who have recently broken up? why does Carmelita, Penelope and Ms Decibel all go through break-ups during the game? why does Penelope go against Bentley before they even break up? why waste the opportunity to introduce a new, well-written villain and use it to repeat something already done? why???? no woman is safe from Sanzaru because Ms Decibel... boy, did i feel bad for her. apart from continuously reminding us that she’s haha fat!! she’s also presented as a blind lovefool. love? what a silly concept only women believe in! Ms Decibel had a crush on Le Paradox (for some reason i can’t even fathom) and for that she must pay by being utterly humiliated. and what do ALL women do when a guy breaks up with them? they get so angry! yikes, stay clear guys! ....why does Sanzaru hate female characters? i’m genuinely curious. i mean, what forced them to depict women like this? i’m sorry, i can’t take much more of this.

Ending: and how do you end a disappointment that came 8 years late and didn’t even have a sequel guaranteed? yeap, you guessed it! a cliffhanger. but not just any cliffhanger - a total fuck you to anyone and everyone. with a single move Sanzaru instantly screwed over the franchise. the fans, the creators, the characters, anyone looking to continue the series. everyone. WHY would you trap the protagonist in the past? WHY? did you feel defensive about something that wasn’t even yours and went ‘well you can continue the series but the sequel will have to do with time travel’. why did you think it was a good idea? how does it even slightly resemble a good ending? someone fill me in please. because i don’t think i’m being unreasonable, i’m just telling it how it is.

Conclusion:

i did it. i fucking wrote it in all its motherfucking glory. the idiots at Sanzaru could’ve given us an amazing game but instead of working on how to make it better or including extra levels, they wasted their time on deciding what killable baby animal to include in each hub or what the backstory for each treasure should be. how fucking distasteful. and to think i’m an idiot myself for trying to force myself to like it because i was so in denial about how bad it was. i’ve just outlined everything wrong with that cursed game. i���m exhausted.