#because the only reason why the crimes in this book happened

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: How to Ruin a Plot || Jade Leech

When you end up as the villainess in a story that's hellbent on making her suffer for no reason, you decide to make the main characters suffer just for catharsis. Good thing that your fiancé, Jade Leech seems to like chaos as much as you.

Series Masterlist

Dinner wasn’t much to write home about—a plate of lukewarm spaghetti that could generously be described as "functional," paired with a salad so sad it could star in its own soap opera. But you had something better: entertainment.

And by entertainment, you meant the literary dumpster fire currently sitting in your hands.

This book. This book.

The plot was so catastrophically terrible that it looped around to being hilarious. You chewed your subpar spaghetti and flipped a page, trying not to laugh too hard at the sheer absurdity of what you were reading.

The villainess, a talented duchess and renowned potion maker, was saddled with some of the worst clients in existence. The saintess—of course, she was a saintess, because originality was clearly out of the question—was engaged to the Duke of the North. Why? Who knows. It wasn’t like they seemed to like each other. In fact, she was also having a very public affair with the prince.

And not just any prince. A balding prince.

Because nothing screams “romantic rival” like the slow and tragic retreat of one’s hairline.

They were both the worst. The kind of people who would demand a 12-step skincare routine from their servants but would balk at paying them a living wage. When the villainess refused to make them more potions for ridiculous requests like “immunity to insults” (seriously?), they decided to frame her for crimes and have her executed.

The sheer audacity.

But it didn’t stop there. Oh no. The villainess had a fiancé—Jade Leech, poor guy—who tried his best to help her escape. And what did she do? Sacrificed herself so he wouldn’t get dragged into her mess. Noble, sure, but also infuriating because she died for them.

And then Jade, now heartbroken and understandably bitter, became the main antagonist. Only to be defeated by the same cartoonishly bland protagonists who caused the entire mess.

It was like someone handed a six-year-old a book contract and said, “Go wild, kid. Just make sure it has betrayal and love triangles, and throw in some magic potions or something.”

You forked another sad tangle of spaghetti into your mouth and tried not to choke from laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all. The characters had all the depth of a kiddie pool, the plot holes were big enough to drive a carriage through, and the pacing? What pacing? This story had clearly decided pacing was for cowards.

You flipped to another page, nearly snorting when the saintess justified her affair by saying, “It’s what the goddess would want."

Sure, Jan.

And just as you were about to take another bite of dinner, it happened.

A mushroom. A mushroom.

You didn’t even realize it had slipped into your spaghetti until it was already lodged in your throat. Panic set in as you clawed at your neck, gasping for air while your brain helpfully supplied one last thought:

Can’t believe a mushroom took me out. Goddammit.

And then everything went dark.

The first thing you notice is the carpet: thick, plush, and entirely too luxurious for someone who had been laughing themselves to death over garbage-tier literature just moments ago. The second thing you notice is that you’re alive, which is great. Except you’re no longer in your cozy little living room.

No, you’re in a gothic mansion straight out of an interior decorator's fever dream. Dark wood, brooding paintings, and vials of suspicious liquids lined up neatly on shelves. For a second, you think you’ve wandered into a Dracula fan convention, but then it hits you.

The novel. The Poisoned Duchess and the Frozen Heart of the North.

You scramble to your feet, heart pounding. “No. No, no, no, no,” you mutter, sprinting to the nearest mirror. A familiar (and obnoxiously beautiful) face stares back at you. Elegant curls, piercing eyes, and an expression that could curdle milk. Yep. You’re the Duchess—the villainess who gets executed for daring to have standards.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you groan, gripping the edge of the vanity. “I was just making fun of this! How did I end up here? Is this karma? Did the mushroom do this?!”

You spend a good ten minutes pacing the room, muttering to yourself like a squirrel with a caffeine problem. “Okay, okay, think. The Saintess and the Prince are nuts, and they’re gonna come here demanding potions for their ridiculous nonsense like ‘immunity to sarcasm’ or whatever. Solution? Close the shop. Sell it. Let some other poor soul deal with their unhinged requests. Genius! But what next? What about the fiancé—oh god, Jade!”

Jade Leech. The fiancé you had casually dismissed in your tirade against the novel. The one who was supposed to be self-sacrificing, and eventually doomed. But now he’s your fiancé, and you’re not about to let him become collateral damage in this flaming dumpster fire of a plot.

“We’ll run away!” you declare, pointing dramatically at an imaginary horizon. “We’ll elope, move to some peaceful countryside, grow tomatoes, and live a happy, Saintess-free life. Screw the plot. Screw the Duke. Screw the Saintess and her balding fiancé—”

You’re mid-sentence when the sound of a door opening interrupts your theatrical monologue. You spin around and freeze.

Standing in the doorway is Jade Leech himself. And oh boy, the novel did not do him justice. His sharp features, soft teal hair, and piercing eyes make your brain short-circuit. The man looks like he walked out of an ethereal fairy tale and promptly decided to make everyone else look like peasants.

He leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, and raises a brow. “Well, this is quite the scene to walk into.”

You blink. And then you blink again, because your brain is still stuck on handsome fiancé alert. “Uh…”

Jade smirks, clearly amused. “Is this a private performance, or can anyone join? Because I’m not sure who you’re planning to screw, but it sounds… ambitious.”

You want to die all over again. “I—uh, would you… like to join my plans?”

His eyes gleam with mischief. “Plans, you say? That depends. Do these plans involve anything more exciting than managing a potion shop?”

“Yes! So much more exciting!” you blurt out. “We close the shop, sell it, cause some chaos, run away, and live happily ever after far away from this stupid place! No Saintess. No Duke. Just… us. Tomatoes. Maybe a goat.”

Jade chuckles, the sound warm and entirely too pleasant for your frazzled state of mind. “You’ve certainly caught my interest. All right, I’m in. A little chaos sounds much better than… whatever normalcy is supposed to look like.”

He steps closer, and you swear your brain bluescreens again because wow, personal space doesn’t exist here, huh? Jade offers his hand, his smile sharp but oddly sincere. “So, where do we start, my prodigal Duchess?”

You take his hand, still half-dazed. “Step one: Screw the Saintess.”

He laughs again. “Now that’s the kind of plan I can get behind.”

Meeting Jade's brother was like getting hit by a rogue wave of chaos. You'd thought Jade was the wild card of the family, but then Floyd Leech burst into the room like a hurricane wearing a grin.

He looked at you with an intensity that made you feel like you were being appraised for your entertainment value, then immediately announced, "You wanna screw with the Saintess and the Duke? Oh, I’m in.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then at Jade, who gave you an apologetic shrug, clearly used to Floyd’s… energy. You decided, then and there, that you were extremely lucky to have been paired with the Leech brother who at least pretended to respect social norms.

Floyd, however, was a force of nature and, admittedly, a useful one. He seemed far too enthusiastic about the chaos you were planning, but hey, when life gives you a human typhoon, you use it to wreak havoc.

Then there was Azul Ashengrotto. Meeting him felt less like talking to a person and more like negotiating with an overly polite shark. “I can provide you protection,” he said smoothly, pushing a contract toward you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You glanced at the contract, then back at him. “And what does this… "protection" demand in return?”

“Oh, nothing too demanding,” Azul said, waving his hand as if it was all very casual. “Just a few favors in return. Small things, really.”

You stared at the fine print and felt your soul start to sweat. This wasn’t just protection—it was a fast track to selling your soul to the fish mafia.

“Tell you what,” you said, shoving the contract back toward him. “I’ll sell the potion shop to you for cheap if you help me with whatever plans I come up with.”

Azul tilted his head, intrigued. “And what’s in it for me?”

“You get to own the best potion shop in the kingdom without dealing with the Saintess and her entourage of entitlement.”

His eyes gleamed. “Done. But if you get arrested, you won’t mention my name.”

“Deal,” you said, shaking his hand. Internally, you made a note to burn the shop down if things went south. Better a pile of ash than Azul owning it and your dignity.

The next day, you decided to drop by a boutique to prepare for the Saintess’s tea party. Not because you cared about the event, but because you cared very deeply about ruining her day.

You knew exactly what she was planning to wear—some pastel monstrosity—and you were determined to outshine her. You’d wear an upgraded version of her outfit, but classier, sharper, and absolutely dripping with pettiness.

The boutique owner was taking your measurements when you told them to send the bill to your butler. That was when Jade, who had been quietly browsing nearby, strolled over. He casually slid his arm around your waist, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and said, “Send the bill to me.”

You whipped around, scandalized. “Excuse me?!”

He leaned in, his mismatched eyes sparkling with mischief. “I just want everyone to know you’re my fiancée,” he murmured, his voice low and entirely too close to your ear.

Your brain promptly blue-screened. He was too close, his scent too distracting, and his hand on your waist was doing things to your equilibrium. The boutique owner pretended not to notice your obvious malfunction, but Jade? Jade looked like he was having the time of his life.

“Fine,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible as you tried to collect the scattered pieces of your dignity.

“Good,” Jade said, his smirk widening.

He didn’t let go of you after that. Oh no, he kept his hand firmly on the small of your back as you left the boutique. Every step was an exercise in not collapsing from the sheer audacity of his touch.

Meanwhile, Jade looked perfectly at ease, as if his sole purpose in life was to see how long it would take you to spontaneously combust.

By the time you got back to the mansion, you were sure of one thing: Jade Leech was going to be the death of you, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

The tea party was shaping up to be the highlight of your career as a petty agent of chaos. You arrived late, naturally—nothing screams “I’m better than you” quite like waltzing in when everyone’s already seated.

The moment you stepped into the pavilion, a collective gasp swept through the crowd. Your dress—custom-tailored, one-of-a-kind, and effortlessly overshadowing every other outfit there—practically glowed in the sunlight.

The Saintess, perched at the head of the table, turned to greet you, her expression instantly souring when she caught sight of your gown. Oh, you could practically hear the cogs in her head screeching to a halt as she realized you’d completely outdone her.

“Oh my,” you said, offering a demure smile as you made your way to your seat. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” she replied, her voice as sweet as arsenic. “What a… bold choice of dress.”

“Oh, this?” You gestured casually, as though you weren’t wearing something that could stop traffic. “My fiancé picked it out for me. He has such excellent taste, don’t you think?”

You didn’t need to look directly at her to see the way her jaw clenched. You could feel her rage simmering from across the table. After all, her own fiancé, or even the Balding Prince, hadn’t bothered to buy her a dress, let alone one that could compete with yours. You almost felt bad for her. Almost.

From there, the afternoon devolved into a series of increasingly petty power plays.

When the Saintess poured herself a cup of tea, you made a point to remark on how “rustic” her teapot was.

When she complimented the garden’s flowers, you chimed in with, “Oh, are these the same ones you tried to grow last year? I remember hearing how they all died!”

Every little comment was a carefully aimed dart, and she was too polite—or perhaps too afraid of snapping in public—to retaliate. The guests, of course, were eating it up.

The pièce de résistance came when the Balding Prince himself approached you during the party.

“I need a potion,” he said, puffing himself up like a rooster trying to assert dominance. “For my, uh, hair.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. Of all the scenarios you’d envisioned, this was not one of them.

“Your hair?” you echoed, doing your best to keep a straight face. “What kind of potion are we talking about here? Growth? Volume? Shine?”

The Prince’s eye twitched. “That’s… none of your business,” he snapped.

Before you could respond, Jade—bless him—“accidentally” bumped into the Prince from behind, sending his ridiculous feathered hat tumbling to the ground.

The gasp that followed was deafening.

There it was, in all its glory: the shiny, blinding expanse of the Prince’s balding crown, gleaming like a beacon of despair in the afternoon sun.

For a moment, the pavilion was silent. Then someone coughed. Then someone else giggled. And before long, the entire tea party was a symphony of poorly stifled laughter.

“It’s, uh, a royal tradition!” the Prince stammered, clutching his hat and jamming it back onto his head. “A sign of wisdom and… and…”

He trailed off, clearly out of excuses, and fled the scene faster than you’d ever seen anyone run in formalwear.

The Saintess looked like she was about to implode. Unfortunately for her, the Third Male Lead (Yes, there were 3 of them) chose that exact moment to swoop in, all charm and wit as he began lavishing her with attention. You leaned back in your chair, sipping your tea and basking in the chaos like a cat who’d just knocked over an entire shelf of priceless antiques.

“Nice work,” you murmured to Jade, holding up your hand for a discreet high five.

Instead of obliging, he grabbed your hand and laced his fingers through yours, the smirk on his face practically criminal.

“You’re far more fun than I expected,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You stared at him, your brain immediately short-circuiting. Your default response to most situations was sarcasm or snark, but this? This was uncharted territory.

“Uh… thanks?” you managed, your voice coming out embarrassingly squeaky.

Jade chuckled, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand as if to emphasize just how flustered you were.

“Come on,” he said, his tone far too casual for someone who’d just ruined you in front of an audience. “Let’s go cause more trouble.”

He kept his hand on the small of your back as you walked away from the pavilion, and you were pretty sure your soul left your body every time he leaned in to whisper some biting comment about the Saintess or her rapidly expanding collection of admirers.

One thing was certain: you were having the time of your life, and this was only the beginning.

The day begins innocently enough, which should have been your first warning.

You’re peacefully reading in the library, enjoying the silence, when Floyd barrels in like a hurricane. “Oi, c’mon, you gotta help me!” he hisses, grabbing your wrist before you can protest.

“Help you with what?” you manage to ask as you’re dragged down the corridor, nearly tripping over your own feet.

“It’s Jade,” Floyd says ominously. “He’s made mushrooms again.”

Ah, that explains it. You’ve heard rumors about Jade’s culinary experiments, but you’d yet to experience them firsthand.

“And what does that have to do with me?”

Floyd grins, the kind of grin that promises nothing good. “Well, I told him you love mushrooms.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “You what?”

Before you can bolt, Floyd shoves you through the greenhouse door and slams it shut behind you.

Inside, the room is warm and humid, filled with the earthy scent of soil and plants. At the far end, Jade is bent over a terrarium, meticulously arranging its contents with tweezers.

He looks up when he hears you enter, his expression brightening. “Ah, you’re here!”

Your heart sinks.

Floyd’s words echo in your mind—you love mushrooms. If only he knew. Mushrooms were the reason you got isekai’d in the first place, and the trauma of choking on one is still fresh in your memory. But now, faced with Jade’s expectant gaze and a plate of what looks like sautéed mushrooms on the table, you realize you’re trapped.

“Floyd said you were eager to try these,” Jade says, his tone polite but unmistakably pleased.

You glance at the mushrooms, then back at Jade. He looks so hopeful, like someone who’s spent hours perfecting a recipe and is finally sharing it with someone who’ll appreciate it. You swallow hard.

“Of course!” you say, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. “I love mushrooms.”

You sit down at the table, and Jade places the plate in front of you. The mushrooms actually smell... good. Earthy and buttery, with a hint of garlic and herbs.

“Bon appétit,” he says, watching you intently.

You pick up a fork, your hands trembling slightly, and stab a piece. You can do this, you tell yourself. It’s not the mushroom’s fault you died. It’s just food.

With one final breath, you pop the piece into your mouth.

...It’s delicious.

The flavor is rich and savory, perfectly balanced, and the texture is tender without being mushy. You blink in surprise, then take another bite.

“Good?” Jade asks, and there’s a slight smugness in his tone.

“It’s amazing,” you admit, unable to stop yourself from eating more.

Jade’s smile widens, and something in his expression softens.

After finishing the plate, you linger in the greenhouse as Jade continues tending to his terrariums. You watch him work, his hands deft and precise as he rearranges moss, misting the plants with care.

“Need help with anything?” you ask, feeling unexpectedly at ease.

He glances at you, then gestures to a nearby shelf. “If you don’t mind organizing the vials, that would be helpful.”

You nod and get to work, sorting the various bottles of nutrients and spores while Jade hums softly under his breath. The atmosphere is peaceful, the kind of quiet that feels alive rather than stifling.

Once the terrariums are in perfect order, Jade brews a pot of tea, and you both sit at a small table nestled among the plants. The tea is fragrant, its warmth soothing as you take a sip.

Jade sits across from you, one hand resting lightly on the table. Absentmindedly, you reach out and place your hand over his.

He freezes for a moment, his eyes flicking to your joined hands. His usual calm demeanor falters, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “You’re quite bold,” he murmurs, though there’s a hint of nervousness in his voice.

You suppress a grin, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before turning your attention back to your tea. “And you’re holding my hand,” you point out casually.

“I suppose I am,” he says, his voice steady again, though his ears are noticeably red.

The two of you sit there for a while longer, sipping tea and enjoying the greenhouse’s serenity. Jade, ever the polite menace, pretends to be unfazed, but you catch him glancing at your joined hands more than once.

You smile into your cup, the taste of mushrooms and tea lingering on your tongue.

You wake up to the sound of maniacal laughter, the kind that belongs to either an evil overlord or someone who just discovered how to unlock infinite in-game currency. For one groggy moment, you wonder if the devil himself has come to collect you for your sins. But as your eyes flutter open, reality (and dread) sets in.

It’s not the devil. It’s Floyd.

“Why?” you croak, sitting up in your chair and rubbing your eyes. “Why are you like this?”

Jade, ever the epitome of composed chaos, is sitting calmly across from you, sipping tea and looking highly amused. “Ah, you’re awake,” he says with a smile that suggests nothing good is about to happen.

“I had the best idea!” Floyd exclaims, still cackling. “It’s gonna be hilarious!”

Jade gives you a knowing look, the kind that says, This is going to be a disaster, but I want to watch it unfold.

You should probably shut this down. You should. But instead, you wave a hand and mumble, “Sure, go wild.”

It turns out “wild” was underselling it.

Floyd’s “brilliant” idea? Convince the Saintess to organize a grand sword-fighting competition under the premise that the Balding Prince would absolutely win. To no one’s surprise (except maybe the Saintess), she fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“She’s been gushing about how he’s ‘a natural-born warrior,’” Floyd reports gleefully during the planning phase. “She’s even betting on him!”

You glance at Jade, who is practically glowing with smug anticipation. That should have been your first clue to intervene. Instead, you shrug and think, Eh, it’ll be fine.

It was, in fact, not fine.

When the announcement of the tournament goes public, the Balding Prince—bless his fragile ego—realizes he has a slight problem. Namely, the fact that he’s never held a sword in his life, let alone used one. Naturally, he comes crawling to you.

“I need a potion,” he demands, his tone somewhere between entitled and desperate. “To, uh, enhance my… swordsmanship.”

You lean back in your chair, trying to look unimpressed. “Oh, I don’t sell potions anymore,” you say airily.

The Prince glares at you, his bald spot gleaming under the room’s chandelier. “I’ll pay you.”

“You can’t afford me.”

“How about enough gold to fund your entire territory for the next twenty years?”

You sit up straight. “You drive a hard bargain, Your Highness.”

The potion you make for him is top-notch—for two hours. After that, well, let’s just say it’s going to be a long day for the Balding Prince.

The tournament goes about as chaotically as you expect. Jade, a genuinely skilled swordsman, carves his way through every round with ease. The Prince, meanwhile, is barely holding on, relying entirely on the potion to scrape by. Somehow, by sheer luck and Floyd’s endless meddling, the Prince manages to make it to the final round.

By this point, the Saintess is practically glowing with excitement, convinced her fiancé is about to cement his status as a legendary warrior. “He’s going to win for sure!” she squeals, clapping her hands.

You sip your tea, barely suppressing your smirk. Oh, sweet summer child.

The final round begins with Jade and the Prince stepping into the arena. The crowd roars with anticipation. The Saintess is preening in the stands, while the Empress looks vaguely mortified, as though she knows what’s about to happen but can’t stop it.

And then, right on cue, the potion wears off.

The Prince’s stance falters immediately, his grip on the sword going from “warrior” to “child holding a bat for the first time.” Jade doesn’t even have to try. One expertly placed strike sends the Prince’s weapon flying across the arena, and the match ends with the Prince sprawled on the ground, dazed and defeated.

The crowd erupts into laughter, and you’re pretty sure you see the Emperor facepalm.

To add insult to injury, the Emperor himself has to present the winner’s diadem to Jade. But instead of wearing it himself, Jade turns to you with a wicked grin.

“For you, my dear,” he says, placing the diadem on your head with a flourish.

The crowd loses it.

The Empress looks like she’s contemplating disowning her son on the spot. The Saintess bursts into tears and flees the arena, with the Prince stumbling after her, trying to explain his humiliating defeat.

You, meanwhile, stand in the center of the chaos, smiling peacefully.

“This,” you murmur, “is the best day of my life.”

The market was lively, the kind of lively that felt one loose cart wheel away from utter chaos. You’d gone there to buy something mundane—perhaps herbs, maybe a decorative pot, who even remembered anymore? What you did remember was spotting Azul, impeccably dressed as usual, standing at a stall that sold ornamental quills.

“Azul!” you called out, dragging Jade with you as you made your way over.

Azul turned, one brow arching as he spotted the two of you. “Ah, the duchess and her ever-present shadow. What brings you here?”

“Just window shopping,” you said vaguely, though Jade’s sudden fascination with terrarium accessories suggested otherwise.

One thing led to another, and before you knew it, the three of you were headed to a charming little café. It had the kind of ambiance that said, I’m wildly overpriced, but look at our aesthetic! Jade held the door open for you, and you stepped inside, marveling at the array of desserts in the display case.

You barely had time to settle into your seat when the atmosphere shifted.

There she was.

The Saintess.

You tried to ignore her, truly, but her obnoxious aura was as subtle as a bull in a porcelain shop. She was seated nearby, flanked by her entourage of lackeys. They whispered, they giggled, and they kept looking at you. You rolled your eyes and leaned closer to Jade and Azul, focusing on your conversation.

But peace, as usual, was not in the cards.

One of the lackeys—a girl who had the smug look of someone who thought her two brain cells were revolutionary—approached your table. In her hands was a steaming cup of tea, and the moment you saw it, a sense of foreboding settled over you.

And then, with all the subtlety of a villain in a children’s cartoon, she “tripped.”

The tea flew through the air in slow motion, a graceful arc of impending disaster. You braced for impact, but Jade moved faster. He stepped in front of you, shielding you from the scalding liquid. Most of it missed him, but a splash landed on his hand.

“Jade!” you exclaimed, grabbing his arm to inspect the burn.

Meanwhile, the lackey straightened herself up, not even bothering to fake remorse. “Oops,” she said, her tone so insincere it could’ve curdled milk. “It was an accident.”

“An accident?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You carried a boiling cup of tea across the room, aimed it at our table, and ‘accidentally’ threw it at us?”

She shrugged, her smirk widening. “My dad will pay for any damages. And you’re overreacting. It’s just tea.”

Overreacting? Oh, you were about to react, all right.

Azul, meanwhile, was unusually quiet. His tie had been stained in the splash zone, and his tight-lipped smile was beginning to look like it could crack glass.

The lackey continued, oblivious to the metaphorical storm clouds gathering over Azul. “Anyway, if you keep making a scene, it’ll just look bad for you. My dad’s pretty important, you know.”

“Oh?” Azul said suddenly, his voice as smooth as silk but with an edge sharp enough to cut steel. “And who might your father be?”

The lackey puffed up with pride. “He’s the finance manager for the duchess’s estate!”

There was a beat of silence. You exchanged a glance with Azul, and then your lips curled into a predatory smile.

“Azul,” you said sweetly, “guess whose daddy is about to lose his job?”

The ride back to your estate was tense—for you, at least. Jade sat calmly beside you, his hand resting on his knee, but you couldn’t stop fussing over his burn.

“Stop squirming,” you said, dabbing at his hand with a damp cloth.

“I’m fine,” Jade insisted, though his amused tone suggested he was enjoying your concern far too much.

“You’re not fine,” you retorted. “What if it scars? What if it gets infected?”

“Then I’ll have a mark to remember your attention by,” he said, his lips twitching into a half-smile.

You glared at him, but your fussing didn’t stop. By the time you reached the estate, you were practically vibrating with righteous fury.

The finance manager stood in your office, visibly confused.

“You’re fired,” you said bluntly.

His jaw dropped. “What? Why?”

You crossed your arms, your smile as sharp as a blade. “Ask your daughter.”

“What does she have to do with this?” he demanded, his face turning red.

“Everything,” you replied. “Guards, escort him out.”

He sputtered and protested, but you didn’t care. Justice had been served.

Later, after the physician had checked Jade’s hand and declared him fine, you collapsed onto the nearest couch, your exhaustion finally catching up to you. Without thinking, you ended up sprawled across Jade’s lap.

He stiffened, his hands hovering awkwardly before he cautiously placed one on your back to keep you from sliding off.

“Comfortable?” he asked dryly, though the faint pink on his cheeks betrayed him.

You hummed in response, already half-asleep. Within moments, your breathing evened out, and you nodded off.

Jade, for his part, was thoroughly smitten. His usual composure cracked as he replayed the day’s events—your fiery anger on his behalf, the way you’d fretted over his injury, and now, the way you looked so peaceful resting against him.

His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, and he allowed himself a rare, genuine smile.

“Quite the enigma,” he murmured to himself, already planning how to keep you close.

The ballroom was a spectacle of opulence. Chandeliers glittered overhead, casting soft golden light on the polished floors and the parade of nobles in their finest silks and velvets.

This was supposed to be a night of grand announcements, of declarations of love, and of the start of some “epic romance” that would undoubtedly be inscribed into the annals of history—or, at least, that's what the original novel promised.

But as you stood to the side with Jade and Floyd, it was evident that this version of events was hurtling off the rails.

Enter: the Duke of the North.

The poor man barely stepped into the ballroom before his eyes landed on the prince and the saintess. You could physically see the will to live drain out of him as his shoulders slumped, his gaze unfocused like he was calculating the fastest way to fake his own death and disappear into the wilderness.

It was almost pitiful. Almost.

The prince, meanwhile, had puffed up his chest and was grinning like he hadn’t recently been humiliated in front of half the kingdom. And the saintess—oh, she was trying, bless her delusional heart.

Smiling demurely, batting her lashes, and putting on a performance that might have worked if her reputation hadn’t already been stomped into the dirt by your carefully orchestrated chaos.

You leaned toward Jade and whispered, “I think the Duke’s trying to plot his own escape.”

Jade’s lips twitched in amusement, but he kept his usual calm demeanor. Floyd, however, cackled loudly enough to draw a few stares.

Then, the moment arrived: the prince stepped forward, his cape swishing dramatically as he raised his goblet. “Tonight, I announce my bride-to-be, the one chosen by the heavens themselves—the saintess!”

There was a smattering of applause, mostly out of obligation, but you were too busy watching the Duke. The man visibly sagged with relief, his shoulders dropping like he’d just been unshackled from a lifetime of servitude. You could practically hear the mental thank the gods echoing in his head.

And then, as if shedding the weight of the world, he turned on his heel and made a beeline—toward you.

You blinked, momentarily stunned as the Duke of the North, the supposed male lead, bowed deeply and extended a hand toward you. “Would you honor me with the first dance, my lady?”

You opened your mouth to decline, because this wasn’t in any script you remembered, but before you could utter a word, Jade smoothly stepped in.

“Apologies, Duke,” he said with his signature polite menace, “but she already promised this dance to me.”

Without waiting for a response, Jade’s hand found the small of your back, and he gently yet firmly guided you to the dance floor. The Duke was left standing there, his hand still outstretched, looking mildly bewildered.

“Don’t worry!” Floyd piped up, appearing out of nowhere. “I’ll dance with you!”

Before the Duke could protest, Floyd latched onto his arm and practically dragged him into a lively—and utterly chaotic—dance that looked like a mix of a waltz and a sparring match. The Duke’s expression alternated between horror and resignation, while Floyd grinned like he was having the time of his life.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably as you watched the scene.

Jade glanced down at you, his expression softening as he took in your laughter. His usual cool demeanor melted for just a moment, replaced by something so tender it made your heart stutter.

The realization hit you like a lightning bolt.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

You were in love with him.

And not the “oh, he’s handsome and I tolerate his presence” kind of love. This was the “I want to spend my life laughing and dancing and plotting petty revenge schemes with you” kind of love.

The thought was overwhelming, and before you could stop yourself, you buried your face in Jade’s chest.

He stilled for a moment, surprised, but then his arms encircled you, holding you close as he continued to sway to the rhythm of the music.

He didn’t question it, didn’t tease you, didn’t even comment. Instead, he rested his chin lightly on top of your head, his voice low as he murmured, “Are you all right?”

You nodded into his chest, your cheeks burning as you clung to him like a lifeline.

As the music swelled around you, you felt his hand tighten slightly on your waist. When you finally peeked up at him, his gaze met yours, and there it was again—that look of unguarded adoration that made your knees weak.

It was, without a doubt, the best dance of your life.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the ballroom, the Duke of the North was being spun around like a rag doll by Floyd, who was cackling loud enough to echo off the walls.

You caught sight of the saintess in the corner, her smile strained and her fingers clutching her goblet so tightly it looked like it might shatter.

All was well in the world.

The ballroom was buzzing with conversation, the glittering chandeliers casting light on a gathering of nobles too caught up in their own intrigues to notice the storm brewing in one corner. That is, until a sharp, shrill voice cut through the air.

“You think you can just ruin my family and get away with it?” It was the girl whose arrogance had gotten her father fired. Her finger pointed straight at you, her expression a mix of fury and desperation.

The ballroom stilled as the girl pointed her trembling finger at you, her voice shrill enough to shatter glass. "You think you can destroy my family and just walk away? You're nothing but a tyrant with too much power and zero empathy!"

Her father, standing nearby, was frantically gesturing for her to stop. “D-Dear, perhaps we should—”

“Shut it, Father! I’m handling this!” she snapped, tossing her poorly styled curls over her shoulder. She turned back to you, eyes blazing. “Everyone should know what kind of monster you are. Workplace harassment! That’s right—I said it!”

Before you could even process the absolute absurdity of the accusation, the Duke of the North stepped forward like some knight in an overwrought romance novel.

“You will not speak of her in such a way,” he declared, his voice booming with righteous indignation. “The duchess is a paragon of nobility and grace!”

The crowd collectively oohed, but before you could roll your eyes hard enough to dislocate something, the Saintess shot to her feet, looking utterly scandalized.

“This man,” she hissed, gesturing wildly at the Duke, “didn’t even fight for me, his divinely chosen match, but now he defends her? A woman who flaunts her defiance of heaven’s will? Blasphemy!”

“Blasphemy?” you muttered under your breath. “Blasphe-you, lady…”

Unfortunately, the Balding Prince chose this moment to stumble into the fray. “Uh… Are we…arguing?” He puffed up his chest, desperately trying to seem relevant. “As prince, I demand order!”

You took one look at him, with his shiny scalp gleaming under the chandeliers, and decided he wasn’t even worth the effort.

Meanwhile, Jade, ever the picture of composed menace, sidled up to your side. His eyes locked onto the Duke’s hand, which was still resting on yours. With a polite but firm gesture, Jade brushed the Duke’s hand away as though it carried the plague.

The Duke looked affronted. Jade just smiled. But it wasn’t a nice smile. It was the kind of smile that promised future inconvenience.

You, however, had officially hit your limit. You stepped forward, raising your voice over the din. “Enough!”

The room froze. All eyes turned to you as you launched into your tirade, starting with the Saintess.

“You!” You pointed directly at her, ignoring the way her cheeks flushed with outrage. “Do you honestly think the universe revolves around you just because you’ve got a shiny necklace and a tragic backstory? Newsflash: It doesn’t. The only divine will I’ve seen is everyone’s will to avoid your self-righteous sermons. Go back to your prayer circle and spare us your dramatics.”

Her mouth opened in shock, but you were already turning to the Balding Prince.

“And you! Stop sending letters to my estate asking for potions to grow hair or stretch your bones. I’m a duchess, not a miracle worker, and no amount of magic can make you interesting. Get a personality—or at least a hat.”

The prince turned beet red, his hands twitching as though debating whether to flee or argue. You didn’t care.

You swung your gaze to the girl whose father you’d fired. “And as for you, congratulations. You’ve just confirmed that stupidity really is hereditary. Your dad didn’t lose his job because of me. He lost it because he was stealing more money than the royal treasury had left after your little shopping sprees. You’re lucky I didn’t throw both of you in jail.”

Her father, now sweating through his cravat, looked like he might faint on the spot.

Finally, you turned to the Duke. “And you. I appreciate the effort, really. It’s sweet that you think I need defending. But I’m not a damsel in distress. I don’t need saving. And, oh—” You reached out, grabbing Jade by the arm. “I happen to have a fiancé whom I adore. So maybe put your chivalry elsewhere.”

Jade, for his part, looked smug as he allowed himself to be pulled along, his composure completely unshaken.

The ballroom fell into stunned silence as you swept toward the exit. Then—

Floyd’s laughter broke through like a cannon blast. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as tears streamed down his face. “Oh my god—that was amazing—! Balding prince—hat—”

Azul smirked, hiding his amusement behind a gloved hand. “Well, that was certainly… enlightening.”

You didn’t even look back as you pushed open the grand doors. “Idiots, the lot of them,” you muttered.

As you exited the ballroom, you couldn’t help but glance up at Jade. He looked unusually pleased, his lips curling into a faint, satisfied smile.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing,” he said smoothly, though the twinkle in his eye said otherwise. “I simply find your methods... inspiring.”

The two of you made it past the grand doors before the realization hit you like a carriage with no brakes.

You had just declared, in front of everyone, that you loved Jade.

And he knew it. Oh, did he know it.

He walked beside you, his usual calm and collected demeanor now infused with an insufferable smugness. His smile was the kind that could sell snake oil to a herpetologist.

“Darling,” he said, his voice laced with honeyed amusement, “you’re unusually quiet. Cat got your tongue? Or perhaps you’re shy after your… heartfelt proclamation?”

You refused to meet his gaze. “Shut up,” you muttered, staring resolutely at the carpeted hallway like it held the secrets to the universe.

“Now, now,” he crooned, leaning closer. “Why won’t you look at me? Surely you wouldn’t deny me the honor of basking in the gaze of my beloved?”

Your face burned hotter than the ballroom chandeliers. You covered it with your hands. “Leave me here,” you said dramatically. “Leave me here to rot in peace.”

Jade chuckled, and it was the kind of sound that sent shivers down your spine—warm, teasing, and entirely too pleased. “Why on earth would I do that?” he asked, his tone deceptively innocent. “Especially when my beloved looks so… endearing in their embarrassment.”

You peeked through your fingers, ready to deliver some biting retort, but the words died in your throat.

Jade’s expression had shifted. He wasn’t just amused anymore—he was smitten. The way his mismatched eyes softened as they looked at you, the faint smile that carried more affection than smugness, the subtle tilt of his head like you were the most fascinating thing in the world—it was all too much.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you grumbled, your voice weak.

“Like what?” he asked, feigning ignorance as he gently reached for your hands.

You tried to resist, but he was insistent, pulling them away from your face with a tenderness that made your heart ache. Before you could think to stop him, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t just a teasing peck to rile you up—it was slow, deliberate, and completely disarming. You melted against him, any thoughts of resistance dissolving as you instinctively pulled him closer.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and slightly dazed, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this book wasn’t the irredeemable mess you’d always thought it was.

After all, it had given you him.

The decision to expedite the wedding wasn’t exactly born of romance. It was born of the Duke’s increasingly deranged letters, the last of which included a poem so long and melodramatic it might as well have been a novel in verse.

Jade, to his credit, only raised a single brow at your muttered curses as you ripped the latest letter into confetti. “Darling,” he said mildly, “perhaps this is a sign to finalize our own arrangements before our dear Duke decides to recite his poetry at your doorstep.”

You had agreed, of course, which led to your current predicament: drowning in swatches, floral arrangements, and pamphlets for curtains—curtains, of all things.

“This one feels too garish,” you muttered, holding up a deep crimson drape. “But this one’s too boring,” you added, pointing at a pale beige option. You groaned and flopped back in your chair, glaring at the wedding planner. “Why is there no middle ground? What am I paying you for?”

The poor planner looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and never come out. Before you could unleash more frustration, Jade plucked the pamphlets from your hands with infuriating ease.

“Enough,” he said, his tone firm but fond. “You’ll give yourself gray hairs fretting over curtains. We can always elope, you know.”

You gaped at him. “Elope?”

His smile turned mischievous. “Yes. A quiet ceremony in the woods, perhaps, with only the birds as witnesses. Far from meddling Dukes and curtain debates.”

For a moment, you almost entertained the idea. But then you shook your head, laughing softly. “I suppose I’m being a bit dramatic.”

“A bit,” Jade echoed, though his teasing lilt softened as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “You don’t have to do this alone, my love. Delegate.”

The wedding planner, who had been cowering behind a stack of color charts, practically lit up. “Oh, yes! Delegate! Please, delegate!”

You sighed, leaning into Jade’s touch. “Fine. You’re in charge now.”

The planner looked as though he might fall to his knees and kiss Jade’s shoes in gratitude. Jade, ever the picture of elegance, merely chuckled.

“Excellent choice,” he said smoothly, guiding you away from the table of chaos. “Now, let’s find something far more enjoyable to argue about—like the wedding cake flavors.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but marvel at how easily Jade managed to turn your stress into something almost enjoyable. Perhaps rushing the wedding wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

The room was an over-the-top vision of wealth: chandeliers the size of small planets, flowers flown in from who-knows-where, and a cake so tall you were half-convinced Floyd could climb it and look smug doing it. Every noble in the kingdom was here, decked out in silks and sequins, pretending they weren’t secretly gossiping about you and your eel fiancé.

You barely noticed. Jade was standing in front of you, looking so unfairly ethereal you wondered if the universe had been playing favorites. His mismatched eyes were locked on yours, and his smile was small but so genuine you almost forgot your carefully planned vows.

Then, of course, chaos. Because how could anything in your life go smoothly?

From the back of the ballroom came a loud, wet, obnoxious wail.

“Oh, for the love of God,” you muttered under your breath, and Jade’s lips quirked in amusement.

“I LOVED HER FIRST!” the Duke sobbed dramatically, his voice shaking with the intensity of his grief.

“Shut your mouth before I shut it permanently,” Floyd snapped, his voice cutting through the crowd like a knife.

And if that wasn’t enough, you could faintly hear Azul’s oily, persuasive tone somewhere off to the side. “Yes, Lord Evermore, just a tiny signature on this insignificant little contract. You’re not using your soul for much, anyway, are you?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, biting back a laugh. This wasn’t just a wedding—it was your wedding. Of course it was going to be chaotic.

But when you looked up, there was Jade, his gaze steady and full of a quiet devotion that made the rest of the madness blur into the background. His vows were perfect, as expected, and when it came your turn, you stumbled over the words a little, because how were you supposed to focus when he was looking at you like that?

Then came the kiss.

Jade dipped you in one smooth motion, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that sent the room spinning. Applause erupted, and you swore you heard someone sniffling behind you.

“Is the Duke crying again?” you murmured against Jade’s lips.

“I believe Floyd threatened him,” Jade replied, far too amused.

“And Azul’s... oh no, is he signing contracts?”

Jade only smirked, kissing you again. “Should I be worried that you’re more interested in their antics than your new husband?”

“I’m not—wait, husband?” You blinked at him, the word sinking in, and for the first time in ages, you felt completely, blissfully happy.

As you stood there with your chaotic, ridiculous found family around you, you couldn’t help but smile. Sure, your life had taken a turn for the absurd, but if it brought you to this moment, maybe that cursed mushroom wasn’t so bad after all.

“Remind me to thank that mushroom,” you said with a grin.

Jade’s laughter was soft, warm, and entirely yours. “If it brought us together, I might build it a shrine.”

You laughed, pulling him closer. You’d faced chaos and conspiracies, chaos and hilarity, but in this moment, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Trash Novel Masterlist

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[marlshroom]

came to the fucked up realization after finishing gravity falls again last night the parallels of the dream bubble bill made for mabel and the literal state of delusion he keeps himself in.

in the book of bill on the page where bill cipher describes how he figured out a way to manipulate her into giving him the rift, it says:

"Summers ending, my guy. Ending to death, bro. She'd do anything to make it last just a day longer. Probably something RASH and OUT OF CHARACTER, even!"

as we know, mabel cannot handle the fact that she will be growing up. that the relationship with her brother is going to change. she is scared of high school.

bill then says "That was it. She'd never make a deal with me. But she'd make a deal with someone she believed could give her more time. The dream was done. I had her."

bill then creates the dream bubble for mabel, he makes every one of her dreams come true, a place where time is still and she can be a kid forever. a lie so great that she wont have to face the truth.

in journal 3 on one of the pages bill is writing in code, we see this:

[ID: "I ask you, why must[should] time only move forward? Why must cause preceded effect. Who voted on the law of physics."]

my friend helped me break down what bill means by this:

why can we only move forward in the 4th dimension of time. why does something have to make another thing happen, why must cause come before the effect. why cant you move backwards, in the other direction, change the decisions youve made.

how interpret this is bill asking why he is not able to back and stop what he did to his family. he says to ford that he tried and failed to undo the past.** why did him wanting people to acknowledge his advantages instead of suppress him lead to the destruction of his whole dimension?

**(i just want to point out that this is probably the time where bill is the MOST open to anybody, or at least the first. to his henchmaniacs he had been telling them that he liberated his dimension until the oracle discovered the truth. here, to ford, he got so much closer to telling the truth. he SHOWS ford the last atoms of his world. he says that it was destroyed by a monster, not that it was liberated! destroyed)

back to when bill says "I had her" about mabel, he had her cause he knew exactly what needed to happen to trap mabel in a delusion because it is exactly what he is doing to himself. creating a fake narrative of what happened to him, that he was vindicated in killing his whole dimension. only ever doing exactly what he wants because confronting the truth is too scary for him(good fucking lord). the morality page offers good insight into this too.

i am actually just going to quote the whole page and highlight the important part. it speaks for itself really

"THE POINT IS it's[morality] is a very flexible concept! But parents and presidents don't want you to know that, because then you might start asking other questions, like who put them in charge, anyway? So they cram your brain full of guilt and regrets for transgressing the laws that they just made up(the laws that they made to prevent the destruction of their dimension, regardless of if the law + the wrongful medication of a fucking baby triangle did any good to actually prevent it). Wouldn't it be nice if you could put all that baggage down? Quell the shame that follows you everywhere for a lifetime of crimes? MAKE THE SCREAMS FINALLY STOP? The good news is you CAN silence that annoying voice, and here's how!

DENIAL

Works 100% of the time in every situation. What you you mean there are people who disagree? I can confidently say there aren't!

RATIONALIZATION

If you can do it, you can justify it! "Truth" is open-source code and anyone can edit it anytime! Want to be like me? List 3 "evil" things and then 3 "reasons why they're actually good." You'll be rationalizing like Bill in no time!

DETACHMENT

Did you know 100% of your human cells die and are replaced every 7 years? That means that anything you did 7 years ago wasn't even you-it was some dead loser! You can't be held accountable for what a dead person did! What? You think this is just another form of rationalization? I DENY THAT!

THE BILL CIPHER DECISION METHOD!

Working over the eons, the voices in my head teamed up and worked out a foolproof method for making any decision in any situation.

DO WHATEVER I WANT."

ooooooooooooooooooh boy.

he is fully admitting here that he is living in a completely different really in order to justify doing whatever he wants. he gives mabel the tools to deny, to rationalize, to detach herself from the reality of it all. that time has to move forward. and he thinks it will work because it worked on himself.

but it doesn't work on mabel because she understands that she needs other people. shes vunerable, she lets people in, admits when shes wrong. and bill cant do that because it would destroy the fantasy he's created for himself.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Miss Raven, may I ask for a list of the flaws in Leona’s plan from 2nd book? I knew of a couple myself at some point but i forgot what they were 😅 I was hoping you could list off as many flaws in the plan as you could find. 🤔

Please note: This post ONLY addresses the issues with Leona's book 2 plans to get Malleus out of the picture as per the asker's question. Book 2 has several other issues with its narrative (such as Leona's lack of screen presence/interaction with Yuu and co.), but I will not be counting them here.

The problems with Leona's plan are, as I could identify them:

NO Savanaclaw students were among the injured. Does this not automatically make them look really shady????

Savanaclaw students form a wall around Ruggie to shield him from sight when he uses his UM. This, too, is hella suspicious... You're telling me that there's an oddly high number of Savanaclaw students at the scenes of the crimes and yet not one of them got injured??? IT MAKES THEM LOOK EVEN SHADIER THAN BEFORE, ESPECIALLY SINCE THEY HAVE A REALLY OBVIOUS MOTIVE.

Leona openly talks about his evil scheme in his own dorm. A dorm with seemingly no sturdy doors that open and shut. A dorm that just brought in a bunch of freshmen that he doesn't know well and may not be on board with what he's doing. A dorm with a lot of beastmen... that have sensitive ears... and can probably hear you monologuing from quite a distance away...

Ruggie is sloppy and Leona just does not care about it when he really, REALLY should care; he is overly reliant on a "lack of evidence" to exonerate them. Ruggie blatantly shows off his UM and reports this to Leona. Why does Leona show like ZERO concern about this?? Why does he believe the school cannot do anything without proof? Literally nothing is stopping Crowley from detaining him under suspicion of guilt, or at least having someone watch him like a hawk if they suspect something... which will just make it that much harder to execute his plan.

Leona doesn't seem to care either when Jack overhears his plan; he just... expects Jack to feel pressured by his dorm members + the hierarchy to not squeal???? Same issue as the previous bullet point; Leona should be caring a lot more about concealing their identities than this.

Leona assumes a regular ass stampede will be enough to kill/injure Malleus. The reason provided is that Malleus wouldn't dare to use his magic to get away when it might "harm" innocent bystanders. OKAY, what's stopping Malleus from poofing out of danger? This is an even stupider point because we literally see Malleus VANISH IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE when Yuu meets him for the first time in this very same book.

The potential political fallout. I doubt Twst intended to go into the consequences of what would have happened if Leona's dumb plan had succeeded, but surely if he was caught in the act or even suspected to have had a hand in it, it would impact the relationship between their countries since Leona and Malleus are both princes??? And that sounds like it would be a massive shitshow 💀

I've done my own book 2 rewrite, which attempts to address most of these issues with Leona's plan. There is also this follow-up post, which expands on some of the ideas I proposed in my initial rewrite. Tons of other people have book 2 rewrites as well! And you can write your own book 2 rewrite! Literally almost anything is better than the canon book 2--

[esmedelacroix]

01 - Details

synopsis ! he’s an American football player by day and a passionate mathematician by night. She’s a well-rounded historian and writer who couldn’t evaluate a derivative to save her life. They lived in two different worlds but shared the same study room.

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cw ! no use of y/n, y/n is _____, fluff, slow burn, college au, ooc sukuna, f!reader, child abuse/neglect, alcohol abuse, suggestive

fic radio ! Crybaby by SZA

Ohio State University, Autumn of Senior Year

To say that you didn't change would be an understatement. You felt too much guilt when you got to school. So at college, you were the same straight-A, (seemingly)perfect girl. You were the complete opposite of the people in your friend group. Then again, Shoko and Satoru were business majors; what were they doing in class anyway?

Suguru was the only one who shared your struggles to an extent as a philosophy major. Even so, he didn't care about his grades as much as you did yours. During your entire college experience, you didn't go to a single party. It was always extra studying for you. But you weren't a complete troglodyte. You went out to eat with your friends—occasionally.

They also had a habit of breaking into your dorm and closing your books and laptop, forcing the hangouts. You couldn't risk that happening because you were preparing to wow your professors with your knowledge as an Ancient History and Classics major. Being your extra self, you also double majored in English and already wanted to get a head start on your writing assignments.

You went where you knew they couldn't find you. The library at the least popular end of campus was where all the try-hards, like yourself, studied. The library was busy, of course, and there was one more study room left, so you signed your name in the time slot and snagged the last room. You had documents strewn on the table with your laptop open, playing the classical piece you needed to analyze on repeat.

After about 30 minutes of complete peace and productivity. You turned your head towards the clear glass of the study room to see a scary man standing at the door. Just staring. At you.

That man was Ryomen Sukuna. The charismatic campus heartthrob and stereotypical quarterback of the football. He was also the school's resident airhead along with his partner in crime, Toji Fushiguro. You had heard rumors about the numerous women seen leaving his room and the alleged Eiffel Towers he partook in with Toji. It didn't help that he was in the same frat as Satoru. The sole reason why you never visited him and Suguru. But what the hell was he doing here?

You look around warily before getting up and opening the door. “Um . . . Can I help you?” you questioned.

“Let’s share this room.”

“I have it signed out for this time though. I wrote my name on the sign-up sheet,” you reasoned.

“Doesn’t matter. The librarians like me so they won’t mind and I see you’re not using your whiteboard. ‘S all I need,” he sighed rubbing the back of his neck tiredly.

“Okay,” you hesitatantly agreed, stepping aside for him to walk in.

You stayed silent as you felt him tower over you. He barely squeezed past the small space you left him to enter. The smell he left was a combination of musk, oud, cedar, and amber. He smelled like a warm home with a cozy fire crackling. As much as you hated to admit it, just like every other girl on earth, you were weak for Ryomen Sukuna. The way his pecs and muscular back poked out of his shirt like mountains emerging from the fog had you aching for him in a way that made you feel ashamed.

His light pink tufts of hair looked so soft and his jaw oh so sharp. You could see a plethora of tattoos adorning his arms. Your eyes followed them as they led into his shirt. Part of you wondered just how much of his body was tatted.

If you squinted you could see his abs peek through the semi-tight fabric of his white t-shirt. He was so much taller and bigger than you. You felt dominated and you hadn’t even exchanged many words.

You watched the muscles in his forearms flex as he uncapped your pink marker, which sat on the table along with your other colorful markers he helped himself to without asking. He jotted down numerous math problems you didn't know existed.

You then realized that you hadn't moved from where you stood before because you were staring. Pulling yourself from his trance, you closed that door and took your seat. You'd occasionally look up from the fifteen-page essay you were writing and see that Sukuna had written the most complicated math problem you had ever seen in small-print, neat handwriting. The way he handled and solved the problem was so organized you almost felt like you almost understood the numeric hieroglyphics on the board.

You looked down at your hand written notes and annotation-riddled documents. Your fatal flaw was your illegible handwriting. It was practically jibberish to everyone but you.

After twenty minutes, Sukuna finished his problem that practically covered the whole board and took a brain break sitting across from you. "What's with the music?" he asked.

"I'm analyzing it for a class. Not a fan?" you replied, eyes still glued to your laptop as you typed.

"No, I like Hymn to Vena. It's one of Gustav Holst's best pieces," he admitted.

"You know classical music?" you questioned in shock finally looking up at him. You met his piercing wine-colored eyes.

"Well I'm not completely braindead yet," he shrugged.

"I didn't know you were so historically seasoned and . . . mathematically inclined," you admitted, gesturing towards the solved complex equation on the board.

"Ah, that's nothing. I'm actually in your Intro to Classical Music class so I’m doing the same paper.”

"Wait. Really?"

"Yeah, I just sit in the back and you sit in the front," he smirked.

"First of all, there is nothing wrong with sitting in the front. Secondly, I had no idea you were in my class. I'm the worst," you smiled apologetically.

"You're good. I can't write for shit so I haven't even started the paper," Sukuna admitted leaning back in his chair and resting his large hands behind his head.

"It's due next week, Sukuna!" you exclaimed in disbelief. He noted the way your nose wrinkled when you cringed. And the way you looked away when you tried not to laugh at his jokes.

"It's no biggie. I'll just pay a writing tutor to do it for me," he said, getting up and grabbing a teal EXPO marker from your pencil pouch. This guy is too comfortable.

"I'm a writing tutor. In fact, I am the head of the writing center tutoring program," you revealed with an unimpressed look.

"Well, then you just made my life a whole lot easier. Can you write my essay about Pas de Deux for me?" he questioned.

"No, Sukuna, I'm not writing your essay for you. You didn't even say please. I could tutor you, but that's about it," you offered.

"C'mon let's work something out here," he bargained.

"What could you possibly have to offer me?" you quite condescendingly challenged.

"Well, I know that the only class you're not the top in is our Advanced Multi-variable Calculus class," he smugly stated.

"And how would you know that smarty-pants?” you retorted. Our? He's in that class too?

"'Cause I am, you ding-dong," he chuckled. Ryomen Sukuna is at the top of our math class? I thought people were lying when they said he was a math major!

"Okay so you want us to tutor each other?" you questioned.

"I was thinking more of a 'do each other's work' arrangement," Sukuna reasoned, he had a stupid smirk plastered on his stupid perfect lips. He quirked one of his beautiful perfect brows. It had a scar across it that you found very attractive for whatever reason. He's totally putting the moves on me, you thought.

"No."

"Okay, how about I teach you the math, you write my essay?"

"No."

"Okay . . . You just write my essay and I do your math work and get you into the Pi Kappa Alpha[fraternity name] parties? Final offer," he proposed.

"I think you're mistaken, Sukuna. I do not go to parties. I do not break the academic integrity rules put in place by the university, and I would much rather continue getting 70s on my math tests than ever get my work done by someone else," you snapped. He didn't want to admit it, but he was impressed by your ability to talk back to him. He had never been told off like that.

"Oh, fine. We can tutor each other," he sighed rolling his eyes.

"Good," you smiled. He shook his head in disbelief and wrote down an even more complex problem on the board and began solving it occasionally grumbling under his breath when the two of you met eyes. He wasn't actually annoyed. In fact, he was intrigued. He had waited this long to interact with you and now he didn't want to stop.

"You're a real piece of work _____," he teased, as the time slot for the room finally ran out.

"Am I Sukuna? Or am I just the first woman to say no to you?" you quipped.

He smiled and shrugged, "Somethin' like that." You hated to admit it but, he had a really cute smile. His resting face made him look like he could kill everything in sight. His smile softened his facial features. It wasn't that fake cocky smile he put on to seem hot or be a tease. It was a real genuine smile. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. Ugh, why do I need to be like all the other girls that pine for him?

The two of you left the room after packing all your stuff. You gave Sukuna your number and email on a sticky note. "Text me when you want to study again. Sorry about my handwriting by the way," you apologized sheepishly.

"What do you mean? I can read it just fine," he questioned.

Wow, he might be the only one on the planet, you thought as the two of you left the library side by side.

"You don't need to lie, Sukuna," you joked.

"Just Ryo is fine," he corrected.

"Okay Ryomen," you smiled.

He rolled his eyes playfully at you saying his full name instead. Internally he knew: he liked the way you disobeyed him. He found the way you smiled to yourself trying not to laugh after making a joke cute.

It was all in the details. The way you sat in the front of the class every day with a notebook out. The way you impressively scribbled notes while still looking at the board.

He memorized the way you chewed on your pen and bounced your leg whenever you did an exam. The way you always participated. Staying after to help the professor clean up. Going to office hours. You were friendly and bantering with all your teachers. But somehow in an effortless charismatic way and not a ‘pick me’ way.

You didn't know, but he stared holes into your back in every single class. He was amused just staring at your back. Though he knew you wouldn't be there he looked for you in the large sea of people in the stadium. He watched you succeed and rise to the challenge. Listening in on your musical analysis in class he was mesmerized. He just wanted to wander through your mind. Maybe then he could be just as great as you.

In his short interaction with you, he made a realization. You weren't the preppy, bubbly, sweet girl he made you up to be in his mind. You were kind of a bitch. In the hottest way possible. That made you all the better. He needed more and more of you.

. . .

-> next part

@minasuniverse @not-a-glad-gladiator @love-me-satoru @sukunawhores @emoedgylord @domainofmarie @sadrna @lazylunarlover @tamishadawn @boudoirbae @river-vixenn @bitchyfestivalbouquet @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @clp-84 @emochosoluvr @yoongithebean @linaaeatsfamilies @magalimachete @chubbydumplingbarnes @katsukiseyebrows

comment to be added to the taglist !

[shadowsatdawnx]

why is it that, when azriel is possessive and protective of elain, an incredibly common trope in romantasy, it’s “gross and entitled” but when any other MMC in any other book does it, suddenly it’s sexy? i don’t see the xadenviolet girlies whining that xaden is toxic because of his jealousy and possessiveness and therefore must not have real feelings for violet.

what happened to the ���touch her and die” girlies? or is it only because he feels that way for a character they vilify for asinine reasons?

i know for a fact that if azriel had these same thoughts and feelings about their preferred character they would never shut up about, but because it’s boring, weak elain, suddenly it’s a crime.

anyways, can’t wait to watch az go absolutely feral for his flower girl in the next book and i’ll be cheering him on the entire time because that is what i read romance for and she deserves a man who would go to the ends of the earth to make her his 🫶

[dark-dragon-8]

A Supernatural × Batman crossover where the Batfam are actual cryptids and the brothers are sent to hunt them, only to find out that these guys are pretty much immortal, god like beings whose only weaknesses are each other, the sun and some weird sentient manifestation of their home city that they seem to care about, and most of them already grew out of the second one, since, apparently, the sun only affects them when they're newborns/newly transformed/changed.

The whole reason they ended up in Gotham in the first place was because of some online rumors saying that there is a demon cult in the city, as well as Blüdhaven [it's true, partially, the Bat clan has had several cults and/or religions painting them as godly beings/saviours of Gotham throughout the years, still do (imagine the colonies from F'ing Demon Bats, only this time the cryptid part of them is actually real)] along with shrines for human sacrifices.

At first they thought the locals sold themselves to a Pagan God in exchange for their safety, that the shrines and "holy grounds" spread throughout the city were for blood and human sacrifices and the creatures were feeding on the souls of their followers or something.

Turns out, that couldn't be further from the truth. Yes there were bloody sacrifices at the shrines, but most of the time those were just grieving kids bringing their dead pets to silence's holy grounds for them to be healed, or taken care of, by the spirit and have their souls at peace. But, again, that was rare, and only occurred at the holy grounds themselves rather than the shrines people attended to daily.

Majority of those shrines were filled with books, art supplies, music boxes with ballerinas and, sometimes, you could even find a few trinkets and computer parts, as well as the occasional plates and plastic boxes filled with home cooked meals, sometimes they even put pots and kettles filled to the brim with savory goods and nice tea. Nobody ever touched the food, not even the poor and desperate, when asked why all the brothers received were looks of horror and hushed whispers about how "The bats don't like thieves" and "They'll stop coming by the shrine, maybe even destroy it if we do that"

Dean didn't like it, neither did Sam, they didn't like how the locals, people who barely even bat an eye when they see a dead body on their way to work, get so scared and terrified as soon as they hear of something that might displease the Bats. They tried asking around, trying to figure out what is it that makes them so scared of their dearly beloved deities, after all, they talk about them like such a wonder, like they're the best thing that ever happened to them. Hell, one of them is named Mercy and was revered for its compassion and understanding of those around them.

They only got their answer when investigating a place called Crime Alley. They locals were all the same, if not even more reserved than their city's counterparts, but there was one person, a young girl who couldn't be older than ten that said she'll be willing to answer their questions in return for some money and stories from their time as hunters. They were reluctant at first, but seeing as they haven't had much of an option, they agreed.

"So, Masey" Dean started

"Missy" she corrected

"Right, sorry, Missy, you said that you could tell us what's up regarding those demons"

"Deities" she said sternly, the man simply nodded "And yes, I can do that, but you'll have to do something for me first"

"And what would that be?"

"You said you were a hunter, right?" He nodded "And you also said you have some money. So I want you to give me two hundred dollars, cash, and a written story containing at least three of your adventures with your partner. You can't use big fonts, lie or omit any details from the story, it needs to be one hundred percent real and legible and needs to be at least fifty pages, understood?"

Dean was confused, confused and worried. Why would this child need a story about them hunting monsters? And why did she need it to be so long and accurate? Was she trying to sell them out to the Bats or something? Why was this so important?

A million questions flooded his head and looking at Sammy, he could tell the feeling was very much mutual.

"Um Missy" it was Sam talking to her this time "Why would you want a story of us hunting like that? We could tell you about our time together on the field, if you want, but why do you need that written so meticulously?"

The little girl shook her head before he even finished speaking "No, no, I need it written"

"How so?"

"For Passion, of course"

"Passion?"

"Yeah, Passion, the component watching over Crime Alley, it loves reading stories but only when they're worth it. It doesn't like when people give them stories only to please it or for it to give them undeserved attention. It needs to be good and interesting, a story about two hunters will definitely do that"

The two hunters met each other's eyes, both their expressions filled with worry, apprehension and suspicion.

"And why all the other rules? Why does have to be so long and accurate?"

The girl tilted her head, looking at them as though they've said something stupid "Because you're introducing yourself, maybe"

"I can't just tell you guys all there is to know about the Bat without at least one of the components acknowledging you guys and giving me permission to share that information with outsiders"

"And what makes you think it won't just kill us as soon as it realizes what we do for a living?" They might've been desperate, but that doesn't mean they're going to give an essay about their weaknesses and hunting methods to a freaky, probably homicidal spirit on a silver platter

"Because they like people like you, people who put their lives on the line in order to help those around them. Also" she leveled her gaze with Dean's, which was pretty impressive considering she barely reached his hip "Had it wanted you dead, you wouldn't have been able to take two steps inside Crime Alley without having a heart attack, or your head magically disappearing"

The two brothers tensed, the taller's eyes rapidly scanning their surroundings, hands fishing out a weird cellular device, probably an EMF reader or maybe a bottle of holy water, as the shorter failed to keep up his confident facade in front of the (probably) ten year old (because Dean isn't going to be spooked by a kid that hasn't even reached the double digits yet, he's 𝘯𝘰𝘵)

The little girl laughed, completely ignoring their - very justified!!! - panic "Relax, would ya? Passion doesn't kill people unless they feel like it's necessary"

They didn't seem to be very relaxed, she didn't care, she just told them to meet her again on the border of Crime Alley and its neighbor city in a week, before leaving.

Two hours later, Carrie Kelley was skipping into the main living room of Wayne Manor, where several of her siblings played video games and with their father reading the newspaper on the side, the perfect illusion of a normal, happy, completely human family.

She walked up to Bruce, sitting on the arm of his sofa as the last of her illusion magic slipped away

"Did you do it?"

"I offered them the deal, still not sure if they'll end up actually agreeing to it"

"Mn. You did well"

The young teen preened under the praise, thanking her father before going off to boast and scheme with the rest of her siblings, they were up planning contingencies and devising plans until Sundown.

[drama-glob]

Since I've been seeing some criticism about Ozzie not speaking up first or more during the trial to help Blitz and his team, there are a few things I'd like to point out.

For one:

Ozzie didn't seem to know that Blitz/I.M.P. were going to be on trial or else I'm sure he would have warned Fizz because that is a jarring thing for your boyfriend to see on live TV, and given the level of communication and love that these two have, it seems highly unlikely and thus means Ozzie was shocked to see them too and given very little time to prepare. :/ Speaking of time, I clocked it from when Blitz enters to court to when Satan gives his sentencing, and it's ~4min 47seconds, which includes listing the charges, Andrealphus and Vassago squaring off, Striker's part, the Sins squabbling, and Satan's outburst, so a lot of things happening in a small time frame, all while Ozzie needs to think of a way to say something in Blitz's defense without implicating himself since he more or less knew they were doing something illegal based on what Stolas said. (What's unfortunate too is that Ozzie's text messages even say that these trials don't usually last long, so the roughly 5min one for Blitz/I.M.P. could have been a long one O_O).

Also, Blitz technically already admitted that he was given the book, which is still as crime and probably would have ended the trial right there had Andrealphus not kept saying he was lying so he could lay on the accusations. -_-

Something else to consider:

Ozzie seems to have a tell whenever it involves scheming or something he's nervous about where his voice gets a higher pitch at one point or another, so being grilled on the stand is likely to bring that out. :/ Who would think that the Deadly Sin who is big on honesty and communication isn't the best liar? -_-

The only reason why he probably could get away with the "Fizz is just my business partner" lie is because he's had to tell it for ~10yrs, and even then they were still called the worst-kept secret in all of Hell. I mean, do I need to remind you of this?

(It's a good thing Fizz said something because Ozzie was like a deer in headlights right there XD ).

Plus:

Ozzie has three heads, so while he may be able to put on a poker face for his main one, he can't seem to hide how his Ram and Bull express themselves (as indicated by the first picture), which only makes it that much harder to not implicate himself or deny that Blitz and Stolas weren't doing something illegal.

Going back to the first picture, I love how his Ram and Bull heads have big eyes in surprise (it seems) because he's like "What? You know Blitz too?! Oh, thank Lucifer! You can vouch for him too and reduce the chance of questions coming at me/be my backup." I also love Bee's appreciative look too that her bestie Ozzie has her back and listened to her suggestion. ^_^

The last thing I want to say is that I saw some people thinking that Satan would have taken it easy on Ozzie because he's a royal, and while he may not kill him, you know who isn't a royal? Fizz, and Satan made it abundantly clear he thinks imp lives (and other lower class demons') have no value but to serve, so killing him or even punishing Ozzie's people doesn't seem like a ridiculous thing to believe Satan would do because he has definitely extended his reach beyond Wrath in Lucifer's absence. :/

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

superboy & supergirl

content warnings & word count: swearing, mild angst, mentioned/implied pining, underage drinking, drug consumption (weed smoking), nostalgia. 4.9k

✧ SCENE TWO — "WINCHESTER HOUSE" ✧ Now Playing: "superboy & supergirl" - Tullycraft

Dean’s name drops into the middle of the conversation like a stone into glass water, and the sound around you doesn’t stop—it just shifts.

Jack’s still rambling. Charlie’s halfway through a joke. But it all goes tinny, faraway, like someone pressed play on an old cassette tape with warped audio. And suddenly you’re not in the diner anymore.

You’re seventeen again.

It was a summer party. One of those nights that felt like it had no end. Everyone barefoot, red solo cups scattered across the lawn, laughter echoing from someone’s Bluetooth speaker stuck in a tree. The house was Benny’s—of course it was—and Dean had only shown up because his people were there.

Not yours.

You'd known Dean Winchester your whole life, but only in the way you know the sun burns if you stare at it too long. Always there, always too bright, always too far away.

He was the older brother. The bad boy. Leather jackets and calloused fingers, gravel-thick voice and lighter-flick reflexes. You were just Sam’s best friend. The one with scraped knees and stickers on your skateboard, who always got teased for collecting sea glass and pressing flowers into the pages of overdue library books.

But that night… something changed.

You’d slipped away from the party when the music got too loud. Ended up on the porch steps, alone, nursing a warm beer you'd snatched when no one was looking. Your heart was doing that thing where it thudded too hard for no reason. Everything felt like it was about to happen, even though nothing had.

And then—you heard boots on the wood.

You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Dean sat next to you without asking. Didn’t say anything for a second, just leaned back on his palms and looked up at the stars like he was trying to pick a fight with the sky.

Then:

“You always run off when the music gets good?”

You shrugged. Didn’t trust your voice. The air smelled like salt and cigarettes.

He tilted his head to glance at you. His mouth curled at the edge.

“You looked sad. That’s not allowed at Benny’s. It’s basically a crime.”

You scoffed, rolled your eyes. “I’m not sad.”

“Right,” he said, like he didn’t believe you. Like maybe he knew you. “Then why’s your face doing that thing?”

You didn’t answer.

He reached into his jacket, pulled out a cigarette, lit it with that little click-flame like muscle memory. You watched the way his fingers cupped around the lighter, the way he exhaled smoke through his nose like it was an art form. You hated that it made your skin buzz.

He looked back at you, flicked ash onto the step between you.

“You ever been kissed?” He asked, out of nowhere.

Your heart fell out of your body. You didn’t respond at first—just stared at him, wide-eyed, blinking slow.

His gaze dropped to your mouth.

You whispered, “No.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t smug. It was soft. Sad, almost. Something else.

“Wanna change that?”

You didn’t say yes. Didn’t say anything. You just leaned in.

It was slow. Careful. His hand came up to cradle your jaw like you might spook and run. He kissed you like he didn’t want to scare you. Like the whole world had stopped spinning for exactly that one second.

Your first kiss tasted like cigarette smoke and vanilla and summer night heat. Like something you weren’t supposed to have but took anyway.

And then—he pulled back. Blinked like he’d just woken up. Stared at you for a long second, lips parted like he might say something.

But he didn’t. He just stood up, ran a hand through his hair, and muttered, “Don’t tell Sam.”

And that was it. No explanation. No follow-up. Just a secret folded between your ribs and left there to ache.

“Earth to burnout,” Charlie says, snapping her fingers in front of your face.

You blink. The diner rushes back in, too bright, too loud.

“Huh?”

“I said,” she drawls, eyes narrowing, “you are coming to the party tonight, right?”

You hesitate. Glance down at your coffee. Swirl the spoon like it’s hiding answers in the cream.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on—”

“She’s coming,” Jack interrupts confidently, licking syrup off his thumb. “She has to. Summer doesn’t start without her.”

Frenchie raises a toast with his fork. “To first parties and bad decisions.”

Sam gives you a small, quiet smile. Doesn’t say anything.

But you can feel it in your chest:

He remembers, too.

You blow on your coffee and don’t answer.

Not yet.

You say “I’ll probably just wear this,” and the booth goes silent.

Charlie’s straw squeaks against her cup. Annie’s face twists like you just told her you were going to prom in a burlap sack.

“You’re absolutely not,” Annie says, blunt and merciless, already reaching across the table like she’s going to physically tear your sweater off herself. “We’re pre-gaming at mine. Girls only. We’ll get you into something appropriate.”

“I am appropriate,” you protest, already laughing.

“Sweetie, you’re dressed like a cigarette break in a coming-of-age film,” Charlie deadpans.

“Which I am,” you fire back.

Kimiko raises one perfectly unimpressed eyebrow.

Across the table, Hughie blinks. “Wait, so what? I’m not invited?”

“You’re invited to shower, Campbell,” Annie says, patting his hand. “With the boys. Go wrestle or throw rocks or whatever you all do.”

Jack perks up instantly. “Can we throw rocks at each other?”

Sam groans. “Jack—”

“I'm kidding! …mostly.”

Butcher snorts. Frenchie claps Jack on the back like he’s just promoted him to chaos lieutenant. Cas doesn’t react. He might not have blinked in the last five minutes.

Outside, the sun’s finally burning through the overcast—soft golden light melting the edges of the streets, making everything look sweeter than it has any right to be. The sidewalk is hot beneath your sneakers. The sea breeze tangles your hair. For a second, it all feels like a Polaroid in motion.

You split off at the corner. The boys peel away toward the beach to kill time or throw knives or talk about music like it’s a religion. And the girls?

The girls go home.

Annie’s house is a monument. Three stories, white picket fence, flower boxes under every window. The kind of house you lie about on forms because no one believes it’s real.

Her mom greets you at the door with a tray of mocktails and a nervous giggle. She's got a French manicure and a pink velour tracksuit that says YOUNG AT HEART across the back.

“Oh my gosh, look at you girls—so grown up!” She chirps, already leaning in for a hug. “You need anything? Towels? Drinks? Protection?”

“Mom,” Annie groans.

“I'm just saying! It’s the first party of the summer. You never know what kind of decisions people make. Better safe than awkward in the Walgreens parking lot.”

Charlie wheezes.

You press a hand over your mouth to hide your laugh. Kimiko doesn’t even blink. Annie’s mom winks at her. Kimiko tilts her head, disturbed.

“Alright, well—I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. Or not! You don’t need anything. Just scream if something’s on fire.”

She disappears, and you all stare at the closed door for a beat.

“God, I love her,” Charlie whispers.

“No you don’t,” Annie says flatly, already pulling out her makeup bag like she’s about to perform open-heart surgery.

An hour later, the room smells like coconut-scented setting spray, hot straighteners, and drama. Annie has one leg propped on her vanity chair, leaning in close to Kimiko with an eyeliner pencil.

“Hold still.”

Kimiko does not move, but the look she gives Annie is somewhere between “I will kill you” and “I am silently filing for divorce from this friendship.”

“You’re lucky you’re hot,” Annie mutters, “because your attitude is deranged.”

Kimiko signs something sharp and quick.

Charlie cackles. “She said you’re only saying that because your eyeliner’s crooked.”

“YOU CAN’T EVEN SPEAK SIGN—”

“I don’t need to. I speak fluent judgment.”

From your spot on the edge of the bed, you’re holding a glass of something pink and too sweet, watching them all like they’re characters in a movie you accidentally wandered into. You’ve got Annie’s dress on now—a tight black number that clings in places you’ve tried to keep unimportant. It’s not you. Not really. But you’ve still got your scuffed-up Converse on underneath, and that helps. Like a secret handshake with yourself.

Annie flops beside you dramatically, clutching a lip gloss. “Okay. Lip check. Pout.”

You oblige.

She smooths something glossy and strawberry-scented across your lips. “There,” she says. “Now you look like heartbreak in a good way.”

“I already looked like heartbreak,” you say.

“Yeah,” Charlie adds, “but now it’s intentional.”

Kimiko leans against the closet, arms crossed, watching you all like a disappointed guardian angel.

You lean back, letting the music swell around you—bubblegum pop humming under the air conditioner hum, Annie’s soft singing, Charlie laughing, Kimiko’s eyes tracking every move. Your drink’s half gone. Your legs are bare and sun-warmed. You’re wearing armour that doesn’t quite fit, but it’s armour all the same.

And you’re going to see Dean Winchester tonight.

That thought alone feels like a match held too close to your skin.

Annie fluffs your hair and announces, “Okay, ladies. Let’s go ruin someone’s life.”

Charlie cheers. Kimiko shakes her head but opens the door. You don’t say it—but something in your chest agrees.

Let’s ruin everything.

You don’t even make it to the end of the block before you pause, turn, and say, “Shit—hold up. I need to run in and grab my weed.”

Annie groans like you just declared a war crime.

“Seriously?” She says, arms crossed. “We can’t go anywhere without the weed detour?”

Charlie grins, eyes glinting. “It’s tradition.”

Kimiko raises her brows, nods once in agreement, then shrugs like, she’s not wrong.

You flash a smug smile and jog ahead, gravel crunching under your soles as the streetlights hum quietly overhead. Your house looms in that familiar way—warm windows glowing, door slightly ajar, TV light flickering like an old ghost.

You slip inside like you never left.

Your mom’s at the kitchen counter, drinking wine out of a floral mug, and her eyes go wide the second she sees you.

“Well don’t you look nice,” she says, like it surprises her.

You hitch a shoulder, already halfway toward the stairs. “Just going to Sam’s for the night.”

From the living room, your dad pipes up without looking away from the TV. “Don’t come stomping in at stupid o’clock again.”

You pause. Glance in his direction. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”

He scoffs. Your mom gives you a look—half exasperated, half fond. The kind that says, I used to be you.

You bolt up the stairs two at a time.

Your room greets you like a secret. Familiar and messy and yours. The posters still peeling. The crystals still catching the last light. Your windowsill still littered with ash and memory. You grab your party tin off the shelf—a beat-up metal box with band stickers and chipped corners. Inside: five perfectly rolled spliffs and a pack of gum. Legendary. Beloved. Iconic.

You tuck it into your jacket pocket.

Then you pause.

The perfume Annie sprayed on you earlier still clings to your skin—overly sweet, too bright, like a scent that belongs to someone else. You cross to your desk, grab your own bottle—earthy, grounding, tobacco blossom and sandalwood—and spritz it once, twice, down your chest and neck. The contrast hits immediately. It smells like you again. Smoke and salt and something softer underneath.

You check yourself in the mirror. The dress is still too tight, still a borrowed kind of confidence, but the scuffed Converse on your feet make it bearable. Make it real.

You nod once.

And leave.

The girls are waiting at the curb, leaned up against the fence like cover art for a band that only plays once a year and never records. Charlie’s mid-laugh, Kimiko blowing a bubble with her gum, Annie scrolling her phone like it’s a job.

You slip a joint from the tin and pop it into Kimiko’s mouth. She raises one brow in approval as you spark the lighter.

Click. Flame. Inhale.

Then your own.

Click. Flame. Familiar burn.

You pass the spliff to Charlie, who kisses your cheek in gratitude and takes her hit like she’s been waiting all day for it.

And then, the four of you start walking.

The sun’s almost gone now, sinking low behind the line of rooftops like a secret being swallowed whole. The sky has gone cotton candy—pink and bruised orange and streaked with gold. Everything’s dipped in glow. The wind’s warm. Your legs are bare. Your laughter sounds louder in the open street.

You walk with that particular kind of swagger girls earn after years of being underestimated.

A little wild.

A little don’t look at me unless you’re brave.

The closer you get to the end of the road, the louder the music gets—bass rumbling through the pavement, vibrating in your ribs. Someone’s already yelling. A bottle crashes somewhere. The party has begun.

Charlie’s arm is looped through yours, joint balanced between her lips, and she nudges you with her hip.

“Ready to make some mistakes?”

You grin.

“I always am.”

Ahead, the Winchester house is lit up like it’s daring you to come closer. Porch light glowing. Windows pulsing with colour. People spilling out onto the lawn like static.

And somewhere inside it:

Dean.

The front door swings open and the party hits you like heat.

Music—loud, messy, with too much bass. Bodies pressed into furniture. Laughter sharp and bright as bottle caps clatter across the hardwood. Someone’s already spilling beer down their front. There’s yelling from the second floor, and the unmistakable sound of someone taking a running leap into the couch.

The Winchester house hasn’t changed. Not really.

Same off-white walls. Same framed family photos lining the staircase—John in his military uniform, Mary with her soft blonde hair and warm eyes. Sam’s awkward middle school smile. Dean, younger but already smug, grinning like he knew he'd always be the favourite. The furniture looks the same. The carpet. Even the chipped ceramic bowl by the door where everyone throws their keys. The air smells like nostalgia and bad decisions.

You haven’t been here since last summer. Since before.

Annie doesn’t pause. She weaves confidently through the crowd, Charlie behind her, dragging Kimiko along like a well-dressed shadow. You follow in their wake, always a step behind. Always watching.

The kitchen’s just as packed—shoulder to shoulder with people laughing too loud, flirting too hard. You pass by the fridge covered in magnets and half-faded “Happy Birthday Sam” photos. The linoleum under your shoes sticks, faintly tacky from god knows what.

You’re halfway through when it happens.

You feel it—eyes on you.

Not subtle. Not passing.

Watching.

You turn, heart a little louder than before, and—

There he is.

Dean.

He’s leaned back against the far kitchen counter, red cup dangling from his fingers, saying something to Jo Harvelle. She’s laughing, hand on his arm, lipstick smudged just enough to mean something.

They don’t look at you. Not directly. But something about the angle of Dean’s jaw, the way his eyes don’t quite meet Jo’s anymore, makes your breath stick.

He looks older.

Rougher, somehow. Tired in that way only people who carry too much ever look.

You don’t give yourself the chance to stare.

You turn back, fast, eyes locked on the girls disappearing through the side door toward the garage—the usual hangout spot. You start after them, head ducked, focused, almost safe.

Then you collide with a chest.

Hard.

Strong hands catch your arms before you can stumble.

“Whoa there, sweetheart.”

You freeze. Look up.

And find yourself looking into the amused, sharp-cut face of Ben Hargrove.

Ben Hargrove, who graduated two years ahead of you. Local legend. Former football captain. Homecoming king. The guy every girl in school either crushed on or hated—usually both. You haven’t seen him in person since senior year, but he still looks exactly like trouble.

Green bomber jacket over a tight black tee. Dog tags around his neck. Jeans that hug his thighs a little too well. And a smirk like he’s always in on the joke—especially if you’re the punchline.

“You alright?” He asks, voice low and lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world. “Or do you make a habit of walkin’ into people chest-first?”

You blink up at him. “Sorry. Just—wasn’t looking.”

“No shit,” he says, one brow cocked. “Could’ve hurt yourself.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t let go.

“Pretty face like yours, you should watch where you’re goin'. Never know who you might crash into.”

You inhale through your nose, steadying yourself, about to speak when—

Over his shoulder, you catch a glimpse of the girls disappearing into the garage, the soft hum of fairy lights glowing through the window. Home base. Safety. The laughter’s already bubbling out.

Ben notices your shift in focus. His grip loosens.

“What’s the rush?” He asks, voice dipping slightly. “Got somewhere better to be?”

You look at him again. Really look.

He’s tall. Solid. Smells like whiskey and cologne and summer sweat. Everything about him says you should know better.

You smile.

“Always,” you say.

And slip past him.

His eyes are still on you as you open the door and step out into the night, the last streaks of pink sky curling above the roofline.

Behind you, the house vibrates with music, bodies, memory. Ahead of you, the garage glows like a secret. And somewhere in the middle of it all? You.

The garage door creaks open and the hum hits you like a lullaby made of static and sweat.

It smells like engine grease and coconut vape, faint weed smoke, spilled beer that never fully dried into the concrete. The fairy lights are still strung up across the ceiling—soft and gold, casting shadows that make everyone look prettier than they are. There’s a half-collapsed couch in one corner, blankets over the torn parts. The poker table’s long been repurposed for dice games and red solo pyramids. A lava lamp flickers blue in the back. Someone’s drawn a heart on the wall in Sharpie, and someone else—probably Charlie—wrote fuck u <3 next to it.

And your people are here.

Sam’s the first to look up. He’s sitting with a beer in one hand, long legs folded under him, hair a little too neat for a party. The way his face shifts when he sees you—like he’s been holding his breath and finally exhales—it makes something twist under your ribs.

“You okay?” He asks, instantly, quietly. Just for you.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He tilts his head. Not convinced. But he lets it go.

Annie’s already narrowing her eyes.

“Something just happened.”

You raise a brow, toeing off your shoes by the door. “What?”

“You look—different.”

“Less haunted,” Charlie offers, sprawled out across a beanbag, already halfway through her second drink. “Or more haunted. I can’t tell.”

Kimiko squints up at you from her place on the arm of the couch, legs tucked under her, a drink in one hand. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to.

You exhale, lean back against the wall, and smile like you didn’t just get hit by a human truck with dog tags and a jawline.

“Ben Hargrove just spoke to me.”

Silence.

Then chaos.

Annie and Charlie practically fall over themselves—screeching, laughing, grabbing your arms like you just said God proposed to you in the hallway.

“YOU’RE LYING,” Annie gasps.

“He TOUCHED you?” Charlie shrieks.

“I didn’t say he touched me.”

“But did he?”

You shrug, helpless. “A little.”

Kimiko smirks, raises her drink in mock toast.

From across the room, Butcher rolls his eyes so hard it’s audible. “Jesus Christ, would you lot stop squawking like you just won the fuckin’ lottery?”

He kicks a can out of his path, strides over, and holds a beer out to you. “C’mere, burnout. Prove you’ve still got some fight in you.”

You grin.

Take the beer.

Crack it.

And shotgun it in one long, clean pull.

The group erupts.

Charlie’s laughing so hard she drops her cup. Jack lets out an ear-splitting “YEEEAAAAAHHHHH!” and nearly knocks over the lava lamp. Frenchie claps like he’s at the opera. Hughie stares in awe, hand over his heart. Annie’s screaming, “THAT’S MY GIRL!”

Butcher just smirks. “Atta fuckin’ girl.”

Cas lifts his beer in your direction, expression unreadable but eyes… fond. Like he’s proud. Or at least amused.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, chest warm, ears ringing. It’s not about the beer. It’s not about Ben. It’s about being here. With them.

The best part of this place.

Drinks flow.

Games start.

Frenchie pulls out a deck of cards and declares a game of Kings that somehow mutates into “truth or dare but more dangerous.” Kimiko wins three rounds in a row without blinking. Jack makes Hughie snort beer out his nose with a story about falling off the roof last year trying to impress you.

Annie keeps reapplying lip gloss like it’s war paint.

Charlie’s braiding your hair between rounds, tipsy and humming off-key. She mutters, “You’re still the prettiest one here, you know. Even in Converse.”

Cas is leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching like he’s not really sure how he ended up here but doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

Sam keeps glancing over at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

Butcher’s arguing with Annie about the real rules of beer pong, and Kimiko’s already setting up the next game with silent, determined chaos.

The music outside is louder, but in here? This is the heartbeat. The place where everything real actually happens. Where you’re not the girl who left or the girl who came back.

You’re just you. And for the first time in a year—you feel like that might be enough.

The night folds in on itself, like the last page of a summer novel too good to end.

The house is still alive—muffled whoops, laughter bleeding through the drywall—but it’s softer now. Settling. A little slurred. You can hear someone vomiting in the bushes out front. Someone else is crying upstairs about a breakup that definitely didn’t happen. The stars have come out, but only the brave are paying attention.

In the garage, though?

It’s still golden.

Your sacred space has filled. As it always does.

Charlie’s tangled in the corner with Ruby, her laughter thick and wine-warmed, fingers brushing the other girl’s wrist like she’s plucking a note from her skin. It’s electric to watch. Charlie’s always been a little too much, and Ruby’s always loved it.

Annie and Hughie are in the other corner, half-hidden behind the broken amp, locked in a kiss that’s soft and stupid and entirely theirs. You stopped teasing them about it years ago. They’re the only ones who know what it means to feel safe in each other’s hands.

Sam’s leaning against the garage door, talking with Frenchie and Kimiko, his smile lazy, his eyes kind. Kimiko signs something fast, Frenchie snorts beer out of his nose, and Sam’s face goes red trying not to laugh.

The couch has become the battleground. Butcher and Cas are deep in it now—playing flip cup with an intensity that feels religious. Jack cheers like he’s watching the Super Bowl. Marvin and Earving throw trash talk like darts. Benny sits with one leg crossed, grin sharp and slow, sipping his drink like he’s been waiting all night for the perfect moment to pounce.

And you—

You’re perched on the workbench, one leg folded under you, the other swinging lazily in rhythm to the beat in your head. You’re humming something to yourself—something soft and familiar—and twisting your braid between your fingers, cigarette balanced between your lips.

Your smile feels effortless. Not plastered on. Not forced. Just… there. And then—

The door creaks open behind you.

New footsteps. Boots. Confident. Familiar in a way that makes the air shift. And when you turn your head, there he is.

Dean.

Leather jacket slung over his shoulder. Flannel sleeves rolled to his elbows. Eyes cutting through the crowd like he’s always known exactly where to find you. Jo at his side, all sun-bleached curls and beer-kissed smirks. They’re laughing about something. You can’t hear what.

They say they’re here for Benny and MM. But they don’t leave.

Dean tosses a nod to the couch. Jo does the rest.

The second her eyes find you, she lights up.

“Button!”

She crosses the room like a force of nature and before you can move, her arms are around your waist—pulling you off the workbench and into the air like you weigh nothing. Your legs instinctively wrap around her waist like they always do. She smells like tequila and vanilla chapstick.

You giggle into her shoulder. “Jo—”

“Shut up. Let me love you,” she mutters, squeezing you tighter.

You lean back, hands still on her shoulders, grinning. She looks at you like she’s cataloging every inch. Like she’s missed you even more than she realized.

“How’ve you been?” She asks. “College treating you okay?”

You nod. “It’s… different. But good. I’m glad I went.”

“Still stealing lighters?”

You smirk. “Only the pretty ones.”

Jo laughs, full-body and bright. “That’s my girl.”

Then she tilts her head. “You playing flip cup or what?”

You open your mouth to answer, but your eyes flick over her shoulder—instinctive.

And there he is.

Dean, leaned back against the fridge, red solo in hand, brow arched just slightly like he’s waiting to be caught looking.

And he is.

Smug. Sharp. Eyes dark with something that doesn’t quite name itself. That same damn expression from the porch two summers ago. The one you still feel under your skin. Your heart thuds once. Just once. But loud. Jo doesn’t notice. Dean does. You shake it off. Look back at Jo. Shrug like your chest didn’t just split open a little.

“Yeah,” you say. “Deal me in.”

Jo doesn’t set you down right away.

She carries you across the garage like it’s a sport, like you weigh nothing and she’s already won something. Your legs still looped around her, arms around her shoulders, her boots clunking heavy against the concrete as the group shifts to make room.

“Jo,” you mutter, laughing, “you can put me down now.”

She just grins, teeth sharp, eyes bright. “But you’re such a cute button.”

You groan. “Why are you so obsessed with me?”

That makes her laugh—low and delighted—and it earns a few chuckles from the crew, too. MM smirks from his spot at the table. Benny actually wheezes.

“She got you there, Harvelle,” he says.

Jo winks. “I like cute things. Sue me.”

She finally drops you back down to your feet, but not without a dramatic little spin first. You catch yourself against the edge of the table, cheeks warm, hair a little mussed.

Benny reaches over and ruffles it anyway.

“Hey!” You bat his hand, grinning.

“How’s college?” He asks, settling back into his seat with his drink. “Still pretendin' to be smarter than you are?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not pretending.”

From the couch, Butcher snorts. “Oi, don’t let the compliments get to your head, burnout.”

You whip around, grin wide. “Better a burnout than a grumpy, tea-guzzling asshole.”

The whole room laughs.

Charlie barks a laugh so loud it startles Ruby. Frenchie leans into Sam, howling. Even Kimiko grins, flashing teeth. Jo almost drops her beer from laughing so hard. And Butcher—Butcher just raises his cup and nods.

“Fair fuckin’ play.”

The game sets up in a matter of minutes.

The table is cleared. Cups are lined up. Beer is poured sloppily, foam sloshing over the sides. Everyone finds a spot—paired up, cheering each other on, arguing about exactly how many seconds a cup has to rest before flipping. The usual. Music hums low from a speaker someone left on top of the mini-fridge.

It’s light. Loud. Familiar.

Then Dean steps forward. And the temperature shifts. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just leans in, picks up an empty cup, flips it between his fingers, eyes lazily scanning the group.

Then he looks at you. Right at you. Smirk curling slow like a secret.

“Alright,” he says, voice just loud enough to carry, “trouble. You’re with me.”

The way he says it—like he’s assigning you to his team, and blaming you for it at the same time—makes your stomach tighten. His tone has that rough edge, that low gravel you remember from two summers ago. That you still hear in dreams when you let yourself have them.

You raise a brow. “You sure you can keep up, Winchester?”

Dean steps around the table, slow, like a predator making it look like a dance.

“You still flip like you drink?” He says, eyes locked on yours. “Then I’ll be fine.”

You scoff, but your grin betrays you. “We’ll see about that.”

You both take your seats—opposite each other. The table stretching between you like a line neither of you have crossed yet, but both of you might.

Sam notices.

He shifts where he’s still sitting with Frenchie and Kimiko, attention flicking toward the table. His smile slips just slightly, replaced by something quieter. Something measured. But he says nothing.

Kimiko nudges his knee.

Frenchie, watching too, mutters, “Oh, boy.”

Dean cracks his knuckles. Winks.

“Try not to choke, sweetheart.”

You line up your cup.

“Try not to lose.”

Someone counts down. The first round begins. And the game is on.

← PREVIOUS PART NEXT PART →

author note/s: i'd like to state, for the record, that i'm picturing young ben as cj braxton, hence the cj still in the moodboard. okay, okay. i fucking love this series so much already. i am 23k words deep on docs, so i'm just copying and pasting sections to post here. i'm not even sure how long each section is gonna be. i imagine it'll vary between 2k and 7k words per post because i'm trying to cut it in places that feel like a natural spot to stop/start... if i'm making any sense there. ooh, ben and dean both introduced in the same part??? exciting fucking stuff hehehe. let me know if i'm actually serving what i think i am. because i fear i'm perhaps being delusional. it wouldn't be the first time. until the next one, smin signing off. all the love.

soldier boy/ben & dean taglists: @losers-clvb @bejeweledinterludes @bruisedfig @angelicjackles @soldiersgirl @tinas111 @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @drakulana @mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @liiiilsss @0ccvltism @itshellfire @sl33pylilbunny @nevercameraready @paristheonewhoreads @podiumackles @suckitands33 @lyarr24 @spxideyver @winchestersbgirl @mj-102009 @kaz-2y5-spn @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @ladykitana90 @deangirlsstuff67 @ohgodimgoungtodie @agoodgirlsguidetomakingmencry @ambiguous-avery <3

[blackstar-liveblogs]

Last time I did this it was a year ago, but a cubito has reached blorbo status after so long + he's barely talked about on the maintag along most of the Teal Titans. Here I come with blue faction rep.

It's time for a tr!Scott BIG ramble, more under the cut.

I got myself on a mission recently, the mission to watch Scott's POV of The Realm, and I just got done with all the available VODs today (if he was present in-character on more VODs from other streamers while off-stream, I have no clue which ones specifically).

From the get go, tr!Scott's lore is very interesting. He was established as someone who just spawned in, as a giant snail, and according to his own words (paraphrased): ''It's all very cloudy, I know that I felt a strong will to kill you, but strangely the need to distract you with baby sensory games at the same time.''

The three hours of scuffed snail fight with the Teal Titans were applied into his first memories. They bonded over that and he acted upon that since.

Plus, the entire cloudy and mixed feelings/wills during this fight sparked the headcanon/theory of mine that goes: The Keepers brought the people that fought as the snails to the Realm and applied some sort of magic that turned them hostile and willing to kill their opponents. But Scott was able to kinda get through some of that magic, for reasons unknown, which allowed him to bond while that will to murder was not 100% disappearing.

Again, this is not canon nor confirmed, it's my interpretation until proven differently by the lore, if this ever gets brought up again at all. It's a theory based off the books tr!Bekyamon found too and I highly recommend to read them.

Back to Scott, he was automatically sorted to the Hostile Faction aka the Reds. But from his very first day after the snail fight, he was making very clear statements that he had no allegiances at all with the red faction and he felt more comfortable with the blue faction thanks to those hours of bonding they went through. He did not care if people called him unloyal to the Reds or if they pointed out that he spent most of his time with the Teal Titans, because he knew all of this very well himself and was not bothered at all by it.

''In everything but the tab list, I'm blue,'' he repeated many times.

He heard some stuff about the people around him during those first days. When he first met Pili, he pointed out that he committed many murders and crimes, but not in a judgamental way. Scott clarified right there that he only said it as an observation and facts, and Pili did not deny it was true after that.

I noticed that Scott tends to go after the facts of what happened and what people did, instead of buying the first biases he receives at face value. There was some discussion in the game chat back when Krow stole the Kingdom's bell and was killed; people said that Scott was antagonizing his own faction members then (when he still was Red), but I looked at it now and I think: Not really? In the sense of, the intention was not to antagonize specifically?

He wasn't saying stuff out of malice, he was staying the facts as he perceived them: A very important bell was stolen, Krow got killed as a consequence and now responsability was refused to be taken. Scott had no interest in taking the Kingdom's side, as he said himself during this: ''I didn't say anything that wasn't true.''

Of course, stating that someone is not taking responsability for their actions and that the consequences were expected to come with the context provided can come out as antagonizing, so any perception like that is also valid. I only want to point out that the way Scott perceives it it's very interesting.

To add to this, later he heard criticism about the Kingdom having an object that important right there in the open, ready to be stolen, and he agreed to it. At the same time, he didn't understand why other factions cared so much about the Kingdom's bussines, because he doesn't care himself to get involved in those dramas.

Scott wanted to be part of the blue faction and follow his Supreme Leader. Those were his own words. That was the only thing he actually cared about.

The Teal Titans had no trouble to treat him as one of them either. Scott was called an honorary Blue and even participated in their faction-only meetings days before they knew if he was even able to switch.

At the time, Tubbo was not around during those meetings. There was one when Aimsey announced that he was going to arrange a way to invite Scott to the faction, and even a Keeper was involved.

Tubbo wasn't there until the day many Keepers surrounded Scott and gave him a mission to get a Conduit on his own to join Blue.

The chaos of this day was hilarious on his POV:

He could finally switch factions. One person that does not show up often from the faction shows discontent for reasons that he didn't know at all, so he was just confused while Aimsey reassured him to ''not listen to the voices in the back.'' He went all chill on his own to find a map, find the Heart of the Sea, come back and fish. He saw Tubbo and Bad with TNT Minecarts in the distance, tried to eavesdrop, but they were in a group, so he backed away to fish. Both him and CPK decided to go together to see what was up once Tubbo and Bad called everyone over, Tubbo was under his own TNT trap calling for an ultimatum and talking about stuff Scott had no idea about. He watched the situation unfold, until CPK ended up exploding Tubbo and both with Bekyamon went to tell Aimsey what happened. Scott remained very confused.

Back to fishing. He got to make the Conduit, waited with Aimsey for the Keepers and then succesfully joined the Teal Titans.

This day had the positives of showing more sides of Scott's character. He usually acted unsurprised but polite around the Keepers, which started a pattern of him saying that from the moment he spawned in as a giant snail, nothing surprised him anymore and did not want to understand all the unusual things, just go along with the fact that they exist.

He also was trying to read Tubbo's reasonings and emotions to reach the conclusion that he didn't feel him specifically joining the faction was the issue, but that there were a lot of underlying issues that were brought up with this whole situation. In other words, Scott did not feel resentful towards Tubbo, he was trying to make sense of his actions, with other suggestions like maybe Tubbo did not care about his inclusion until it was a potential problem for himself, among others.

Scott got what he wanted, he was part of the Teal Titans. Now he was able to build and chill, or so he thought.

Stuff kept happening on the server, which brought up more about him and his deal.

First, the Pili vs Clown fight. I was interested to watch this from Scott's POV, since I remember reading a lot that Pangi was claiming Scott was making fun of Pili during it, and therefore, wanted to kill him. I had all this previous information of Scott not caring to get involved in the other factions' dramas, not having any intention to pick sides related to that, and only wanted to watch with everyone else. With that context, Scott making fun of Pili, the same way Kingdom members did, did not make sense to me.

Then, I watched how Scott was joking around with everyone else that the fight was taking too long. After the extra hour of waiting for Pili to show up, most of the audience was not willing to take the fight itself seriously past the 30 minutes (and more) it kept going for. Scott did not see anything wrong with this, because everyone else was doing it and he was not making fun of either fighter, but fun of the fight itself taking so long to be done.

In fact, the last words Scott said to Pili were genuine praise for his resilience and that he would have not done what he did himself, which he pointed out as something impressive in a positive way. Pili even thanked him.

He also showed disapproval at the fact that people looted Pili's stuff once he died. Stating that only Fit doing it he would let it pass since he is homeless. Then, quickly decided to leave before any drama could potentially happen after the fight.

He's truly a drama between factions that are not his own avoider. He is not getting in the middle of them.

Then imagine his confusion upon finding a sign with a threat inside his house next time he logged on. He joked around interpreting ''count your days'' literally and questioning how much he had to count, but he overall was very confused and asking what the heck did he do.

I noticed he used to talk with Owen more out of other Kingdom members. Owen acted relatively normal from this POV, up until a certain point.

The day after, Aimsey died and Scott got the intel from Owen, but a very incomplete version + Owen's slip ups allowed him to notice his red flags and did not take his words as the facts until doing some questioning and investigation.

Owen almost said ''anyone who doesn't worship Foolish'' instead of ''serve under him'', and Scott made an uncomfortable/disapproving sound for a second, which is telling of his own opinions about this kind of mindsets + one of the red flags he noticed during the conversation. This kind of opinion is very on-brand of Teal Titans members, he truly fits in.

He questioned how Owen stated his assumption that Ros killed Aimsey, so he went to check the cementary, where all blue members register their deaths, and thanks to Ros, it said that they died by a Keeper of the Realm.

And exactly there a Keeper appeared behind him, jumpscare style. He immediately wanted to ask about it, but the Keeper disappeared before he had a chance.

All of these interactions reflect the pattern of Scott wanting to have the facts of what happened and what people did before reaching his own conclusions. And he holds those facts in a way that he perceives himself as an unbiased party and states the truth of the situations.

Speaking of Aimsey, once he knew, he said to himself that he did not know how to feel about it. On one hand, he had only met Aimsey three weeks ago, on the other, they were a big factor of why he could join blue.

I'm sure there was a bit more there. Scott interacted with Aimsey the most those days and seemed to get along really well. But, at the same time, Scott is a cubito that recently spawned in with no memories prior to giant snail. As CC!Scott said (paraphrased): ''tr!Scott is a very laid back guy. Not in an evil or malicious way, but more like a chill way and slow to make any emotional attachments, since he showed up one day suddenly, like someone being born as an adult.''

The character himself accepted there was nothing he could do about it and it was only a matter of waiting for Aimsey to revive.

If I remember correctly, this same day, Scott was the first one to see the giant eye replacing the moon! And the Observers teleporting around him too! The cubito tries to avoid the horrors, but the horrors find him.

The Observers and the Eye Moon actually got him nervous. First, he made fun of the giant eye, since he could just sleep to get rid of it for the day, but eventually, with the Observers constantly on him, he either tried to ignore them (while being clearly on-edge) or he snapped at them once or twice.

''What do you want?! Make me go crazy?! Is that what you want to do?!''

It was the first time I saw this character react this way, instead of brushing off the situation or acting indifferent. Scott was trying really hard to ignore it and it wasn't working.

Good to know the character is not immune to get affected by the horrors 👍.

A bit after, Scott found Tubbo again, and despite the tension he was displaying, Scott ignored it for the sake of keeping Tubbo company and check the tasks together. He was even joking around with him, and again, was not resentful for what happened before.

Tubbo was surprised that Scott was genuinely helping to complete one of the tasks before he had to be absent for a couple of weeks. Scott made it more than clear that he always had the intention to help the faction with the tasks, and with that Tubbo seemingly accepted him, or at least was chill with his company. To the point of agreeing that, while Scott did not understand why the other factions were so adamant to mess with the Kingdom's stuff, Tubbo replied that the Kingdom has that kind of retaliation coming for them, and Scott gave him the point.

Aimsey returned that day too, and Scott received him in a very positive note, not treating them any differently. But he wasn't oblivious to the changes in behaviour, as proven when later he talked with Ros and admitted that Aimsey was acting more cheerful than usual. Also agreed to keep an eye on him just in case.

Scott did not point it out then, but he did tell himself that he also noticed Ros was very sad during that conversation, which made Owen's statement not add-up even more. So another point for this cube's ability to read people's emotions and actions.

Aimsey confirmed his suspicions that Owen was not telling the truth and Ros did not kill them. Then, Scott moved on to help with the task.

With all of this, it's worth to mention, Scott admitted to himself that he was not willing to grind levels like everyone else to get stronger. Instead, he wants to play the social game, so people are no interested in killing him.

He showed these social skills rather recently, when Freddie showed up to his house, talked about plans to steal from everyone, then found out quickly that his fastest horse was stolen.

Before finding out about the stolen horse, Scott pitched the idea that Freddie could pretend to ''find'' the stolen stuff and return it, instead of stealing it and give more bad fame to the Reds than they already have. He phrased it as a way to get more points in everyone's books by doing something ''good.''

When Freddie left, Scott admitted that he was manipulating him so everyone got their stuff back. He noticed that Freddie was trying to manipulate *him*, but Scott basically uno reverse'd.

Shortly, he realized his horse was stolen.

Scott sneaked around and listened to Freddie saying that, indeed, the horse was there.

Scott went around the Kingdom's chest and his own faction's chests, all to find an Invis potion to steal and get his horse back. He did take a Swift potion, which he quickly used once he realized Freddie was at the tavern to steal from Tubbo, so it was his chance to get his horse back. That mission was succesfull and he went back to building.

The last thing to point out, it's that Scott has a soft spot, or at least a will to help, the people who were giant snails like him. He emphatizes with them, to a degree, but does call them ''giant snail buddies'' with a bit of affection. As shown previously, this does not make him biased towards them, but it does make him find himself assisting them once and again.

What does this left us about tr!Scott as a character so far?

Most of the time he's chill and very laid back, but not with malicious intent. He's slow to make emotional attachments as result of having no memory prior to him spawning into the Realm. He does his best to look for the facts of a situation and a person's actions/emotions, which he uses these truths to remain unbiased or state them as they are.

He's only not unbiased regarding his own faction and if it's involved. Scott is loyal to the Teal Titans, spends most of his time with them and does his best to help them and make them feel comfortable, while also wanting help from them (with items stuff) if he needs it. There's care for them, but has yet to develop deep attachments.

He plays the social game instead of the violence game, this mainly for the sake of survival. His morals are not beyond manipulation to get to the outcome he thinks it would be best or to steal to get what he wants. He does draw the line at some other actions or mindsets that he's not personally comfortable with or approving of.

He's not immune to the horrors, the horrors will find him and he will be unsettled and nervous about them. There will be attempts to ignore them and shut them down.

He's good at reading people whenever he needs it and acts accordingly.

There's a little soft spot for the people who were giant snails like him and he can help them if he's able to.

Most of the time, he's either vibing building or very confused.

In short: He's a complicated cube! And I sure do love those.

This is why he has reached blorbo status, and I wanted to publish this before CC!Scott's subbathon starts and there's more Realm content. Plus, I'm very interested to see if Aimsey's lore gets to affect him in any way.

He does not worry about the beef between the other factions and does not want to be involved, but he can get concerned about the horrors that can affect everyone and himself. I'm very very interested to see how this character will develop from here and if he ever will grow those emotional attachments, and what would he do in that case.

In other news, I finish with more tr!Scott pics.

[alicentral]

This is a response to a hotd critical post about the "favouritism towards Greens in screen time ratio", and I think it's so interesting how team black also feel like they're being fucked over by the showrunners when, to me, it's blindingly obvious that it's the other way round.

Not only are the show runners villainising the greens, not the blacks, they've also gone out of their way to make the blacks seem like the badass heroes who can do no wrong, and this is the root of the problem for both team black and team green. It oversimplifies the dance and goes against the themes and message of the whole book, rendering the characters either inconsistent, one-dimensional, and worst of all, flat and boring.

Lets start off with the greens. The argument that the showrunners are "gagging on the greens" doesn't hold up when we actually think about it for more than 2 seconds.

With the source material of hotd being a fictional history book with different biases and perspectives (emphasis on different perspectives), the showrunners have cherry picked what to adapt, and have chosen to take the worst of the greens as the objective truth and erase their good moments as "green propaganda". The main example that comes to mind is aegon. Plenty of other people have talked about this in depth before, but in f&b, aegon raping a girl was a rumour spread by mushroom, a narrator with a clear black bias who wasn't even in kings landing at the time. There was no reason in adapting this rumour other than to demonise aegon, and by extension, team green. The way the scene is framed, it is clear that it was never about dyana, how the rape affected her mentally, emotionally, socially, physically. For a supposedly feminist show, dyana's rape was a throwaway scene, it never had any impact on the story further. So what was the point of the scene other than to tell the audience "look at what a monster aegon is. How can you support someone like that?" And it works.

You can see on social media, any time there's something vaguely positive about the greens, you have hoards of people comment "yeah but he's a rapist" "how can you support a rapist?", etc. It forces you to side with team black. Later in the show, the audience gets to know that aegon's dick burst "like a sausage". Why would the audience need to know this? Aegon's mutilated dick is presented as "karma" for dyana and is only meant to humiliate him. And again, after this revelation, so many people on social media were making fun of his "burnt sausage". They've made a laughingstock of aegon, and as the figurehead of team green, it's clear that we're not meant to side with team green.

Furthermore, in bastardising, and sometimes, even completely erasing the relationships between team green, the showrunners have dehumanised them and made them irredeemable villains, because, again, we were never meant to side with those who "usurped the rightful queen".

The loyalty and commitment the greens had to one another made them such compelling characters and heavily shaped their central motivations and actions. Aegon only took the crown to protect his family. Aemond, after rooks rest, never called himself a king, only lord protecter even though he knows he would've made a better king than aegon. Daeron torched the riverlands to get to his mother and sister and sacked bitterbridge as revenge for his nephew. Helaena offered up her life for her son, and chose to sacrifice maelor because she knew he wouldn't understand what was happening. Their actions may not be necessarily good (and in daeron's case, actually happen to be war crimes), and their motivations may be morally grey, but they're understandable, they're sympathetic, seeing as it was out of love and loyalty, something that 21st century society can relate to. Without these complex and compelling ties, the audience is left asking why would the greens stick together if they all seemingly can't stand each other? Why fight for aegon if he doesn't even seem to care for them? What was the point in having the crown then? As a result, the characterisations feel one-dimensional (helaena being reduced to being just an "innocent" amidst her bloodthirsty family) or inconsistent (alicent. just her entire story arc. it could've been interesting if done right, but alas, no such luck), or rushed (suddenly aemond wants to be king in his own right after defending his brother's claim at storms end).

This isn't to say that team green are perfect, far from it, but the close emotional ties and relationships could've been used to elevate the internal conflicts in the show. We could've had complex characters who aren't necessarily good, but they're family and they stick together despite their personal grievances.

And this isn't even mentioning their bonds with their dragons. Where was vhagar roaring when aemond's eye was cut out? Aegon and sunfyre had the closest bond between dragon and human and that was given to rhaenyra in the show and where is dreamfyre?

One last thing on the greens, they are presented as incompetent and not equipped to rule, which is meant to show how it would be oh so much better if rhaenyra was on the throne. Criston parading meleys' head is framed as stupid as meleys was "a beloved dragon", ignoring the fact that she murdered hundreds of smallfolk at the coronation. Alicent is presented as stupid for thinking that after rooks rest, the small council would appoint her the queen, aegon in the small council was meant to be laughed at. Of course, this begs the question, if the greens were meant to be a mess of a faction with only 3 functioning dragons and now 2 effective dragon riders, how did they hold out against the blacks for so long? It's clear that the showrunners haven't thought this through.

So yeah, i don't really understand what this person was trying to say when they say that the showrunners are "gagging on the greens" when they are demonised, humiliated and stripped of compassion. I would like to say here, nothing i've said about the greens here is new to team green fans, and so many more people have gone into more depth about this.

Lets move onto the blacks. In a conflict where no side was meant to be in the right (who has the right to rule is a beast for another day), where there were no winners, only losers, where a dynastic dispute almost tore down the entire aforementioned dynasty, the blacks are framed as the heroes, the side the audience should root for. If they come off as villainised to the audience, i don't think it was done on purpose.

Opposite to the greens, they're mistakes and flaws are glossed over. I think this is the main reason why team black falls flat as opposed to lack of screen time, which i don't really want to count.

An important example of this is blood and cheese. In f&b, blood and cheese was a horrific event which drove queen helaena mad and, importantly, was meant to murder one of aegon and helaena's sons in revenge for lucerys. A son for a son. It was always meant to be jaehaerys. By making blood and cheese all one big mistake in the show, with aemond as the real target and oops, we can't find him so jaehaerys will do, team black and rhaenyra can't be held accountable for the murder of an innocent 6 year old boy. Moreover, the fact that rhaenyra never knew or sanctioned the murder, and it was all daemon going rogue, rhaenyra is even further removed from the horrific murder of a child, because, of course, our heroine can't be responsible for anything bad, she's meant to be the one in the right!

Furthermore, condal and hess try to force the smallfolk's love of rhaenyra during the dance, contrary to the book, which serves to uphold rhaenyra's right to the throne and show how team black are the right side. During the blockade on kings landing, the smallfolk conveniently forget that she's the one causing the blockade when she sends food through (showing that she could've done that at any time). The cheering for rhaenyra and the riot makes no sense, as again, she was the one who caused the blockade in the first place.

The introduction of the prophecy also is only meant to justify any "wrong" rhaenyra and team black do. The death of the dragonseeds and the smallfolk were all in the name of a prophecy so it's ok. And this is the thing which infuriates me the most, because the prophecy could've been a fascinating aspect of team black's motivations if framed right. The idea of committing atrocities in the name of a believed divine, higher purpose could've been used to expand upon team black's character growth and internal conflict vis a vis the knights templar and the crusades. How do they feel about this? Are they even aware of what they're doing? Alas, the show itself buys into the prophecy, buys into the divine purpose and suddenly, the atrocities aren't presented as "that bad" anyways. All of that to say, the show has never intentionally villainised team black.

So we've established that as the heroes, team black can't do anything wrong, and if they do, it's for a higher purpose, so it's alright. Team black's "emotions and conflicts are made secondary" not to "disposable filler scenes of Greens", but to themselves, or rather, to rhaenyra and her right to rule. So many team black scenes were used to uplift rhaenyra to show how she is the rightful queen. The main two examples of this that stick out to me is baela rebuking jace when he rightfully questions rhaenyra's decisions and daemon's whole harrenhal arc, which serves as his redemption and so he can reaffirm his commitment to rhaenyra's right to rule. Of course it's going to be "a bore" if the main characters, the ones we're meant to be cheering haven't got anything going for them except for cheering on rhaenyra.

There's no character interaction, no character growth, no real internal conflict because from the beginning, team black has been presented as in the right and can do no wrong, so there's no room to grow, no room to develop, not because of lack of screen time. When character development almost breaks through (see: jace questioning rhaenyra), it's quickly quashed, because the audience needs to be reminded that rhaenyra is always right. There's a clear good and bad side that the show is trying to force, which doesn't work in this setting because it reinforces the idea of the divine right of kings, the idea that one person, one family is superior to all others, and that person is rhaenyra here. It undermines the idea that no one was in the right for the atrocities they committed. No one can be justified and that fundamentally, these are not good people, they're interesting characters (or could've been interesting characters), but they're not good people.

So why? Why are the blacks presented as the good side and the greens presented as evil? It all comes down to the fact that the showrunners have propagated the idea that the dance is about a woman's struggle to rule in the face of misogyny, rather than the decline of house targaryen due to their belief in targaryen exceptionalism or the consequences of the pursuit of power. Sure, feminism and misogyny is one aspect of the dance, but it's not a major driving factor. The showrunners have backed themselves into a corner here, because they trying to portray the dance through a modern feminist lens, and so they believe that they can't write women being flawed or evil, and so we get the free, liberated good side and the "misogynistic", conservative bad side.

So in conclusion, it is clear that the showrunners aren't villainising the blacks as this person believes, but the greens. In doing this, they've made a clear cut good and bad side which works to the detriment of both team black and team green. It leads team green's characterisation to be inconsistent and one-dimensional and it chokes team black from having character growth.

Listen, i don't know if team black truly have less screen time than team green, but if they do, it's not the reason why team black falls flat.

[shelleysmary]

lots of fans have made valid points and written well-thought-out posts about the trop ai drama, so i'm not gonna rehash them, but i do want to bring up something that no one seems to be talking about and it's the impulse that leads people to plug these things into ai generators in the first place.

fandom over the last year especially has become increasingly toxic to the point that actual billion-dollar corporations are afraid it. the result is subpar, pandering films, books, and television shows that break no new ground, recycle old tropes, and sacrifice story integrity to avoid catching heat from the loudest, most entitled people in the room. i'm calling this an issue of entitlement first and foremost because the idea that the audience should have any say over a non-crowd-created media project is preposterous. deciding that the cons outweigh the pros of watching something and choosing to walk away without making a fuss is a lost discipline now because everyone with an internet connection and a social media account believes that their vision reigns supreme. "how dare this show downplay my favorite ship! they were supposed to kiss! that was the whole point! the absence of this one thing i had on my wishlist is a crime against me personally!" so they turn to ai and click some buttons and now these gifs exist and are being circulated with an air of "i've righted a wrong." worse, the use of ai in this way is being conflated with the creation of fanworks???

there are reasons why i don't believe the ai saurondiel kiss is on the same raft as, say, making them kiss in a drawing or a published fanfic, but my main concern is with the spirit behind each. fanworks are made in homage to the source material, even the fix-it fics. there is an acknowledgment, a separation even, between the television show and the fanwork. this separation is necessary and i would say even integral to the nature of fan creation, while ai closes that gap until it no longer exists. the elimination of space between creator and audience also happens on social media, when disgruntled fans who have taken umbrage with a fictional character or creative decision directly harass the writers or the actors involved. more and more, fans are demanding to be in the rooms, in the minds, and to exert control over the people who tell their stories, and it has only ever worked to our collective detriment. now i'm not saying that if you liked and shared the saurondiel ai kiss that you're the same as the internet trolls who harass (mostly) women and people of color online. but i'm begging you to do some self-reflection and ask yourself why you feel entitled to seeing what you want on your screen.

what has changed in the last few years that would make you dissatisfied with, say, reading someone's fic or making your own drawing? is it a matter of "the tool is there, so why not use it?" is it "i believe it should have happened and it didn't and i feel cheated?" or maybe there's been a pattern you've noticed in your recent media "consumption" (god, i hate that word) where, unless a show or television series goes the exact way you want it to, it feels like you've been defrauded somehow? i'm not being facetious. i'm inviting you to notice that what you're feeling is probably discomfort, disappointment, maybe even cognitive dissonance because you imagined it going one way, and now you're at a loss because it didn't. you built it up in your head, you had something to look forward to, you were convinced that it would happen, it was exciting and you were so eager to get to that point, and then.... and then...

we've all been there. and it sucks. but i also want to remind you of how important it is to preserve the separation. this space is ours. the writer's room, the filming set, the editing room, those spaces are theirs. the actors' likenesses are theirs. thinking beyond trop, the separation is how we get creative works that challenge us politically, emotionally, that make us uncomfortable and tell us important truths. writers shouldn't have to - and shouldn't FULL STOP - do what we want them to do. sometimes that means knowing when to walk away, when to say "i no longer enjoy this show, i will no longer support it" or "i will continue to watch but pretend things went differently," the latter of which has been the spark that has moved so many online fans to draw, paint, write, or sew. it's a type of creation that allows "canon" and "fanon" to exist parallel to one another. moreover, the effort it takes to make anything with your own two hands, with your own time, and with your own energy increases your appreciation for the creative impulse. films and books and television stop being "products" for your "consumption" because you're aware of what goes into them, and it becomes easier to look at things you don't like or disagree with and say, "you know what, i'm gonna pass," or "not in my headcanon."

oh, and by the way plugging things into an ai generator? is theft. the same way that it's generally frowned upon for people to use ai to, say, write the rest of an unfinished fic without the express permission of the fanwork creator, using the actors' likenesses to make them kiss goes against everything the actors' union fought for last year. i'll also add that it's incredibly creepy. almost all of us are in agreement that intimacy coordinators are a good thing because they act - again! - as a separation between what's "real" and what isn't, the same way going on ao3 and reading a fic that very clearly says on the tin that it's a fanfic, unaffiliated with the official ip, is a separation. it's another beast entirely to normalize fan-use of ai, to say you support creatives, support actors, support unions, and then do this in your personal life. i repeat the question: what impulse leads anyone to believe that this is okay other than a feeling of misplaced ownership?

tl;dr: ai nonsense does not belong in fandom spaces. (in my home state of california, it is illegal to use digital replicas of an actor's voice or likeness in place of their actual services without their informed consent [which, in spirit, is what you're doing by using ai to make your gifs]). we all just need to mind our own business and go back to writing our fix-it fics and complaining to our friends in relative peace. if you're finding it impossible to do so, ask yourself why. remember that fanart is our longstanding tradition. stop outsourcing it to an unregulated technology just because your two faves didn't kiss.

[y0-yo-yo]

DCxDP bits of story

Jazz and Jason are dating

And it's the greatest thing that happened to Jay cause Jasmine just get him, she's kind and funny and know how to fight, she's never scared of him or pity him they exchange great deal over books, he yaps about theater and she yaps about phycology, she's really involved in the betterment of crime alley so much so she's known as red hood girl's and it's overall the best period of time for Jason

On the other side of town Tim has developed a crush on this cute barista, he interact with him in both persona but he is overthinking this relationship way to much but he do steal a kiss from his beau in a sweet romantic rooftop scene

But one day! Tragedy! Some jokers goons try to kidnap Barbara luckily that girl can still fight and Dick was with her and ignoring the protocol of 'playing helpless himbo' he does fight back those who tries to take his girlfriend but in the same time this was happening other goons were kidnapping Selena,Jazz and Danny to bring them to one of Joker's sick game where he planned to torture them live until their bat lovers find them

Batman is stressed because Selina is in danger and apparently Tim's boyfriend (boyfriend? Did he say that? Is that what he called me? -Tim) and Jason's girlfriend too (the only reason Jason hasn't gone full pit rage is because he need to find the location)

But why were the Fenton in Gotham you may ask? Well Jasmine was there for her studies and Danny needed to register and keep an eye on revenants (Dani helped by traveling the world while he only went to places with the biggest revenant/ ectoplasm regroupement) and one of them was the Joker, he was long overdue to a trial in the afterlife for crimes against deadkind, and at first he was going to procrastinate and wait for him to die naturally but now that he was right in front of him....

*The live start with the Joker grinning in the camera*

"Well hello batsy and company! Today we have very beloved guest don't we?"

Jason is practically vibrating with rage and terror because what do you mean the love of his life, lightness to his darkness is being held by the very monster who broke him beyond repair? Tim is having similar thoughts as he frantically try to find the location of the wearhouses. Bruce as always look emotionless but his whole body is tense he knows Selina is strong but that doesn't stop him from worrying and he also knows that if Jason's girlfriend is hurt there is no holding his son back

*The joker snicker and turns the camera to show the three hostages lined up and tied to chair and gagged, Selina looks ready to pound on him and is probably working on setting herself free, Jazz looks strangely relaxed if not slightly amused tho it could be an act (Cass tell them that even tho it's a video it's probably not an act and that kinda calm Jason even though he is still boiling at the sight of his girl tied like that by this psycho) and Danny looks like a kid who's parents reminded them of a homework they had to do before being allowed to go play outside (and oh how true that was)

"Oh how impatient you must be for your lovers to come get you" the Joker say twirling a knife in his hand before using the tip of it to tilt Danny's chin up making Tim want to commit murder "but don't worry we'll have fun just the four of us while we wait for them hm?"

"Acctually it's very convenient that you're the one who seeked us out" Jazz says calmly..."huh?" Literally everyone except Danny who add "yes, we've been trying to contact you about your soul extended guarantee? It doesn't have any."

"...is this a Joke to you?" The Joker ask starting to be pissed off

"No because Jokes aren't supposed to be pathetic. You have long overdue trials in the afterlife and I came to drag you there myself."

*The audio and image start to distort more and more until the live cut to black*

When the bats arrive in the wearhouses Joker is nowhere in sight, all his goons are tied up in Fenton rope™ and Jazz and Danny looks as relaxed as ever as if they had just been on a little sibling outing while Selina just looks at them

"Now which God forgotten parts of hell did you guys crawl from?"

[internationem]

Just a reminder: intent is much, much more important to genocide than the amount of people dying. simply put, the amount of dead civilians isn't what makes a genocide a genocide.

for example, up to 33k bosnians are estimated to have died because of the bosnian genocide. in contrast, the estimated amount of japanese civilians dead during WWII is between 330k and 900k. yet most (serious) people wouldn't ever consider that there was a genocide against the japanese people. why? well, no government wanted to, planned or carried out systematic attacks with the intent of erasing, in whole or in part, the japanese people. yet, however, it is fairly easy to prove that the serbs wanted the bosnians gone and acted accordingly. You can even fullfill the material criteria for the Genocide Convention (ie killing people, or causing body or mental harm to a population) to a certain extent but if the intent behind those actions isn't to destroy a national/ethnic/etc group, then it's not genocide, the fullfilment of the material elements themselves aren't proof that there's a genocide without fullfilment of the mental element.

This isn't to overlook civilian deaths, but truth is, in modern warfare, civilians ARE gonna die, and that sucks massively, but we have a a whole branch of international law that help mitigate a lot of civilian deaths and allow for criminals to be held accountable for violation of civilian rights and livs, without having to erroneously call every single conflict where people die a genocide.

Similarly, it may be true that a lot more people are dying in the Israel-Gaza war than in the 7/10 attacks, but why did Hamas attack Israel in the first place? Why has Israel been attacked fairly frequently since it's independence? Because they want to completely erase Israel as a whole and expel (and kill, or best case scenario, convert) the jewish people out of the Middle East. This is very easy to prove, read Hamas founding charter and literally any history book that talks about wars against Israel or the expulsion of Jews from several ME countries. It's what the whole "from the river to the sea" slogan is about. It's also the very reason Israel needs to exist. But meanwhile, there's little to nothing that points out Israel wants to wipe out Palestinians as a group: 20% of their citizens are Palestinians who enjoy the same rights as Jewish citizens of Israel and aren't targeted, even Palestinians of the West Bank aren't usually targeted in a way that would even imply the IDF wants to erase them as a group, and even considering the Gaza campaign, its objective is to erradicate Hamas, not Palestinians, and nothing in Israel's policy outwardly implicates they want to erradicate all Gazans. Palestine, and especially Gaza, has massive population growth, which wouldn't make sense if there was a genocide campaign against them. This isn't to say the IDF is doing everything perfectly or that there aren't war crimes being commited. But war crimes don't mean genocide.

Calling what's happening in Gaza genocide is antisemitic, because not only are we applying different standards to Israel than we do any other country, we are also saying that Jewish people defending themselves is, inherently, a crime, one of the worst crimes defined at that. But it's also harmful to palestinians, because claiming that Israel's war against Hamas is a war against Palestinians equates Palestinians (many of whom just want to live regular lives, not war) with terrorists (who also target them, by the way), which seems islamophobic as hell if i'm being honest. it is also insensitive and damaging to every group that has been the victim of genocide, and every group which might be a victim of a genocide in the future, because how you're twisting the definition of the word to mean whatever you want it to mean. If everything is a genocide, nothing is.

[ifellintothestyx]

The funny thing about JC defenders is that they always try to argue that JC refusing to cover the Wens and side with WWX was the correct political move. In the short term, perhaps, but in the long term, that was proven wrong in the books themselves.

(It's even funnier thinking that correct political moves exist in a bullshit political system that blatantly serves only the gentry, is held together by hearsay and rumors, and has no actual system of laws that can serve as a basis to accuse, judge, or punish someone.)

So how was JC's refusal to side with WWX and the Wens considered the "correct political move"? Reasons include that the Jiang sect was still recovering from the war, that going against the Jins would result in another war that would end in major losses on the Jiang sect's side, and that the Wens weren't and shouldn't have been a priority for JC at all.

Let's clear a few things up. The Jiang clan was not the only clan recovering, so were the Nies and the Lans. In the aftermath of the war, it's not explicitly stated how well the other sects were doing, so we couldn't really tell if the Jiangs were worse off than the other three. It could be noted, however, that the Jins retained much of their wealth and influence, so much so that Jin Guangyao was able to take the position of Chief Cultivator with little to no opposition. The main point, though, is that at that moment in the aftermath of the war, we could not easily assume the Jiangs were the worst off, as the other three sects also lost many disciples in the war, and we didn't really know how much the other sects recovered.

For the second reason, if a major war somehow did happen again, this time Jiangs vs everyone else, everyone else would lose. WWX's presence single-handedly helped them win the war against the Wens. A war between the Jiangs and the jianghu would be based on numbers, which reflects the war between the Wens and the jianghu. The Wens had more disciples, and no matter how many LWJs or NMJs you got up your sleeve, numbers make a big difference in war. That's why WWX's skills were a critical part in winning: he is a one-man army of thousands. He could easily make up for the gap in numbers. That's why the Jins kept trying to get rid of him—they were nervous about so much power belonging to only one faction: the Jiangs. JGS couldn't exactly claim his desired role as Chief Cultivator if a younger, smarter, and more powerful individual was still around to keep him in check.

Finally, we get to the part of why I'm making this long-ass post on a caffeine-driven rage. See, the point of trying to stop a powerful faction from committing atrocities is to stop them from thinking they can do it whenever they like. The Jins were given a pass to do whatever the hell they wanted to a small, outcasted faction (the Wens), and they proceeded to take that pass as a pass for everything else. Nobody stopped them from torturing the Wens, so what's stopping them from allowing a mass murderer like XY to run wild in an attempt to create their own WWX? Definitely not NMJ, hahaha, because, y'know, the hypocrites in the gentry have already decided that whatever the Jins do is alright so long as it's not their problem. An exterminated clan isn't their priority. So, what was stopping XY from going out and doing it again to SL's sect? Absolutely nothing! Because the Jins could cover it up and no one could say a word despite how suspicious it was, because hey, remember what happened to the last guy that spoke up against the Jins?

Calling out the Jins on their crimes against the Wens, who were elderly and children save for WQ and WN (who JC owed his damn life and core to), would have created a precedent of not allowing massive crimes to slide under the radar. But because the opposite happened, because nobody fucking realized that apathy and selfishness don't fucking help in the long run, two sects were exterminated because JGS and JGY were basically given an "okay, fine, just keep that bullshit away from us". That's not actual justice. That's not "morally grey". Allowing people in power to trample over others just because it doesn't affect you personally is not sustainable, because what happens when it's you they've decided to trample over? Are you going to complain? Are you going to look to others for help, when you personally couldn't be bothered to offer your hand to those who suffered? When the reason the people trampling over you gained that power is because you allowed it?

The unopposed killing of WWX and the Wens led to the political climate that allowed the massacres of two sects because the Jins were trying to protect and satisfy their pet project. It led to the murder of NMJ because JGS/JGY wanted to keep people from checking their power. If JC couldn't find it in his heart to be sympathetic to the Wens, fine, but at the very least, he should have considered the potential harm in rolling over and giving a political faction too much power.

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

I’m gonna write this down now so I can look like an absolute genius later (or look like a clown, but at least I said it with my full chest!)

❌ Spoilers for the FNAF Movie below! ❌

Ok, I might be huffing hopium here, but in my heart of hearts I STILL think Mike Schmidt is Mike Afton. If (or when) they make a sequel, there’s a way they can reveal this

So the most obvious thing from this movie is when Mike is in “Steve’s” office, and when “Steve” is reading Mike’s name out loud from his résumé, he stops mid-sentence. He looks at Mike for a weird amount of time, almost studying him, before completely changing the subject. There’s no way in hell “Steve” recognizes Mike from when he saw him as a kid when he kidnapped his brother Garrett 10+ ago, no chance. Also why would he go to Nebraska (unclear where the movie takes place, but let’s assume Utah because of the books) to kidnap a random kid and just drive off? Here’s what I think is going on…(also I’m gonna call him William from now on cuz we all know lol)

William fingered out that Mike is his son during that interview. My theory is that at some point, William was married and him and his wife have a son named Mike. And for one reason or another, they got divorced. This is when Mike was too young to really remember which is why he doesn’t recognize William during their meeting. Mike’s mom gains custody of Mike and remarries, she marries Mr. Schmidt. They have a child together, Garrett. Sometime after the divorce, William adopts a child, trying to cope after losing his only son. He adopts Vanessa.

William finds out about his ex-wife having another kid. He wants to cause her pain and suffering for leaving him. He follows the Schmidt’s and takes Garrett during the camping trip. Unable to handle the pain, Mike’s mom takes her own life, leaving Mike and his stepdad. Mr. Schmidt marries a little later to another woman, and she has a daughter named Abby. Sometime after this, both Mr. Schmidt and his new wife die, leaving Mike to care for Abby.

Vanessa owed William so much, he had adopted her while she had suffered in an orphanage for years. She would do anything he told her, even if it meant covering up his crimes. Years later, realizing what she was doing was wrong, she left her father and became a police officer, hoping to stop people like her father as she had failed to stop him.

Here’s another thing. Scott Cawthon knows that the fans are obsessed with the lore of FNAF. I think he knew he could make more movies, this isn’t going to be a one and done deal. Plus, he had his hand on this project every step of the way, he wouldn’t agree to anything that he didn’t want to happen in the story. Mike being William’s some is CRUCIAL to the story of FNAF (at least in the games). I think he’s trying to fake us out, you know how he loves to troll the fans!

Again, this is just a theory (A GAME THEORY lol), but I don’t think the idea of Mike being an Afton is dead just yet. Hoping and praying so I can look incredibly smart if or when the sequel drops 🙏🏻

[junknstufffiles]

Definitely a ramble, but I keep thinking about Captain Man/Ray's character lately. He is a deeply flawed and almost tragic character, yet fits the archetype of superheroes. I find him hard to write, and even harder to dissect

So, Here are a few observations and theories I have about Ray

Schwoz was his only friend prior to the show, and he was isolated not only as a child but also as an adult because of his power/Captain Man.

1. He is incredibly lonely-I think this is clearly established in the show

Despite constantly stating how amazing he is, he is constantly seeking external validation from everyone around him.

This does make me wonder though, because when we first meet him there are other people in the cave. Why do they know his identity? / Who are they in the larger picture?

2. He is really insecure

This one I definitely want to look into more, because I want to say his external confidence and love for himself is to hide the hatred he actually has for himself. I'm thinking along the lines of the TV show Lucifer in this regard.

Because his words and his actions don't quite add up, and I think he relies far too heavily on outside validation to be a narcissist.

Throughout the show we see him steal or take stuff from stores he's saved or stuff like that. I think he feels like the city of Swellview owes him something. Not just because he stopped someone from robbing their store, but because he was forced to give his entire life up to save people.

3. He feels owed

Ray technically exists, but only as a placeholder for Captain Man. The few times we see Ray outside of the Man Cave without being Captain Man, it's in relation to Henry.

He was feeling so overwhelmed/lonely he hired a 13 year old to fight crime with him. And we see how the city's thank you is fro-yo and budget cuts. Doesn't make his actions right, but it does make them more complicated.

4. Ray Manchester doesn't exist-only Captain Man

We know Ray had a girlfriend who didn't know, but most of his 'relationships' are in the mask. He only has value to people because of Captain Man. Because Ray was trained for one thing, and is shown that outside of it, he doesn't have the life skills for anything else.

As the series, and later Danger Force, progress, we see more of Ray. So while I'm not a huge fan of how his arc with Credenza ended, I do theoretically like the idea of him retiring. Because it will be the first time since he was 8 that he won't be defined by being a superhero.

I think there is a whole lot more happening behind the scenes than can even be mentioned on a kid's show. Especially, before Henry. His childhood was rough, but it was also every comic book hero's worst nightmare.

5. We can't see most of Ray's story because it's a kid's show

He gained superpowers and his life ended because the government/his father took him, experimented on him, and trained him to be their soldier 'superhero'. That's why Superman kept his powers a secret growing up, so that exact thing wouldn't happen. I feel like there is something incredibly tragic about that.

Then he becomes a superhero, and it clearly hints at Ray being a pleasure seeker. The womanizer thing is the clearest example of that, but it's not a stretch to say drinking too. Him being able to be knocked out and affected by gases would hint that alcohol works.

I also saw a reddit post (couldn't confirm it's legitimacy, so I'm using it more as a theory) about him making a cocaine bust and using all of it since there wouldn't be negative side effects. It led to him staying up for three days straight to perfect his corn dog recipe.

Something about that resonated with his character. Can't pinpoint why. At first I laughed, then, I felt really sad at the idea. Because I can see him doing it, but I can't see any reason that would speak well on what Ray is thinking internally.

I wonder why. It could be a lack of a proper sleep schedule from fighting crime for so many years, ADHD, or nightmares. I also wonder if he could suffer from phantom pain. Because he still feels pain, it's just never permanent, so I wonder if his mind conjures up that pain in the middle of the night and he distracts himself with other things.

6. Ray is an insomniac

Denial is strong, and I think Ray's got stronger the longer Henry was his sidekick. Because in the first and second season, Ray gave Henry chances to back out, but Henry always came back or pushed back when Ray voiced it. So, Ray convinced himself that it was fine, because he can't do it on his own anymore. Then as the later years approached, Ray would probably be the happiest he had ever been. And he thought Henry was too.

7. He truly believed he was doing the best for Henry

I think they were having two different arguments when Henry quit. Because Henry had his friends, he had his family, and he never would have to be a Superhero alone because Ray would always be at his side. Henry didn't have to give up everything like Ray did. So Ray couldn't understand Henry's frustration or why he would willingly choose to leave, or why he was so frustrated about school. Not until he had to choose on that blimp and Henry needed to be the one to live.

I don't know what this is other than throwing my thoughts of Ray at a wall to see what sticks. Feel free to add on, expand or debate any of my points. Ray is an interesting character, especially because he is the best and worst of superheroes. Because the more you start to look at his story the more tragic it is. It doesn't justify his actions or make what he does okay, but it does make him a fascinating character.

I'll probably add on to this as I get more ideas.