#especially the second to last question i wrote that one at 1 am because i couldn't think of a good answer for it ;-;;

[project-sekai-news]

The Pegasus - An Interview

Welcome back to PJSK News! I'm your host, Tenma Saki, and because Hoshino couldn't be here today, I have brought a special guest! Special guest, how about you introduce yourself?

Good evening, everyone! I am Tenma Tsukasa, a world star! Many of you know me by my stage name, the Pegasus!!! Saki here is actually my little sister!

Hehe, Onii-chan, no headpats on camera! Anyway.. I have all the interview questions right here! Are you ready?

More than ready! Shoot!

Okay! First question: Tumblr user @sillystringstar asked: "Dear, Pegasus, why the horse name?"

That's an easy one! My surname, Tenma, means 'pegasus!' Therefore, I thought it only fitting to use that as my stage name!

I knew that one! Hehe, then I could use that as my pen name whenever I write articles! ..On second thought, that might be a little confusing.

Let's see, the next question is.. by @ithappenedonroute66 !! "If you are a star, then are you the sun and going to explode in the far future?"

E-er, you see, I'm not that kind of star! I'm a great and talented performer kind of star! BUT! I will explode in a blaze of glory in the future! You'll see, Saki, and uh.. it-happens-route-6!

I'll be waiting! ... user @agoist asked, "Why did you make that young girl cry by yelling “Dance and Sing” at her?"

Wh-where'd you here that from?! Ahem, I mean, the problem is solved! The girl was looking for her mom, is all! With Rui's help, the girl found her mom safe and sound, so you needn't worry about anything!

We're just going to ignore the fact that I blabbed.. next question, by @crime-soncloud! "Pegasus, what are your thoughts on the work of this news network, and what do you feel should be reported on more?"

This is a brilliant news network, run by my dear sister Saki and her friends! I try my best to listen to every single one of their reports! ..Though I haven't listened to the one about Akito yet! I've been a bit busy lately...

As for what should be reported on! I believe everything Saki and her friends report on needs their full attention! That being said, I recommend other Sekai's! So far, PJSK News has only reported on evnets happening around Shibuya Sekai, so if they could branch off to other Sekai's, I think that would be very cool!

Ooh, good idea! I'll talk to Ichi about that! Uh - also, the Akito going to jail one isn't that big of an event, haha..! There's no need for you to watch it!

Oh, really? Well, whatever you say, Saki!

Hehe, great! This next one is by.. @ova-kakyoin !! "what is your favorite part of performing? other than people smiling and having fun watching of course."

Hmm.. I'd say getting to know my fellow actors better! You mustn't only care for your audience! The wellbeing of the people you're performing with is also very important!

Well said! Okay.. user @sanri0add1ct asked, "dear Pegasus, why do you call your lunch a luncheon?"

Ah! 'Tis a name only fit for the glorious lunch eaten by the Pegasus!

You always put so much care into the lunches you make for yourself and me! Thank you, Onii-chan!

Anything for you, Saki! What's the next question?

Mm.. @25jpeg is wondering, "dear Pegasus what's your deal with Kamishiro?"

Ah, Rui! Hmm.. I'm not too sure what you mean by that!

Of course you know what they mean! Hm, like.. how he's always teasing you! Or.. oh! I heard from Toya that he sometimes sees the teachers chasing you two around the school~! Ooh, or maybe when you were rehearsing Ro -

Wait a minute! Where did you hear this?!

Well, I picked up the teasing one by myself, and like I said, Toya told me about how the teachers chase you two...

Ugh.. to think my wonderful fans would take our relationship like this..

Time for me to clear things up! ..Everyone, Rui is not bullying me!

...Huh..?

There! Now people won't think Rui is being mean! Rui is my great friend!

Onii-chan... hm. Don't worry everyone, he'll realize his feelings soon enough!

..My feelings..?

Anyway, next question~! @calleigator asked, "Mr. Pegasus Tenma, what are your thoughts on the ongoing apple pie thefts and what are you going to do about it?"

The apple pie thefts? Ah, I remember you and Hoshino reporting on this! I hope the thief will stop stealing apple pies and instead be a good citizen and pay for everything that they stole!

That's a lot of money to pay considering how many pies they stole...

But stealing is no good! As the Pegasus and a world star, I should be setting a good example for all the young children out there! Everyone, if you're listening, don't steal!

Aw, you're such a good influence! That's my brother for you!

Haha! You're a great sister too, Saki!

Ahem.. "Dearest Pegasus, your light shines brighter than any other. What do you plan to do about those who melt in your presence?" - asked by @monkie-see-monkie-do!

Melt in my presence..? Ah, I see, they melt because of my greatness! Well, my marvelous fan, if you melt in my presence, no need to panic! My light revives as well as melts!

Ooh, great answer! This next question is the last one, by @closegamecamo !! "Pegasus, what are your thoughts on those fake insects at stores?"

Fake insects..? Ugh, why would you ask me that.. er, I don't even remember what they look like!

That's fine! I brought one here with me just in case!

You wha - aaAAAAAAGGH!!

Haha, Onii-chan! It's just a caterpi - ahh, he fell down!

Eek! T-Tenma-senpai..? Is he okay?

Don't worry about it, Kohane! He'll be fine.. probably..

ONII-CHAN! The interview's still going!

..urk...

Ah, maybe it's a good time to stop..

Bye everyone! I hope your questions were answered by the great and glorious star, Tenma Tsukasa, the Pegasus! Let's keep this little incident between us, 'kay? Bye bye~!

..ugh.. aah, wait! Farewell, my wonderful fa - !

[bedlam-barbie]

After hours

Or Attention part 7 

Pairing: In-ho x recruiter!reader; Salesman x recruiter!reader

Warnings: 18+ only;  rough intimacy; unprotected sex; self-destructive coping mechanisms; bruises; physical assault; voyeuristic intensity toxic relationships; possessiveness; jealousy; unresolved tension; heavy angst; graphic violence; emotional whiplash; emotional manipulation; sexual tension; grief; guilt

Word count: 5.1k

Summary: In the stillness of the Host’s office, In-ho is faced with everything he's buried—his grief, his guilt, and his for the woman who keeps slipping through his fingers. she finds herself drifting toward danger, drawn to Gong Yoo like a moth to flame—his mouth sharp, his hands unforgiving, his obsession unmistakable. What started as sparring turns into something far more depraved, a violent rhythm of teeth, heat, and whispered promises neither of them intend to keep. But in the world they belong to, nothing stays hidden. Especially not from Hwang In-ho. When In-ho walks in on them in the middle of a moment too raw to deny, the fallout is immediate, violent, and unforgiving—because some things were never meant to be shared.

Author’s note: This work contains mature content intended for adult audiences. Reader discretion is advised. Darlinggg, guess who’s back from jaill? This chapter is a bit explicit, please bear that in mind! I wrote this over the course of this week and I am very excited to share it with you, please let me know your thoughts!

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Headquarters ; 11:45 PM; The Host’s office

When In-ho arrived at the Host’s office, the old man was already seated, his silhouette poised in the plush black leather armchair that faced the expansive windows overlooking the Seoul skyline. In-ho had been here many times before, yet the room never failed to impress—or unsettle—him.

The office was a study in shadows and luxury, its interior steeped in understated opulence. Black marble stretched across the massive desk like a frozen river, gleaming faintly under the dim, amber-hued lighting. Behind it, another leather chair sat with quiet authority, unoccupied for now. The faint but unmistakable scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air, mingling with the deeper notes of aged whiskey—a blend that hinted at decades of habit and power.

Despite the elegant austerity of the space, it was the towering, floor-to-ceiling windows that always stole In-ho’s attention. Draped in heavy velvet curtains that were now drawn back, the windows framed the city like a living painting. Seoul shimmered beyond the glass, its lights flickering like restless stars. The night pulsed with quiet life, and in the background, a soft stream of old jazz trickled from a speaker tucked into a corner—scratchy saxophones and languid piano chords that curled around the silence.

It was a room built for control. Quiet, cold, and deliberate. But in moments like this, with the city glittering below and music breathing softly in the dark, it felt almost like a sanctuary.

“Sir,” his voice greeted Il-nam politely, almost automatically.

“Ah, Frontman,” the old man said with a faint smile, as though the title amused him more than it impressed. “Come, take a seat. Pour yourself a glass.”

In-ho nodded and moved without question, the routine familiar. He approached the liquor cart, noting how the labels were untouched since his last visit. He chose a bottle—one he suspected Il-nam expected him to—and poured carefully. No spills. No second guesses.

He sat beside the old man, in a matching leather chair that always felt a touch too yielding, too worn, as though it had been shaped by countless others before him. He removed his mask slowly, almost reverently, and placed it next to Il-nam’s golden owl. His mask looked clinical, geometric—designed to obscure. Il-nam’s, by contrast, radiated myth and menace. Even now, unmoving, it seemed to watch him.

For a moment, they said nothing. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was deliberate. Owned. Il-nam’s gaze remained fixed on the glowing skyline, a kingdom sprawling beneath his feet. The music—a low, aged jazz melody—hummed in the background like a ghost of another era.

Il-nam lit a cigar, the flick of his lighter echoing faintly in the still room. He didn’t ask, merely extended the box. A gesture not of hospitality, but of testing. In-ho accepted with a measured nod, striking a flame of his own. He inhaled, feeling his lungs burn.

“You know,” Il-nam said, voice soft but sure, “you’ve always been my most calculated soldier. The most loyal.”

The compliment hung in the air like smoke—sweet on the surface, but cloying underneath.

“It’s one of the reasons I’ve always liked you. Trusted you.” He took a long draw from his cigar. “And why, soon enough, this will all be yours.”

He gestured lazily with his glass, encompassing the room, the operation, the view—the illusion of power.

“But tell me, dear boy... do you still want it?”

Dear boy.

The words, though gently spoken, landed like a leash. Il-nam wasn’t asking permission. He was measuring resolve.

In-ho stared out at the city, at the flickering lights that once seemed full of possibility. Now, they looked distant. Cold.

“I do,” he said quietly. “I always did.”

“You like her. The Dancer,” Il-nam said flatly, not so much accusing as stating an unavoidable truth.

In-ho froze for a fraction of a second—just long enough for it to register. Of course, he should have known better than to expect privacy. Nothing escaped Il-nam, not in his world. The Host didn’t need to ask questions. He already knew the answers. Always had.

There was no use denying it. Not to him. He didn’t speak right away.

Instead, he let the silence settle, took a slow sip of his whiskey, and kept his eyes on the glittering skyline. But his mind had already drifted—back to the rooftop pool, to her. Midnight steam rising around them like ghosts. The bruises on her skin. The fury in her voice. The way she clung to him like she hated herself for needing him.

He’d stepped into the water, fully clothed, unable to stay away. They’d burned, both of them—on the edge of something dangerous, something inevitable. She’d dared him to feel. He had. Too much.

The memory still ached like a fresh wound. And yet, like all things with her, he buried it deep beneath the mask.

“It’s irrelevant where my affections lie, sir,” he said finally, voice clipped and composed. “What matters are the games.”

Il-nam gave a soft, breathy chuckle—not mocking, but close.

“Oh, my dear Frontman. There is still so much you do not understand.”

He leaned forward slightly, cigar pinched between two fingers, the ember glowing like an eye in the dark. His voice was calm, but his words were razors.

“When I die—and that day is fast approaching—there will be a power vacuum. The VIPs will sense it before the smoke even clears. They��ll circle like sharks. Each one more grotesque and ravenous than the last. And the thing about sharks,” he added, tapping ash into the crystal tray, “is they don’t respond to logic. They respond to blood, charm, seduction. Instinct.”

In-ho said nothing, but his jaw tensed.

“And the VIPs?” Il-nam continued, pausing for dramatic effect. “They’re enamored by her. Utterly. They watch her like she’s an eclipse—rare, dangerous, and beautiful enough to forget how dark the world gets when she’s near.”

He swirled the liquor in his glass, eyes not leaving In-ho’s face.

“You, on the other hand... you’re cold. Sharp. Detached. That’s what makes you perfect for this role. You don’t bend. You don’t bleed. But she? She could sell water to a dying man in a desert. And he’d thank her for the privilege.”

There was a beat of silence before In-ho responded. His voice was calm, but edged now. Controlled—barely.

“What exactly are you trying to imply, sir?”

Il-nam exhaled, the smoke curling like a spell around his words.

“Oh, I’m not implying anything, my boy. I’m telling you. You need her. Or someone like her. But preferably her.”

He looked at In-ho now, finally. Really looked. The smile on his lips was gentle, almost paternal. But there was steel behind it. Calculation.

“You may hold the leash soon, but don’t fool yourself—you’ll still need to lead the pack. And they won’t follow a statue. No matter how perfectly carved.”

In-ho looked away again, glass resting on the arm of the chair, half-forgotten. His reflection stared back at him in the window—sharp-suited, expressionless, hollowed by years of serving something he barely understood. Beside him, Il-nam’s presence loomed like a fading god still pulling strings from the edge of death.

Maybe this was another test. Or maybe it was already too late to resist what the old man was orchestrating.

“I’ll do what’s required,” In-ho said quietly.

Il-nam smiled, pleased. He always was when people said exactly what he expected them to.

“I know you will.” Il-nam’s voice was calm, composed—until a dry cough broke through, shaking his frame. He waved it off with a trembling hand, then continued, eyes glinting with old amusement. “She was meant for you, you know. I saw her that night—drenched in someone else’s blood—and I thought, Yes. She’ll need taming, of course. But who better to handle that fire than my Hwang In-ho? Someone who won’t be threatened by the blaze. Someone she can push against without burning the whole operation to the ground.”

He said it like a compliment. Like it was a clever match he’d orchestrated from the start. A blade paired with a steady hand. Fire to thaw the ice—but not melt it. It had been three years since that night. Since Il-nam had plucked her from chaos and offered her a place in his empire. And every day since, she had proven herself—intelligent, ruthless, magnetic. A perfect match, the old man believed. Not just for the game, but for In-ho.

And In-ho hated it.

Hated the way Il-nam spoke of her—as if she were a weapon to be wielded, a pawn to be positioned. A beautiful, dangerous thing meant to be managed. But he couldn’t deny the truth behind it. The appeal. The way fire and ice sparked when they collided. The way she looked at him—not with fear, but with challenge. And how, despite everything, he kept coming back.

Even he couldn’t lie to himself anymore. Not about what he felt.

“So do something about it,” Il-nam said, voice dipping lower now, sharper. “Because while you hesitated… the Salesman didn’t. And he’ll fight tooth and nail to keep her.”

“Sir, with all due respect... he’ll get bored. A month, tops.”

In-ho wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Il-nam—or himself.

Because for all Gong Yoo’s many faults, boredom had never looked like this. In all the years In-ho had known the man, he had never seen him so consumed by anyone. Not a player, not a contact, not even a target. And that? That unsettled him.

Because if the Salesman’s loyalty started to bend beneath the weight of this growing obsession, if she became the exception—then they were all standing on thin ice with fire licking at their heels.

“Maybe,” Il-nam replied, with a shrug that felt too casual. “Maybe not. But never underestimate someone like him. The second you do, you wake up with a knife in your back.”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes sharpening with age-worn precision. “He doesn’t hesitate. And he doesn’t miss. You, of all people, should know that.”

The words struck like a match across old wounds. Designed to provoke. To stir the memory.

And it did.

The image came unbidden—his wife, frail and fading. A hospital bed they couldn’t afford that reeked of antiseptic and too many goodbyes. A transplant they never reached. The waitlist stretched into forever, and they had no money, no time. He remembered the way her fingers would clutch his sleeve in the middle of the night when the pain grew too much. The way she’d whisper that it was okay to let go if he had to. That she could bear the pain, as long as their child lived.

And then, the man at the station. The smile, too polite. The voice, too smooth. A simple game. A simple offer. One that had rewritten everything.

Gong Yoo had offered him a miracle.

And when In-ho came back?

There was nothing left. Only ashes. A funeral. A child he’d never hold. A man he barely recognized in the mirror. And the Salesman—still watching, still smiling—as if he had known all along that this was exactly how it would end.

A part of In-ho would always blame him. For presenting the choice. For knowing the weakness. For seeing the rot before In-ho even admitted it was there. He had exploited it with precision. And it didn’t matter that now, as Frontman, In-ho outranked him. Didn’t matter that in less than a year, he would be Host—superseding every operation the Salesman had ever touched.

Because every time they met, every time that smug smirk crossed his lips, In-ho saw it. The truth.

Gong Yoo remembered the man he used to be.

And In-ho would be damned if he let that man take her.

Headquarters ; 01:30 AM ; the training center 

The training center was silent, save for the soft, ambient hum of recessed LED lights lining the ceiling. The air inside was cool and sharp, climate-controlled and pristine. Every surface gleamed—polished steel, matte black floors, smooth concrete walls. Sleek. Minimal. Efficient.

It was a space built for precision, not comfort. The kind of place where noise felt out of place, where even footsteps seemed too loud.

At the center of the room was a state-of-the-art sparring ring, its floor a stretch of smart fabric capable of tracking movement and impact in real time. The ropes were taut, clean, reinforced with carbon fiber. Cameras were mounted unobtrusively in the corners, always watching, recording every jab, dodge, and fall.

Along the perimeter, modern gym equipment stood in sharp lines—treadmills, resistance rigs, weight racks, and combat simulators, all sleekly designed in monochrome tones. Digital panels blinked softly on each machine, ready to scan IDs and log sessions automatically.

The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and ozone—clean, controlled, like a lab meant for violence. Not a trace of sweat lingered. Any sign of effort or exertion was erased almost instantly by the facility’s ventilation and sanitation systems.

Every mark left here was temporary. Every drop of blood, cleaned before it dried. Here, the pain was calculated. Efficiency was sacred. Weakness wasn’t mocked, it was corrected.

Her and Gong Yoo had been sparring for over two hours now, locked in a relentless rhythm inside the ring. Sweat clung to their skin, but neither seemed eager to stop. The space around them faded into the background. It was just the two of them, circling, dancing, daring.

The air was thick with heat and adrenaline, despite the sterile chill pumped in by the overhead vents. Their breath came in sharp, steady bursts. Their sweat slicked the floor beneath them, pooled in the hollow of their spines, dripped down the curve of her jaw and the arch of his collarbone.

And still, they didn’t stop.

Each time she came close, just inches from landing a blow, Gong Yoo slipped away like silk through her fingers. His movements were infuriatingly fluid, all lean grace and unearned ease. He dodged not just her fists, but the rules. He played with her. And yet, she refused to back down. That was the thing about her—she didn’t surrender. She sharpened.

Their match was no longer just sparring—it was a storm waiting to break. Sweat and friction and something deeper that neither of them dared to name.

“Again, princess,” he said, voice low and maddeningly smug as he sidestepped her roundhouse. “The second you actually hit me, we can go home.”

His voice echoed in the high-ceilinged space, cutting through the silence like a blade. She landed hard on her feet, pivoted fast, and glared. Her ponytail whipped over her shoulder like a challenge.

She rolled her eyes, resetting her stance. “You do realize no one’s calling you ‘home,’ right?”

He smirked. “Yet you’re still here, chasing me like a lovesick schoolgirl.”

Their movements were sharp, controlled—like a tango with consequences. Footwork, counters, sidesteps. Each strike felt rehearsed, but only because they had done this so many times before. Gong Yoo’s style was all cocky grace and calculated evasion. He didn’t fight fair, and he didn’t need to.

So she adapted. She stopped aiming for perfection—and started aiming to win.

She moved—fast, sharp, untelegraphed. A fake-out high, then a sweeping low kick. He jumped, barely clearing it, landing with a grin. His breath hitched slightly, but he covered it with laughter.

Their fight had turned into something else entirely. A rhythm. A seduction. The space between them thrummed with energy—charged, magnetic, volatile.

Her next blow was wild—not clean, but close. It grazed his shoulder, enough to twist him off-balance for the first time all night. He recovered with a spin, teeth bared in a grin that looked far too satisfied.

“Oof,” he teased, shaking out his arm. “Was that desperation I felt? Or are you just dying for an excuse to touch me?”

“If I wanted to touch you,” she snapped, voice breathless and biting, “you wouldn’t still be standing.”

“Is that a threat,” Gong Yoo asked, stepping forward slowly, deliberately, “or a promise?”

She smirked. “Depends. You planning on dodging that too?”

She didn’t back down. Not an inch. Her eyes burned into his—furious, electric, locked in. “Depends. You planning on running from that too?”

He chuckled, but there was something darker in his eyes now—something focused. Intense. “I’d be stupid not to. You hit like you mean it. Like you hate me.”

“I do,” she said, without missing a beat.

He tilted his head, almost admiring her. “Funny. You fight like you want me to stay.”

Their breath mingled now—fast, hot, clouding the inches of air between them. His chest rose and fell in time with hers, soaked through and heaving. Her fists were still raised, but her fingers were twitching—ready, waiting.

“You’re insufferable,” she said.

“I know,” he replied, soft and low. “But you like that.”

She stepped in, faked a right, then threw her elbow—fast, brutal, aimed for the side of his jaw. He caught it with one hand, inches from his face. Their skin met—damp, electric. A breath passed between them.

A heartbeat.

His fingers curled around her arm, not tight—but firm. His thumb traced the inside of her wrist, just once. Barely there. Like a secret.

“You’re good,” he murmured.

“I know,” she said.

Gong Yoo leaned in, just enough to feel the heat of her skin. “But I’m still better.”

Her smirk was sharp as a blade. “Then stop talking and prove it.”

His laughter still echoed through the training center, low and infuriatingly pleased with himself, when she moved.

Not to strike. Not to fake. To finish it.

She didn’t lunge with a punch. She closed the space with purpose—shoulder brushing his chest, lips parted, breath hot from exertion and something far more dangerous. Her body pressed against his, slick with sweat, every inch of her radiating heat and intent.

He opened his mouth—probably to drop another smug line—and that’s when she kissed him.

It wasn’t soft.

It was a collision of mouths and months of games. Of too many nights spent circling each other like loaded guns and not nearly enough time spent unloading the tension between them.

She bit his bottom lip, just enough to make him hiss, and then twisted her hips, hooking her leg behind his. Caught completely off-guard, Gong Yoo hit the mat with a thud that echoed off the polished walls, sharp and satisfying.

By the time he registered what had happened, she was already on top of him—thighs straddling his waist, hands pinning his wrists to the mat above his head. Her breath was ragged, her pulse racing through her skin like a war drum.

“Still think I’m slow, Salesman?” she panted, smirking down at him.

Gong Yoo looked up at her with a familiar heat in his eyes—half impressed, half aroused, and entirely hers for the moment. His shirt clung to him, soaked through, his chest rising against her thighs. That sharp jaw, always clenched when he was trying not to give in, was now slack with something caught between restraint and the urge to ruin her.

“You cheated,” he growled, wrists flexing beneath her grip.

“No,” she said, leaning closer until her lips brushed his again, “I know how to play you.”

He bucked his hips—just enough to make her grip tighten, enough to feel the tension snap taut between them. “You’re cocky for someone who usually ends up on their back.”

“I like being on top,” she whispered, voice wicked in his ear.

He grinned, all teeth and threat. “So do I.”

Then, in a blur of movement, Gong Yoo twisted his wrists free and rolled, slamming her into the mat beneath him with a guttural sound ripped straight from his throat. Now he was on top—legs bracketing her hips, one hand pinning both of hers, the other tangled in her hair. His grip was firm, strong enough that if he squeezed any harder, it would bruise. 

His face hovered just above hers, their noses nearly brushing, his breath ragged and hot. “You think I forgot what your mouth tastes like?” he rasped. “You’re playing with fire, little girl”

She bit her lip, her legs shifting beneath him, wrapping around his waist with slow, deliberate pressure, pulling him closer into her. “If you miss it so much…” her voice dropped, husky, breathless, “take it.”

His mouth crashed into hers again, this time without hesitation.

It was all tongue and teeth, frustration and hunger. Gong Yoo’s mouth devoured her, one of his hands mapping her body like he already knew the terrain but needed to rediscover every inch, finally settling on her hip bone, gripping into the soft skin hard. She kissed him back with equal ferocity, biting down on his lip until he groaned into her mouth.

They didn’t break for air. Not at first.

Because that was how they fought best. Not with fists or strategies. With dominance. With surrender. With a desperation they only ever allowed to surface when it was just the two of them, locked in a room where no one could see the truth behind the masks.

Her voice broke the moment between kisses, low and breathless. “You’re stalling, psycho killer. What happened to going home after I landed a hit?”

His lips ghosted down her neck, his breath scorching. “Who said we were leaving yet?”

And just like that, the sparring match was long forgotten.

In one smooth, unrelenting motion, Gong Yoo was back on his feet, dragging her with him like she weighed nothing. Her legs were still wrapped tight around his waist, her hands locked around his shoulders, and a startled gasp slipped from her lips before she could catch it.

“Hey!” she started, but it died on her tongue when she saw the look in his eyes.

Predatory. Determined. Starving.

He smirked, that maddening, slow curl of his lips that always meant trouble. “No need to thank me,” he said, breath warm against her jaw. “Just figured I’d be a gentleman and help you clean up, princess.”

Before she could snap back, he was already striding across the floor with her still clinging to him—carrying her like a victory. Every step jostled her against him, the friction of his body between her thighs sending sparks straight through her core. She clenched tighter on instinct, and he hissed softly, eyes narrowing like a man walking willingly into a fire.

He shoved open the shower room door with one shoulder, steam from earlier sessions still clinging to the tiles like ghosts. The scent of heat and sweat clung to the air—intimate, heavy, charged. The sound of water still dripping from one of the nozzles echoed in the background like a slow, steady heartbeat.

“You’re filthy,” Gong Yoo muttered, pressing her back against the nearest sink counter. “Wouldn’t want to send you home covered in sweat and attitude.”

“Then put me down,” she said, smirking despite herself.

“I plan to,” he murmured. “Eventually.”

With deliberate slowness, he set her down atop the sink’s cool marble edge—his hands lingering on her thighs, thumbs pressing just hard enough to make her shiver. He stood between her knees, chest heaving, heat radiating off him like a second skin. His hands slid up, unbuttoning her shirt with fluid ease, like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Because he had.

She watched him through half-lidded eyes, breath catching as each button slipped free, revealing skin beneath fabric, inch by inch. His gaze dragged over her like a physical touch, lingering on every old bruise, every fresh mark he’d half-forgotten he left.

“You always look best like this,” he murmured, voice low and dark. “Wrecked. Smirking. About to lose control.”

“And you always talk too much,” she whispered, tugging his shirt open in one sharp movement, buttons scattering across the tile. He flinched, not in pain, but in pleasure.

He stepped closer, pressing her back slightly against the mirror, hands finding her waist, gripping tight.

“I think you like when I talk,” Gong Yoo growled against her neck. “Especially when you’re like this—wet and trembling and pretending you're still in control.”

She dragged her nails down his chest. “Try me, psycho.”

He did.

His mouth was on her collarbone, then her throat, trailing heat in his wake. Every kiss was a claim. Every bite a threat. The mirror behind her fogged with the rising heat, her breath smearing across the glass as he pressed harder, deeper, pulling another gasp from her lips.

She reached between them, fingers already undoing his belt, and he caught her wrist mid-motion, holding it firm.

“I’ll take care of that,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “You’ve done enough damage for one night.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she whispered back, breathless. “I’m just getting started.”

And then he kissed her—really kissed her—his mouth crashing into hers with enough force to make her head tip back. His grip on her hips tightened, and she responded in kind, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into her like she could fuse their bodies through sheer will.

Without another word, Gong Yoo moved again—deliberate, controlled, commanding. He turned one of the showers on, steam immediately hissing into the air as hot water spilled from the nozzle, fogging the glass and beading against the polished tiles. The room filled with heat, the sterile cold replaced by something carnal, heavy, undeniable.

Then he was back on her, peeling off the rest of their clothes with a carelessness that made it clear: he wasn’t interested in ceremony. Shirts, pants, underthings—all discarded in a tangled pile on the floor, forgotten, like everything else that wasn’t this.

With practiced ease, Gong Yoo lifted her again, arms locked under her thighs as he carried her into the cascading stream. The moment her back met the shower wall, she gasped at the contrast—the cool tiles against her spine, the scalding water pouring over their skin, and him, pressed between her legs like he belonged there.

His mouth found hers again in a kiss that was all tongue and hunger, the kind that left no room for air or thought. She arched into him, body slick with water and need, her fingers digging into the nape of his neck as if she could anchor herself against the force of him.

“You’re insatiable,” she purred against his lips, her voice a breathy tease laced with challenge.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes dark, jaw tight. “And you’re a goddamn menace.”

His hands gripped her hips as he pushed her harder against the wall, the muscles of his forearms flexing with restraint he was barely holding onto. Her soft curves molded to the hard lines of his body—the planes of his chest slick against her breasts, her thighs tightening around his waist with every shift of his hips.

Gong Yoo’s hand slid up her side, a featherlight touch that barely grazed her ribs, her waist, the underside of her breast—enough to drive her mad. She whimpered, low and needy, pushing against him, trying to chase the contact he was withholding with maddening precision.

The disapproving moan she gave made his lips curl into a wicked smile.

“Patience,” he murmured, voice low and rough in her ear. “You’re always in such a hurry to come.”

Her head dropped back with a soft growl, water trickling down the column of her throat. “And you’re always playing games.”

He ghosted his mouth down her neck, tongue flicking over the pulse hammering beneath her skin. “Because I know how much you hate losing.”

His fingers finally dipped lower, teasing the inside of her thigh, finally settling on her core rubbing it with his thumb with maddening slowness. Her whole body tensed, suspended between need and anticipation, every nerve ending alight and screaming for more.

“I swear to God, if you don’t—”

He silenced her with a rough kiss, one hand gripping her jaw as he deepened it, claiming her mouth like it was his to own.

“I will,” Gong Yoo growled between kisses. “But not until I hear you beg for it.”

Her moan was a curse, her nails dragging down his back. “You're evil.”

“You knew that the first time you let me touch you,” he whispered, lips brushing her ear. “And you still came back.”

And she had. Again and again.

Because no matter how sharp the fight, how brutal the burn—they always came back.

The sound of the water masked everything—the moans, the gasps, the soft thud of bodies against tile. Gong Yoo’s breath was ragged against her neck, his hand finally sliding lower, slipping past the place where teasing became something else entirely.

She was clinging to him, her head thrown back, legs wrapped tight around his waist, both of them drowning in the heat and the pressure of everything they refused to name.

They didn’t hear the door open.

Didn’t hear the footsteps.

Didn’t see the man standing there—until it was far too late.

Hwang In-ho froze in the threshold, a wall of stillness in a room thick with steam and sin. The heat hit him first—the blast of humidity, the scent of sweat and sex in the air—but it was the sight that carved the air from his lungs like a blade.

Her.

Pinned to the shower wall.

Her back arched, her lips parted in ecstasy, arms wrapped around Gong Yoo’s neck like he belonged there.

Gong Yoo—bare, soaked, inside her like it was his right.

In-ho didn’t speak.

Didn’t shout.

He moved.

The rage was silent. Cold. Controlled. It boiled behind the impassive set of his face, behind the dead calm of his eyes. Before either of them could register his presence, he was on them.

In a blur of motion, In-ho ripped Gong Yoo off her, fingers digging into his shoulder and yanking him back with brutal force. She let out a shocked cry as Gong Yoo stumbled, still slick from the water, barely catching his balance before—

One hand grabbed the bastard by the shoulder, tearing him away from her like ripping flesh from bone. The other curled into a fist and swung. The punch landed with a sickening crack—jaw, bone, blood. Gong Yoo’s head snapped to the side, body slamming into the tile wall, water spraying violently around them.

In ho drove his knuckles into Gong Yoo’s face with brutal precision—left, right, again, again—each strike more savage than the last. His fist collided with flesh and cartilage, splitting skin, bursting blood across the pale tiles.

His chest heaved. Water poured down his face, mixing with sweat, blood, and something darker—everything he had buried beneath the mask for years.

Grief. Jealousy. Guilt. Rage.

All of it.

And in the shattered silence, In-ho stood over him, soaked, shaking, hands clenched—his heart pounding like a war drum.

He didn’t speak.

There was nothing left to say.

[xephyras]

' A Second Reflection '

MDNI. 18+ ONLY.

a/n: i fear i possibly cooked with this? idk, i wrote it in like 2 hours. first cillian murphy centric smut kinda goes hard.

btw: that new M. Night Shyalaman movie ‘Trap’ sucks. It's basically slutty Josh Hartnett being a dad with mommy issues and everyone not doing their job.

Second, yes, this is fucking diabolical and will in fact be better because I am amazing at writing darker shit.

Third, yes, this is because I watched Red Eye again on my Roku at 1 a.m in my duplex. (Sorry to my upstairs neighbor if you heard my tv.)

warnings: DUB/NONCON. dead dove do NOT eat, 18+, evil!dom!stalker! jackson rippner and sub! reader. jackson rippner is an actual villain, not bastardized, rough sex, unprotected p in v, breeding kink from rippner, dumbification (once again my weakness), heavy degregation, spit kink, biting kink, just overall really mouthy rippner, major power play kink, size difference if you squint, bruising, hickeys, break in, choking, hair pulling, slapping, mirror kink, blood kink, also, jackson rippner is like lowk pathetic bcz, yk... men whining.

word count: 4.18k

NOT proofread, I apologize in advance for any errors or mistakes!

"Keep your eyes on me, slut. I want to see your face while I fuck you.” He barked out, straining on your hair again as he pulled you up.

Darkness filled the room you sat in comfortably, your dust-covered mirror shimmering softly in the cinnamon candles you had lit a few minutes before. Duvet covered pulled up to your chest, and legs shuffling under with a comfort that always seemed to await you, you felt entirely serene.

The day was as usual boring, mostly spent inside working from home, taking a few calls, and mellowing around in your pajamas. These days seem to muddle together into one big mix, but it was nothing you fret over. It was rather comforting compared to the busy streets which bustled from the early hours of dawn to the peak of the night.

Only thing you would say that pinched wildly at your relaxation like a child on St. Patrick's day seeing a person not wearing green, was the overwhelming feeling of a set of prying eyes on you. However, this had become realtively common since you played that damned mirror in front of your bed.

You commonly had liked to rearrange your room; especially on the late nights where your shitty sleep schedule caught up, giving bursts of energy late at night. Hence, you assumed it was your paranoia playing a hopscotch game with you.

Nevertheless, you found the serenity of your window open, blowing a soft wind in, rather comforting. Leaving the blinds open often to let the orange sunset light in, you simply would stare until it went dark at times. Being on the first floor of your home, too, passerby's were actually much more fun to look at than you realized. ‘People-watching’, as some would call it.

However, in this night specifically, the warm breeze flushing onto your shoulders felt rather omniscient of some warning it communicated. You didn't get it, but something irked you. To deprive yourself of your own time, you simply read a book, traveling your mind into the world of your favorite reads.

Conversely, your brain pried at you. Thinking it was simply a lack of sleep, especially because it was now around a quarter after midnight, you set the hard book down. It was a hot night, you might as well have left your window open. After all, it was a safer neighborhood.

After blowing out the residue of your melted candles, you covered the rest of your body with the duvet. Serenity at last, you thought. Gently shutting your eyes, you simply wandered off mentally.

Despite being a rather heavy sleeper, you woke within a few hours to a sense of hefty paranoia. Your eyes couldn't even adjust at first to the darkness and the heaviness of them. Wiping your tiredness away, you peered into your mirror questionably.

The window you leave open, which usually shines in the dim moonlight, was almost blocked? Almost like a shadow. Slowly turning your head to your window to assume it was just your brain, you suddenly saw.

With your heart and sleepiness practically leaping out of your throat in a stiffled yell, shoved the covers off you, preparing to defend your every move. It wasn't just a fucking dark shadow, an entire, short, but rather wide looking silhouette of a man stood quietly, almost mannequin like, against your window sill.

“What the— What the fuck. What the fuck?!” You suddenly screeched out as loud as your throat could allow, the burning of your vocal chords was anything but sensational.

A deep chuckled emerged from the silhouette, shoulders bouncing somehow in a threatening manner. He held something in a pocket of a sweater, of course.

“You need to calm down before I slit your goddamn throat right here.” He suddenly sneered.

You were absolutely frozen, eyes wide with tears you didn't feel even forming. Hands bundled into fists in front of you futily, shaking like you were about to have a seizure.

He stood entirely still once more, practically observing you like some doctor. You decided haphazardly to stand onto your mattress, trying to get a better advantage of higher ground, more area to attack if he did decide to run at you.

“You— need to get the fuck out! Now!” You screamed at the end, trying to not simply break down sobbing. With purpose, your eyes scanned across your room for some weapon.

“I said calm down!” He suddenly grunted out, stomping with one long stride towards you. His palm latched itself to your ankle, dragging you from your sudden position, your head hitting the wall as you fell onto your spine.

A burning familiar to that of a minor concussion filled your senses, a stiffled sob leaving your throat as your vision filled with a dark white, if even possible. Ringing filled your ears as you felt yourself get dragged practically to lay on your stomach, facing your mirror.

He suddenly muttered almost to no one but himself, “You know, you're fucking pathetic. Can't even hold a good fight. All you do is sit—”

A grunt left his throat as he forced his sweater off, tosing it to the side. “And do absolutely nothing. You're a lazy bitch, you should be grateful I’m doing this.” He whispered into your ear, his stubble tickling along your jaw.

Desperately despite your mingling pain in your brain which seemed to radiate to your neck, you flipped yourself to your side, hands raising to try and fling themselves at him. You simply found his hand, calloused and rough, gripping a lump full of your hair, tangling it into his hand. He shoved your head into the mattress, unable to move.

“Stop fighting me, it's useless, whore.” He cursed out to you, a hint of lingering amusement in his poisoned words.

He certainly was talkative. “God, finally able to touch you after so long. You know, I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to do this.” He chuckled out, his voice was unforgivingly soothing while his hands gripped your head like a vice, and forcing the other to grope, pinch, and slap at your back and ass.

Wanting to have his fun, of course. “You need to do more. You're too… lazy. Maybe I’ll fuck a good baby into you, make you mine.” Sneering his voice next to your jaw, licking suddenly. The mixed smell of his aftershave and mahogany-esque cologne was all you tried to focus on.

Your head was utterly pounding, a slight ring in your eardrums forcuing yourself to feel even more of a head ache. Along with his snagging hand forcing you to the bed, and other groping you grotesquely, all you felt was utter pain and despair.

With as much energy as you could have put, you screamed out. Surely someone in this blasted neighborhood would hear. Screaming your pleas of help, Jackson tugged on your hair tight, snapping your neck back and cutting those yells off with a simple yelp into the air like an injured dog.

He dragged his hand from your lower back to your neck, shaking and wet from your tears which stained where he previously pushed you down. With force, he grabbed your neck tight, cutting your blood, but not air off.

“For someone so fucking lazy, only thing you can do right now is put your vocals to use? I will stab you right here and make it look like a suicide. Do yourself a favor and stop gambling with your life.” He enunciated, using his lips to drag themselves along the surrounding area of your ear.

A choke left your throat as the blood rushed back to your brain, the dazy and numb feeling leaving your pained head. You simply felt yourself get flipped to your back, finally being able to see some of the man's face.

He was unfortunately one of the most handsome men you had seen. A sharp jaw, stubbled beard he kept recently, piercing blue eyes. God, why did he have to be doing this?

“Stop it! I'll give you money! Please just stop!” You rasped out with desperate sobs, feeling yourself tears reach to your collarbones. Your nose was running heavy, and lips soaked with your own drool . You didn't care. You were focused enough the fact this man was in your home, hurting you.

His demeanor seemed suddenly much more gentle, but falsely. Like a lion acting gentle as it slowly prides itself up to its prey. His knees trapped around one of yours, holding you tight. With one of his hands, he held your chin now.

Leaning into your wet and puffy face as he smirked, he finally tantalizingly reached his lips to your jaw. “The more you plead, the harder I’m gonna get, and the longer I’ll use you.”

Finally leaning back, he raised his hand to your cheek and slammed it down, hard. A sound only described as a clap released itself along your bedroom walls, swinging your head to the side. Pain radiated harshly though your cheek, hot and burning.

He chuckled at this and leaned down his lips to your heaving neck, using his hands to stabilize himself on either side of your head. Wanting to have a bit of fun with his food so to speak, he licked. Starting at your collarbone, leading itself up to your jugular with silent breaths.

When he did reach, he bit down harshly, hard enough to draw blood, but not hard enough to severely hurt you. A loud shriek left your throat like some horror movie character, your hands flinging up to pull his hair away and desperately claw.

A pained groan left his throat, but he smiled. Finally getting a better view at his face, teeth slightly pink from your neck and his silky hair feeling like knives in your hands suddenly, you realized couldn't even fight him.

Pausing his actions, he developed a nasty sneer of his face, suddenly spitting a glob at your cheek, grabbing your wrists tight enough you knew it'd bruise. Crashing them down into the bed beside you, he dipped his head down once more to your bleeding neck.

Teeth sank into your skin like marshmallows in an out, ranks of pain radiating from your tailbone all the way to the top of your head like you were in a house fire. All you could hear was the ringing of your blasted ears, his heavy breathing and whines, and the shuffle of the duvet.

“God, you taste so fucking good.” He hummed out, licking up the residues and admiring your skin like some sort of art project he made, one he'd surely put on the fridge.

“You know…” he finally leaned back, resting on his knees which trapped you into his touch.

“I've been watching you for a while—before tonight.” Jackson hummed contently, his raspy whisper leaking itself into your ears like honey.

“Especially because… you don't know when—” he spoke, getting up to close the open window. You knew you should've taken it as a chance, but you were frozen. He adjusted your whimsy curtains above it.

“—when to close your goddamn window. It's been such a joy to watch you, you know that? Every morning, you laying in your bed practically refusing to get up… all the way to laying yourself down, leaving it open to feel the breeze.” He chuckled finally at his last words, almost as if to nonverbally stupidly you.

Your head was pounding, the previously persistent ringing now dying down to a simple static noise, deep in your brain. Choked sobs left your throat, your chest heaving with every breath. Barely even being able to see due to the cloudiness of your wet tears, you blinked frantically.

“My boyfriend will be home so—” you attempted to sneer out, getting cut off with a vocal scoff.

“You need to learn how to stop lying, baby.”

Almost as if tantalizing your stupid word choice, he grazed his fingertips up and down your torso, riding your tank top up slightly with every stroke. His breath—you noticed—was heavier, his chest rising and falling every movement.

With a solid hiss, he forced your tank top off you, to which of course to his not-so-very-big-suprise, revealing your bare chest. After watching you for a while, he noticed you would most of the time wear either nothing, or a tank top, maybe paired with some underwear, usually black or navy. Rare occasions, maroon.

A deep chuckle poured out his throat as his rough hands went to your breasts, cupping and kneading them like dough. It hurt, clearly because he had no intent of making you even feel anything. He just craved you like a wolf craved a little sheep. Cries of pain left your throat, trying to claw your hands at his to no avail.

Your hips and legs wouldn't budge as he sat right on them, your head hurt too much to move, your arms like noodles from the sheer anxiety and shock you felt. To this, he laughed in a false-lit pity. Pinching at your nipples, he made sure to leave you as sensitive as possible, with intent to make you cry even more.

Exult filled his icy eyes as his hands dragged themselves down your belly, massaging your sides and hips like fresh bread. It tickled, somehow—the way he moved his hands now around the waistband of your underwear.

They were a deep navy blue, however looked black in this dark room. Shakily exhaling, Jackson dipped his fingers across the line of your clothing, before quickly pulling them clean off, the fabric resting on your shaking legs.

Another shrill howl left your raspy throat, trying to wriggle your hips out of his body weight. He bellowed back quietly in mock, anger mustering his tone. Another hard, cranial slap landed on the side of your head.

“Shut the fuck up.” He berated now; amusement present.

“I’ve always dreamed of this… even nights I didn't sleep.” he cooed out, coaxing one of your hands to his crotch.

You sneered out a messy cry as he pressed your hand to his tented pants, feeling his cock practically throbbing. His breath left his lips shakily as he forced your hand to feel him. Conversely, he kept his hand tight on your hips, not covered finally.

Finally smacking your hand back, he shimmied off the pants he had on after unbuttoning them. He didn't care to pull them all the way down, why not make it a quickie—you know?

“You look like such a whore right now…” he cooed out almost an octave higher, those threatening eyes gazing daggers at you.

An idea suddenly formed in his head as he looked up to himself in the mirror across from your bed. A toothy smile like a sharks spread across his jaw. Piercing his eyes back down, he grunted, flipping you into your stomach once more.

“I want you to see your stupid fucking face while I use you.” he blazed out, sharply snapping your head up by a chunk of your hair.

Your face was a mess. Puffy red eyes, red nose and cheeeks. Entirely wet with tears and snot. Not to mention, you looked absolutely devastated, which was expected, but not this bad.

A choked wail left your throat as you heard his pants shimmy down slightly, and felt his boxers, and clothed cock resting against your pussy. In response, he cooed under his breath. His hand pressed harshly into your lower back.

“It's a shame I haven't done this sooner, you cry like a fucking animal… it's so beautiful.” He mewled out to your face in the mirror rather than looking down at you.

Tearing down his boxers finally, you could hear his cock spring free and tap lightly on his stomach. He was of course hard, more than he had ever felt in a while. hence the fact he'd get off almost nightly thinking of you. Fucking into his fist with throaty groans, imagining it was your cunt instead.

A hearty sigh left his chest as he stroked himself a few times, the precum on his tip shining in the dim moonlight which simmered through the window. He made sure he was slow with his movements, not wanting to end this too fast.

“Keep your eyes on me, slut. I want to see your face while I fuck you.” He barked out once more, straining on your hair again as he pulled you up.

You let out a few whiny sobs, knowing you couldn't get out of this situation. Your scalp burnt. Gazing your eyes up to his face, you saw nothing but lust, and focus. The worst part was you knew he could get away with it.

“Please no— no, no, no, no!” You babbled out with purpose.l

"No, no, no, don't do this!” he mocked an octave higher, looking down to his leaking cock.

“Just sit still, you'll be fine, bitch.” He scoffed.

Lining himself up to you, he spat down on his cock, stroking himself a few more times to give less friction while he fucked you. Emitting a slight grunt, he finally leaned himself into your pussy, feeling your walls and savoring every inch he dove in.

A loud wail left your mouth, you felt like you were practically being split into 2 as he finally bottomed out. His cock was big enough to press hard against your cervix, the feeling was uncomfortable. Desperately, you tried to wriggle your hips off; nevertheless, he held your hips tight.

“I said be still, dumbass.” He hissed out, landing a loud spank on your ass, surely leaving it red.

“God, you feel so—” he enunciated his words, thrusting sharply into you. “So… fucking tight.” He finished his words, chuckling in the air at the end.

Placing his other hand on your hip and holding you steady, he started a rhythmic pace, slow and drawn out. Despite the slowness, he practically pounded into you as hard as he could, savoring your small cries with each stroke.

Craning his neck back to the ceiling, he gently shut his eyes and let his jaw fall open, babbling on in pleasure. A small curse left his lips, his eyes dipping back down to your ass which shook slightly with each thrust.

“Fuck… oh my God, you feel so good. You feel—” he enunciated his words more, sharply picking up the pace, the feeling of the tip of his cock hitting the bump of your cervix was intoxicating to him.

The pain was slightly settling down as he kept thrusting into you, your body naturally making yourself wet to lessen the friction. Almost shamefully, you couldn't lie and say it didn't feel good.

If anything, it felt phenomenal. After that pain settled, the feeling of his cock driving into you so deep—deeper than you'd ever felt—was shamefully pleasureful. Despite head still throbbing with his hand tight in it, and the fact you're still a sobbing mess, you couldn't help but whine out in this twisted pleasure.

You were ashamed, but it was better than feeling any sort of pain. To the sounds of your little cries turning into whimpers of pleasure, he laughed heartily, spanking your ass once more just to watch it shake.

“See? Now that you're being obedient, I don't have to hurt you anymore, bitch.” He leaned down, tantalizingly whispering.

As he kept his head next to yours, you couldn't help hear his heavy breath and the slight mewls leaving his throat, deep and pathetic, almost. From your hips, he ran his hands down to the small of your back, pressing your arch further down .

Darting out his tongue, he licked your jaw slightly, reminicsing his gaze over your bruised bite marks that finally stopped bleeding. Landing his tongue on your jugular once more, he planted rather soft kisses. Much better than biting, anyways.

He continued to kiss around the back of your neck and the sides, the stubble tickling you. The mix of this ticklish feeling and his hips pistoning into yours finally started to postpone your crying, leaving you in a whiny state.

“God, you really are a whore, huh? Getting fucking used and you're over here whining like a little puppy.” He slammed his hand down once more, making you yell loudly.

Grazing your eyes to the mirror, the sight you saw was definitely one you'll remember, both for the horrifying reason and one of the fact this man looked utterly pathetic for you. Higher sounding breaths, head dipped to the back of your neck with kisses, and hands kneading our ass.

His eyes pierced up to the mirror, making eye contact with your still wet and puffy eyes. Smirking softly at you, he turned his head from the mirror to the side of your face. Linking his lips with your earlobe, he started speaking.

“See how slutty you look right now? You love this…” he spoke in such a tantalizing way it made you shudder.

You could barely even keep your head up, resting it on the plush mattress as you kept letting you your small moans. Each thrust was pure and plain pleasure. Shockwaves sent up your spine and fogging up your brain.

It could've been the mix of anxiety and your head hitting the wall earlier, but you could barely do anything but moan out in bliss mixed with agony. He leaned back up, flicking his hair back with a jerk of his neck.

The idea popped in his head to reach his hand down finally under your hips, keeping one on your ass to hold you steady. Delicately, he rubbed slow, intricate circles with his index on your clit. Back arching further down with pleasure, you let out an almost pornographic moan.

“Oh, you like that…” he cooed rhetorically, cocking his head to the side as he observed your reaction almost clinically.

His hands moved almost masterfully on your clit, the nerves sending an overwhelming pleasure over your entire body. Your legs shook diabolically, toes curling. Trying your best to stifle how good it felt, you bit down harshly on your lip, feeling your lower stomach arise with a familiar feeling of pleasure.

A sudden, quiet moan left the bottom of his throat, an octave higher than any of the words he'd spoken to you. He even sounded hot, and it tormented you. You could tell he was close to cumming by the way his hips stuttered slightly, how vocal he was getting.

“Fuck… I didn't expect you to feel so— so good." he whined out, dipping down his head, holding your ass tight as he probably could've. It hurt, but not as bad as being bitten or slapped.

He quickly leaned his head back to the ceiling, mouth agape with small whines leaving his throat. With his hand still on your clit, you could actually feel yourself getting closer. The way he looked in the dark in that mirror was somewhat driving you crazy. Yet, you dared not look at yourself, feeling a shame that you think will never be cured.

“Oh— God… fuck, fuck, fuck,” he babbled out incoherently, suddenly burying his hips into you as deep as he could've gotten, dipping his torso down to bite harshly on your shoulder.

Somehow that was the tipping point for you, feeling that bite and his warm spurts of cum burst into you, foreign and good. Feeling your brain go numb and your mouth agape, your legs trembled heavily.

With that, a loud and drawn out whine left your puffy lips, your hands gripping the duvet sheets as tight as they could. He stood still besides the feeling of his cock still twitching inside of you.

His chest heaved heavily, pressing against your back tight as he popped his hips into you a few more times, just to fuck his cum into you. Leaning back up with a shaky groan, he examined the damage he did to you.

Bruised ass and hips, bites all over your shoulder and neck, slight blood, your crying face in the mirror, and despite all that: he made you cum. He was actually rather proud of himself for that, even though he swore he would just kill you after.

Biting his lip and pulling his cock out of you, stuffing himself inside his boxers once more, he began to speak.

“You're pathetic.” He hissed.

Buttoning his pants back up, he tore himself off that bed, leaving you alone in it. Picking up that sweater from off the floor and the knife he had stuffed in it, he examined you once more. He darted his eyes from the shiny knife to your body, shaky and limp, yet still crying.

“Can't even move now, huh? I dumbed you down real good…” he stepped over you, dragging the knife up and down your spine, watching the goosebumps it gave you.

“Too bad I can't kill you. Your cunt feels to good.” He whispered to your ear.

With that, he stuffed the knife back in his pocket and swung your bedroom door open. He would of course rather just leave through the front door. Turning back to your body, he chuckled.

“I’d prefer you leave your front door unlocked rather than your window.”

another a/n: i deeply apologize for how nasty this is! enjoy and take dark smut crumbs, my fellow jackson rippner lovers.

[nigelights]

The History of Nigel

don't know who that voice is on that one voicemail? or who did the 'how many days' intro? i'm here to help! this is a chronological order of appearances made by nigel, links to performances, and things said by tyler about nigel.

Nigel, better known as the 'Skeleton Bones Remain' voice, has been with the band for nearly 14 years now, minus his sudden disappearance after 2020/2021. His first officially documented appearance is in the Regional At Best web series, episode 5. Since then, he's been a large and integral part of the band's live performances, especially during the 'Quiet Is Violent' tour, where we were given more of a backstory to him as a character. physically, nigel is a light that blinks behind tyler during this set, blinking as he speaks.

this next part is talking about a concert where tyler introduces nigel, but we are also given backstory into nigel as a character.

tyler introduces him as 'nigel', saying that in the beginning of the set, they were introduced to the bands host, saying that he lives in a lightbulb. the timeline of nigel as a character during this is quite interesting, its stated that he has been married for 437/133 years, but nigel himself tells us that the music "isnt entirely the music i grew up with back in the day" he then goes on to say that what he grew up with, was anything by DJ Khalid. which is interesting but moving on, tyler uses nigels responses to play bits and pieces of songs, like bugatti, all i do is win. nigel requests tyler to play a song, and tyler says he wrote it for nigel, its the song he said he danced to with his wife at their wedding. the song played was "drunk in love" by beyonce and jay z, transitioning into "cant help falling in love", then into house of gold. this bit was played throughout the tour, the only changing fact being the city name.

i mention this fact because out of all of the lore characters in all of twenty one pilots, minus clancy/blurryface, torchbearer/spookyjim, this is the only character that has a fleshed out backstory thats mentioned, and the only character that makes consistant appearances over four eras. we know more about nigel than we do about the neds.

After the 'Quiet Is Violent' tour, moving into 'Tour De Columbus' and 'Emotional Road Show', is really where his appearances start becoming incredibly consistent. he begins to introduce josh, "hello and welcome to the show", became his signature line. we see this all the way up to bandito tour. where he makes a similar intro but changes it up a bit, "look out baby, its joshua dun!"

halfway through the trench era, a pop-up shop was created for Ned's Bayou, and with it came a phone number, (614)-389-9196, where nigel gives information about the shop in the voicemail, no lore or significance there.

but its the second phone number that popped up in the level of concern ARG, 1-(877)-LVL-CNRN, where we find lore and meaning into his message. "Hello, if you are receiving this message, you are most likely are currently experiencing Levels of Concern. We thank you for your participation and interest. We have hidden codes all around the internet for you to unlock new levels. Each level contain elements that could possess a clue to proceed to the next level. That is, only if you are savvy enough. We guarantee that this game is certainly madness, happiness, paranoia and fun. Good luck. That concludes our session. Thank you, have a pleasant day. ---------- it's hidden in the static."

he is also in the stream that came with the ARG, saying things like "we can help you." and "anxiety, confusion, excitement." "wonderful to see, mesmerizing, there is light if you look caref---" and he speaks out the lyrics to level of concern.

this can be counted as the last official lore-related appearance of nigel, as his only other appearance is in the promo ad for the twenty one pilots burrito. but, many of us hope for his return!

i am more than happy to answer any questions, comments, or concerns with this!! nigel is by far my fav character throughout all of the lore. i hope you enjoyed :)

[historia-jaeger]

The discussion about Jeankasa's canon status

This post is an update from this post here. I also refer to the same article again.

___ Mikasa's children are adopted: There are many fans who obviously don't want to see Jeankasa married and think Mikasa should love Eren until the end of her life. That's why Mikasa's children must also be adopted. The reason given is the bandage around Mikasa's wrist, which is supposedly seen on one of the manga pages.

Yes. It's true that Mikasa's mother gave her this Clan-mark when she was little. With the order to pass it on to her children. - But it wasn't said that she should take off her bandages after she has children. And then there is the question of whether she even wants to pass it on.

And look at the child at the grave and the child in Jean's dream. It's the same child. The man next to Mikasa can't be Jean: 1. The man is to tall for Jean: Apparently the man is too tall to be Jean. This picture is taken as evidence:

Of course, if I run on a sloping, mountainous landscape, then I am automatically taller than the person running one level below me. 2. The man is Armin: Supposedly the man is not Jean, but Armin, Mikasa's grief companion. Such images are used to confirm this thesis.

In the first picture, Armin's hair is being blown back by the wind. That's not a hairstyle. And the second picture shows Mikasa and Armin before the timeskip, where Armin still had this piss-pot cut and therefore significantly longer hair.

If we compare Armin and Jean to the man next to Mikasa... Which is more likely? That Armin stands next to Mikasa, who has a lighter hair color and recently had a short army cut, or Jean, whose hair color and hairstyle completely match his last hairstyle? Especially when you look at the proportions. Armin needs to grow a lot. Which is rather unlikely. The flower theory: 1. Mikasa's grave flowers: There are two different versions of the scene where Mikasa lies in the grave. In the manga, she lies in a bed as lilies. she has her hands folded in front of her chest. In the anime, Mikasa wears a ring on her ring finger and her grave is made of roses. These same roses are also on her chest.

The theory of the Antis states that the lilies in Mikasa's grave would represent her virginity. Qoute: They are chosen for both weddings and funerals and symbolize the renewal of the soul. They can represent purity, commitment and rebirth, so they are often used to express compassion. - Source These lilies could just as easily represent Mikasa's wedding to Jean. But it is more likely that they are grave flowers. The same with the white rose. 2. Flowers for Eren's grave: One theory is that Mikasa placed four roses on Eren's grave, which signify that nothing will come between them (the lovers). And yes. This meaning is also correct. This is supposed to be a sign that Mikasa won't have another man other than Eren. - Aside from the fact that this theory is a bit of an asspull, it's not even true. Those aren't four roses on Eren's grave.

I see a tulip and two sunflowers...

The chasety ring theory: If you look at the picture of Mikasa in her grave, you will notice that in the manga Mikasa doesn't wear a ring and in the anime she does. Is that a wedding ring? Antis think it's a chastity ring. Unfortunately, that can't work, because Attack on Titan obviously takes place in Germany. The last date I could record was the year 850. So the 9th century. Source

The “True Love Waits” movement, which also included the chastity ring, only became active in Germany in the 21st century. So in our current era. Source

The wedding ring already existed in the 9th century. However, it was more commonly worn by nobles. Which is why Mikasa didn't wear a wedding ring in the manga. Source In the AOT-Guidebook it´s stated that Mikasa's martial status is single: I don't have the book, but @mizzraynelly wrote the following: The Final Character Guidebook published on June 9th, 2021. No page mentions about Mikasa’s marital status, even her pages. It’s only birthdate, height, weight, and the Corps she belongs to. Other arguments: Other arguments revolve around theories that have not been proven and/or are difficult to refute. This includes statements like: Jean would never betray Eren by marrying Mikasa. Mikasa still loves Eren, because she still wears his scarf and has love lyrics engraved on his gravestone. Or that she had let burried her next to Eren, because she wants to be by his side forever... Jean may have realized that Mikasa loves Eren and respects that. However, he never made a statement that he would not marry Mikasa after Eren's death. I would like to see the proof.

But he often criticized Eren's behavior towards her. For example, when he tried to kill her as a Titan. So it's pretty unlikely that he wouldn't take his chance.

It is not certain where Mikasa was buried. You can only speculate, that her grave is next to Eren's. Therefore, this should not be presented as fact. She wrote the love lyric on Eren's gravestone in her grief. But that doesn't rule out a new love. And falling in love again doesn't automatically mean no longer loving the person who died. That's why she's welcome to walk around with her scarf. ___ Now that's how many theories I've dispelled? And on one topic. I wonder why people can't accept the obvious. Mikasa married Jean and had children with him. - Complete.

[silenzahra]

Okay, my friend. Since you said it would be okay to send you more asks, here I am!😁

I'd like to know your answers to 5 and 15.

And... this one may be a bit too much to ask and it's totally okay if you say no (with your 23 WIPs I can't blame ya for preferring to just focus on them instead lol), but in case you'd like to treat this as a fun quick challenge, can I add 1 and ask for Mario's POV for part of your fic An electrical aura?🥺🙏 Like, the beginning when he and Luigi are separated, before he gets knocked out.

No problem if you choose to only answer the first two. And let me add another reminder that it's always okay to take as much time as you need, and it's especially understandable if you take a bit longer in case you accept that last request as well❤️

Based on this fanfic ask game ✨

Yayyyy I'm so glad that you sent a second ask for this game, my beloved @megamagimugi! 😄💖

First of all, I'm sorry that this ask has been sitting in my drafts for about three weeks, but since you made such a special request, I thought it'd be worth it to take my time to respond to it 🤭 But first, lemme answer your questions!

5. What's something you learned while researching a fic?

A person can take less than an hour to be frozen to death when conditions are dangerous enough. You can easily guess what fic I was researching... and also that I obviously didn't apply this to it or else I'm afraid poor Mario would be an only child 😅

(Even though I didn't add any of this to the fic itself, I simply thought it'd make sense that things worked differently since Pi'illo Island is a fictional place that exists supposedly in another universe. So some things can work like they do on Earth while others don't.)

15. Does anyone you know in real life know you write fanfiction?

Only a couple of my friends, and in all honesty... it's not a subject I talk about with them that much 😅 As for my family, they have no idea, and I'd prefer it to stay this way lol (they already think I'm weird enough 💀).

1 - Write a scene from An electrical aura in Mario's POV.

Okay, Mugi. THIS is what has taken me longer. Not only because I've been busy, but also because I wanted to do this fic and our dear Mario justice, and write his perspective in a way that would be interesting.

And, taking into account what day is today (at least at our end hehe), I thought this would be the perfect chance to celebrate Mar10 Day and also...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY DEAR MUGI 🎂🎉🎊🥳🎁

I sincerely hope you'll enjoy this story! Thank you so much for sending this question, my beloved lost twin, as I've had SO MUCH FUN writing this 🤩❤️

@bberetd (if/when you can/want, my beloved bestie 🫂💖), @vulpixfairy1985 @pepperycar @smokszyvverstar @dragon-fly34 @luigixfanxayjay @eleventhhourfactor Tagging you in case you'd like to read this new perspective I wrote for one of my fics! 💖 (The original, full fic is right here, btw).

⚡ An electrical aura (Mario) ❤️

Mario doesn't like being separated from his brother.

It was hard enough having to watch that mechanical arm taking away the barrel Luigi had gotten into to try to help him unblock the door that would open up a new access for them in the mysterious Woohoo Hooniversity. Mario swallows hard as he remembers how his heart threatened to leap out of his body when his twin was snatched from his side and how his soul shrank at the shriek of alarm that Luigi emitted from inside the barrel.

This time, however, at least Mario has the comfort and relief of knowing that his little brother has freedom of movement, even if it has to be inside a building that has forced them to be separated.

The moment they came across that first barred door, Mario immediately understood, his heart heavy in his chest, that he was going to have to stay on this side while his sibling crossed it without him being able to follow. With his eyes shining with consternation at their imminent separation, Mario turned to Luigi. Coming face to face with his brother's glance, filled with the same feeling, Mario hastened to put on one of his many masks and composed a reassuring smile, berating himself for having shown, even if only for a second, discouragement in front of his twin.

It's not that he doesn't trust him. Of course he trusts Luigi's abilities. His younger sibling is agile, fast, intelligent and much braver than he himself believes. Mario has no doubt that he’ll be able to overcome any challenge, with or without his help.

He simply hates the idea of losing sight of Luigi for more than a few minutes, especially when they are in a hostile environment.

Sighing, the plumber puts a hand to his chest, which feels warm, serene and at peace at having recalled his brother in his mind. Luigi always has this effect on him, and at times like this, when everything around him is ice, Mario appreciates it more than ever.

Joke’s End really is a graveyard, inhospitable, cold and inhabited only by vermin. And by that strange blue girl who carries a scepter, although they haven't had much chance to interact with her. In all the time they’ve been traveling through the Beanbean Kingdom, neither of the brothers had heard of that girl who apparently lives alone in the most deserted and unpleasant place in the country. Why would she choose a place like this when the nation has beautiful, captivating areas like, for example, Chucklehuck Woods, Little Fungitown or Gwarhar Lagoon? Mario can't make sense of it. What he most wants right now is to leave this place, his hand holding his twin’s tightly, and never return.

But, at the moment, Mario remembers as he hugs himself, they have a mission to accomplish. He can’t worry about how tremendously alone he feels right now. Even though the sensation of loneliness is greater and more overwhelming than on all the previous occasions he’s experienced it in his life.

He just hopes he's nearing the end. He’s followed every rule and met every challenge as he came across them. He hasn’t tried to stray from the path that the place itself was indicating to him, despite having been tempted to try quite often. Also, after so long, he has once again fought his enemies alone, which felt strangely... alien. He doesn’t understand, as he’s used to doing so given the numerous adventures he’s undertaken alone.

But of course, this time, everything is different.

This time, since they arrived in the Beanbean Kingdom, Luigi has been by his side. They’ve battled together, joining their strengths, performing their combined attacks and watching each other's backs. More than once, Luigi has saved his life, and it’s thanks to him that he’s still breathing... and that he’s still human. If it weren't for his sibling, Mario might have already turned into a bean because of that mushroom he won in one of Little Fungitown’s games.

So, for him, having to fight alone again after having gotten used to always having his little brother with him...

Mario didn't like doing it. He didn't feel like himself. He didn't feel as... strong.

He longs to be reunited with Luigi more than ever. His twin gives him the strength he didn't know he needed. Together, they form an insuperable team. They are unstoppable. They are unbeatable.

Besides, he's had enough of seeing Luigi through a barred door or sensing his presence on the other side of a thick wall of ice and not being able to do anything to be reunited with him again. All those times when only iron separated them, Mario had to be content with placing his hands on those of Luigi, who clung tightly to the bars and gave him puppy eyes while pouting, breaking his heart and forcing him to make a harder effort to keep a serene smile on his lips.

“Soon we’ll be together, Lu,” he assured him, imbuing his voice with all the calm he was capable of and all the affection he felt for him. “We'll soon find a way, you'll see.”

His only intention was to soothe his sibling, as he cannot bear to see sadness and despair taking over those blue eyes that are a reflection of his own. Even so, of course, Mario firmly believes in the words he’s spoken to him every time they’ve crossed paths and hopes that their efforts will not be in vain and that they won’t take too long to find each other again.

Mario has always admired Luigi. His strength, his courage, his intelligence, the way he overcomes his fears despite his anxiety and his many insecurities. His younger twin is so much more capable than he himself realizes, and Mario only wishes that he could finally see it and be able to love himself as he deserves.

His reaction to his older brother's encouraging words, the way he pursed his lips to form a weak but genuine smile, how he swallowed before nodding, fully trusting him and ready to move forward... All this only causes the fervent admiration that Mario feels for Luigi to skyrocket, strong and intense like the most powerful and devastating wave. Bright and radiant like the sun that bathes the moon with its light and makes it sparkle and stand out in the sky.

Steadfast, resplendent and imperishable, like his love for his sibling.

This is what drives Mario forward: the longing to be reunited with his adored little brother, to hold him in his arms again, to feel his warmth enveloping him once more. The desire to keep the promise he’s made to him and to end this adventure as they began it: together.

On his journey along the only possible path, Mario has reached a small, narrow room in which, in front of him, there’s but a barred door and, on the other side of it, a wall of ice. All he finds in it is a block, the umpteenth one, he supposes, as he’s not keeping count, although in the room before that one he’s just hit another one exactly the same. A little fed up with this strange game, Mario jumps out with his arm outstretched and his fist hits the new block.

He doesn't see anything happening around him, but he does hear a noise coming from the other side of the ice wall on his left. He assumes that Luigi must be there. He’s seen him just a few minutes ago, crossing parallel walkways that converged at two different doors. So close and yet so far away at the same time... Mario’s been very tempted to cover the distance between them with a jump, but he restrained himself, assuming that if Joke’s End insisted that they continue to work separately, it must be for a greater cause.

After all, the brothers are still working together even though they aren’t physically present next to each other. Like a team. So Mario has no choice but to be content, at least for now, with having verified first-hand that his twin is fine.

With nothing more to do in this room, Mario, also for the umpteenth time since they arrived at this place, retraces his steps. He quickly crosses the room where only the block he activated before remains and turns left. This room is larger, with iron fences that he assumes serve as a decorative element, since they don’t act as a separation between two elements, and a large step that he must climb to reach the area where there are, arranged on either side, pairs of ice stairways leading to the upper part of the room.

The problem is that there are monsters everywhere.

Earlier, in order to access the rooms with the blocks he’s just hit, Mario limited himself to dodging them and stealthily passing by their side. He’s not proud of this, but over the years he’s learned to work out when he has a chance of success in battle and when, for reasons such as being outnumbered or having been previously injured, it’s better to avoid the enemies. When he came across that room filled to the brim with vermin and remembered that he didn't have Luigi by his side to carry out their combo attacks, Mario thought that the most sensible thing to do, what his younger sibling would do in such a situation, was to keep away from them.

Of course, he doesn't intend to leave it at that. As soon as he’s rejoined Luigi, they’ll return.

And then the monsters will suffer the wrath of the Mario Brothers.

But, for now, in order to return to Luigi, he’d better be cautious again. As much as he wants to finish them all off, which would undoubtedly help him release some of the tension that has taken hold of his soul since he separated from his twin, he must restrain himself. The time will come to fight these monsters as he wishes to do.

Right now, his main goal is to finish his mission and hold Luigi in his arms as soon as possible.

So Mario passes slowly by the iron bars, dodging a Glurp moving at full speed along the floor. He can’t help the memory that comes to mind of the pain and discomfort he felt when he was poisoned by one of its toxic clouds, which was followed by a feeling of immense gratitude for his little brother's eagerness to carry extra Refreshing Herbs in their luggage. He felt especially relieved to have them when Luigi was the one to be affected by the monster's attacks.

On climbing the first step, Mario doubles his stealth when he spots an Ice Snifit wandering around this area of the room. Instinctively, he massages his left arm, as he clearly recalls the freezing sensation that spread through it when one of them, shortly after arriving at Joke’s End, hit him squarely with those spiky chunks of ice that they expel from their mouths. He’s extremely grateful to have acquired the Firebrand on that little island in the middle of Oho Ocean, although not so much for himself as for Luigi. His poor little sibling has suffered the effects of frostbite on too many occasions.

Mario, of course, made sure that each and every one of the culprits paid for hurting his twin.

He tiptoes. He knows he can do it. He knows he can dodge the Ice Snifit just like he did with the Glurp. He just has to move very slowly behind it to reach the steps on the right-hand side of the room, which will lead him quickly to the exit. Bit by bit, Mario moves forward, sure that he will succeed, his eyes fixed on the monster, ready to run away if necessary. He’s so close now, he’s almost there...

Suddenly, his foot hits a piece of ice protruding from the floor. Mario screams and falls, his knee colliding against the icy ground, scratching fabric and flesh and making him wince. At the same time, his neck hits the edge of the step he intended to climb, which makes him realize that he’s actually come nearer than he thought and was so close to succeeding.

Mario groans and massages his neck while he tries to lift his leg so as to keep it away from the floor. He clings to the step in an attempt to get up, as he’s sure he’s going to have to run despite his hurt knee. At this point, he has no doubt all monsters in the room must have turned to him.

He won’t let it stop him.

With an enormous effort, Mario manages to get back on his feet, but he can’t put any weight on his injured leg. As he suspected, when he looks around, he realizes that the attention of the Glurp and the Ice Snifit is focused on him, and he’s sure that the rest of the vermin that he hasn’t seen yet must also be staring at him.

Whether he likes it or not, he has to flee. He can’t fight with a wounded knee.

Immediately, the plumber turns towards the step he had just reached, determined to climb it and escape no matter what.

He jolts as he realizes that there’s already something, or someone, on said step.

A Clumph, with its green skin that makes him think of a nurse’s uniform and its purple hair that reminds him of a bunch of grapes.

With eyes wide open, Mario takes a step back as he notices the heavy club that it carries everywhere... and that it’s lifting at full speed.

The impact against his forehead takes him so by surprise that he lets out a high-pitched scream, which is abruptly cut off when the implacable darkness takes hold of him.

Mario sees nothing. He hears nothing. He’s completely lost control over his body, which feels far away and out of reach. Does he even still have a body? He doesn't understand what’s happening to him, nor is he sure he wants to find out.

As, despite everything, despite his daze and his dulled senses, Mario experiences a soothing feeling of... placidity. Comfort. Darkness envelops his soul like a warm blanket protecting him from all the evils that could ravage his body. Why not stay here, curled up and cozy, while he rests after his arduous adventure?

Still, even though at first he tries to ignore it, Mario perceives there’s something deep in his heart, pulling at him.

It's like a thread, thin but solid, that somehow connects him to something… or maybe someone? Mario doesn't know, and at the moment he doesn't want to think about it. He feels so comfortable in the arms of darkness, with no trace of pain, discomfort or pressure...

He'll only stay a little while, he promises the thread that pulls at his heart. Just a few minutes...

Mario is unaware of how much time has passed when, to his surprise, he realizes that he’s sensing something. Something physical. Are those... an arm and a hand? Real, human ones? Does he have a body again? How else could he perceive the hand that lovingly and carefully cradles his head, and the arm, slender but strong, that envelopes and embraces him as if trying to protect him from any harm?

Then he discerns something else. Something... electric, as if he were surrounded by an electrical aura that, nevertheless, makes him feel at peace. Safe. Secure.

Somehow, Mario knows that this electricity doesn’t pose a danger to him.

In a way, there’s a hint of familiarity in both things, but the darkness is still too tempting, too alluring. Mario is about to ignore the touch and that electrical aura to return to his refuge when, suddenly, he stops perceiving them.

And he feels empty.

Something is missing. That hand, that arm... He needs them to touch him again. He needs to revel in the warmth and peace they arise in him, so different from the sensations he experiences when blackness embraces him.

He doesn't want to return to it.

He realizes at this very moment that the grip of darkness cannot provide him with everything that this human touch, in just a few seconds, has given him. Warmth? How could he have sensed warmth when the darkness is cold as ice? Nothing can compare with human warmth, the kind he felt when those arms held him tightly, protectively…

… affectionately.

Mario takes a deep breath, which suddenly reminds him that he has lungs. He has hands and feet. He has a heart that continues to beat in his chest, keeping him clinging to life. He has a body that still belongs to him and that someone, and he’s convinced that he’s right in his assumption, cradled and embraced with love just a few moments ago.

Unfortunately, with this revelation comes pain.

It hits him unexpectedly, drilling into his skull and making him squeeze his eyes, which he doesn't remember shutting. He feels like a pressure cooker is going to explode inside his head, and it’s as if his neck and knee were being torn from the inside. He tries not to move, to give himself a few seconds to get his bearings, to take slow breaths, but the pain won't go away. Mario curses himself for his weakness. How could he have been so clumsy as to let himself be defeated so easily?

At least, he thinks as he attempts to focus on the other things he can perceive, he feels something soft and fluffy under his head. He imagines it must be his hat, as he notices that his hair is not covered, and he promptly deduces who must have placed the garment there to try to provide him with some comfort in the midst of his pain.

Suddenly, his ears, which are becoming less and less deaf, catch something that makes him open his eyes a crack: thunder.

Thunder? Is a storm brewing overhead?

He’s met by the blinding glare of ice, which forces him to squeeze his eyelids tightly shut before daring to open them again. His glassy gaze gradually comes into focus, and then he spots the glints of blue and green energy dancing in front of his field of vision.

Confused, Mario opens his eyes fully, believing that perhaps the blow to the head that has robbed him of his consciousness is causing him to hallucinate. But no matter how much he blinks, squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again, the electric flashes are still there.

Until, before his astonished glance, they begin to turn into powerful, sparkling lightning accompanied by... a scream.

It’s a loud, earthshaking, heart-rending scream, full of rage and fear that Mario believes that, if he tried, he could touch them with his hands. It’s so sudden and unexpected that it brings him entirely back to reality. It’s so rampant, intense and thunderous that it penetrates to the very depths of his soul and clings to it with desperation.

Bewildered, Mario tries to move. He wants to understand what’s going on, to remember exactly where he is and what he was doing, to find out if the person who’s shouting is the same one who, minutes ago, was holding him in their arms with infinite love and tenderness.

His body, however, protests. Mario lets out a soft groan as he realizes that he’s going to need help to get up. Still, he’s never been one to give up easily, so, stubbornly, he squeezes his eyelids again and begins to turn his head. He ignores the stabbing pain in his neck and the strong dizziness that overwhelms him with the movement and, obstinately, opens his eyes slowly. It takes him a couple of blinks to focus his gaze again, but as soon as he does, he forgets the pain.

Just as he suspected, there he is.

The person who was hugging him a moment ago. Who made him feel a sensation of warmth thanks to the electricity that emanated from him. Who placed his hat under his head to try to save him from some discomfort, always taking care of him, always watching over him. Who has woken him up completely with his outraging scream... and with the incredible electrical storm that springs from his outstretched hands.

Luigi.

Of course it's him.

Mario smiles as his suspicions are confirmed, but, despite the relief that floods him with the realization that his little brother is safe and sound, his attention is immediately drawn to the electricity that Luigi is unleashing. Mario lets out an exhalation of astonishment at the power of the lightning, which comes one after another without ceasing, tearing through the air, and at the ease with which his twin summons it, as if he were its absolute master, as if nature itself were prostrating itself at his feet.

The plumber is left speechless. He’s never doubted Luigi's strength and abilities, and he knew that his sibling’s Thunderhand is as powerful as his own Firebrand.

But to see for himself just how far Luigi’s magic can go, just how incredibly mighty he can be...

It's astonishing.

In a way that he finds beautiful, fascinating and even reassuring.

Mario only needs to observe the storm for a moment, to notice Luigi's tense and rigid posture for a second, to remember the shout full of anger he has just let out, in order to understand that his brother is doing all this… for him. To protect him. To make that Clumph pay for attacking him and knocking him out in one blow.

A deep and immense pride intermingles in his chest with the fierce and unwavering love he holds for his twin.

Luigi is exhausting all his energy, pushing his power to the limit... for him.

Literally.

Mario feels like he could burst into tears.

His heart beats warm and full, as if it didn’t have enough space to contain his deep, older-brother love. He senses the thread connecting him to Luigi more solid and ironclad than ever, feeding on the affection his younger sibling has for him and his eagerness to keep him safe and giving him, in return, all the adoration and devotion that Mario treasures for him and that could cause his chest to burst at any moment. He gasps, moved, and his lips form a new smile, broad, firm and satisfied.

When, seconds later, Mario watches Luigi falling to his knees while panting, he wants to run to his side, to help him, to hug him, to cradle him, to shout how proud he is of him, to praise him tirelessly because what he’s done is amazing, to thank him a thousand times for doing it all for him. His whole being is brimming with love and he believes that, even with all that, it wouldn’t be enough to express to Luigi what he’s experiencing right now, what he makes him feel.

But, since his body still refuses to move, he has to settle for swallowing before opening his lips.

“Lu?”

[piracytheorist]

Spy x Family 30 Day Challenge

Day 6: Favourite Soundtrack

This is actually such a freaking hard question for me to answer, exactly because I've spent so much time listening and analyzing the soundtrack that every piece I listen to I go like "Oh this has great instrumentation" or "This ties in to that moment or that other song really well" and combined with the use of themes and leitmotifs in the soundtrack, I'm just... kinda at a loss to pick one? 😅 So I guess I'll settle for three pieces I like, in no particular order!

I think I would be remiss if I didn't mention "子守唄" (Lullaby).

I mean, aside from the whole context that this song was used in...

like excuse me but how dare they

I have a confession to make: although being anime-only and avoiding manga spoilers, I had actually gotten a spoiler about that episode, that Yor would sing a song to Loid because he for some reason was sleeping or unconscious. I had no idea it would be that impactful for him, but at that point I had already listened to the available soundtrack enough times to remember the "As a mother. As a wife" song so, with the idea of a spoiler like that, I was like Damn. If the song Yor sings has this melody. If they do that. IF THEY DO THAT...

And then they did do that. Yor kicked Loid, I burst out in laughter because I hadn't expected that at all, Loid dropped unconscious and I was both shocked and a little excited because yay whump, the screen went black...

AND THEN I RECOGNIZED THE FUCKING NOTES. For half a second I was like, is it now? Is the song coming now? And from the first notes I was like YES THEY DID IT. THEY WROTE YOR'S SONG INTO A LULLABY.

Of course, I didn't have a lot of time to react to that because baby Loid was shown immediately after and I quite lost my cool at that point. Even more so when he said that he recognized the song.

But yeah, this was an absolutely brilliant way to incorporate Endo's idea of the lullaby into the anime, especially if you've paid enough attention to the soundtrack already. They prepare you with the soft tune that plays in some of Yor's moments, and then they just HIT YOU SMACK ON THE FACE with that scene. Absolutely fantastic, 10/10 would lose my entire mind again.

Next, I will have to go with the "main theme", aka STRIX.

I am in love with this piece. It's fast-paced, it's exciting, it's rich, it sets a magnificent theme, it introduces the "spy leitmotif" that we next hear in "serious" mode with Loid and "playful" mode with Anya, the part at 1:30 is just... MY GOD. TERRIFIC. And all just in less than two minutes and thirty seconds. Absolute banger of a main theme.

Last but certainly not least, I'll pick the "little by little" piece.

FAMILY THEME MY BELOVED.

No but for real the fact that the composers created a leitmotif that centers around family, and specifically the Forgers?? My musician heart swells and melts with it. And they made it into a soft theme, because for this family the main theme is that they make each other feel at home, feel safe, feel welcomed and protected, and so the music mirrors that.

Also, important video to watch regarding the soundtrack 👀👀 (so that all that stuff I say about leitmotifs makes sense to y'all)

Finally, I'll add some honourable mentions because they really nailed that jazz (jazz noir sometimes!) feel, and I hope they add more tracks like these as the seasons go on: WISE, Liar, Disguise, Ponder, Berlint, Gorgeous step, Try again, and The Forgers.

[aizawashuichi]

If you still have it (and I know you do, you're not me, to delete things and regret later lol) please please post again that detailed presentation of wammy's layout and structure, please...

My greatest piece, so I can't delete it even under torture lmao. Since it was an ask, I included that part too.

Anonymous: Salutations. First off; I would like to thank you for humoring my questions, by far. Having been in the fandom (Death Note) for quite a while can be daunting at times considering how persistent everyone is on certain views that, more often than not, contradicts the canon itself, though I do not mind the originality. Some of the questions you might remember answering from me would be; 1. How unfair it is for everyone in this fandom to go full autobiography mode on Light Yagami but wrote a piss poor characterisation of other characters. 2. L would not enjoy fighting for Justice under Light's idea There might be more, but these two are the ones that I remember writing and asking. I rather enjoy reading your point of views. Being an avid Lawlight shipper myself (which you might found dissapointing, and for that, I apologise) I found it rather... boring that most, if not all, were very insistent that L would join Light's side if given the opportunity while writing him very, very poorly. I enjoy these two through the energy they emitted while actively going against each other. Not when they shook hands and went about it all the same like a carousel ride. Second: What is your opinion on the whole Wammy's House organisation debacle? On A and B? The whole Successor Programme? I don't like it. Having being nurtured the same as these children does, I absolutely resented it. Partly because of how harmful the product of the whole environment, largely because of how it reflects the morale ground Quillsh Wammy stood and what he believes in. I despise men in suits, even more so than people in orange jumpers or stripped, black and white outfit. (Call me E.H. I would like for us to be friends. Mutuals.)

Please, E. H., I would be honoured to be mutuals, but how could you betray me like this? Mid-message? Dropping a bomb of that size on me and my blog?

Seriously, though, I would like that. I will overlook this little flaw of yours, because not everyone can be perfect, and I will accept you with open arms.

Okay. Really dropping the act this time. You don’t have to apologies for shipping them, even though I suppose it was more ironic than anything. I already have mutuals that are like you. I filtered out the various tags concerning L/Light – there are a lot of variations –, and I am fine.

I will survive if I add one more… Hopefully — but I think, in this case, it is more of a “probably”, because you do seem to share some of my views on the whole manga/anime and that means we have some common ground, even though I believe that is not that difficult.

I am really glad you like reading my long-ass posts, because I do enjoy writing it. I actually was waiting for some kind of feedback from you, because, truthfully, I wasn’t sure if your opinions were supposed to be just published without any input from me or if you actually wanted me to say something.

I was both confused (didn’t understand why you decided specifically my blog, since it’s not that well know) and delighted by them.

In any case, I am happy to see this message, especially the last part. You are the first person on here who explicitly stated the wish for my friendship. I didn’t expect that at all. I’ve been told that I seem intimidating, and I still don’t get why, so seeing that someone isn’t put off by this, it’s a nice feeling.

I will now get to your questions, and the post is going to be long, because it’s on a topic that I am actually working on and wanted to do a post of my own, but felt like, “why would people care?”, so I am glad that you do.

PREMISE

I need to make a premise before, because I feel like this is relevant to understanding my opinion.

I would love to kick myself in the face every time I happen to mention it (even though I do so to help my motivation), because it seems that I bring it up so many times and it’s making me annoyed, like, “can this bitch (me) just shut the fuck up already?”. However, it’s important in this context.

I am writing a fanfiction about the Wammy’s House, during L’s years there. And, since I am doing this, my idea of the Wammy’s House is crafted in a way that can make my story work, but I do realize this, so I will try to eliminate all my OCs’ stuff (I think I’ll mention them), even though I still believe that some roles or events I have created can be considered plausible (not canon, of course), because they help explain some things that I noticed about L while reading the manga.

Another thing is that this is a work in progress and while I have an outline for the plot, a lot of things about the Wammy’s are still not definitive. So, everything I say is not set in stone. [This question also made me realise that I made a huge error when it comes to the timeline of my fanfic, which screwed up half of the outline, but thank you, I guess.]

Other than this, Ohba left a wide-open door for any interpretation of Watari and the Wammy’s, because he didn’t think too much about them. He just wrote them in for plot purposes and never developed them properly, so anything goes, theoretically, so maybe I will be a bit more lenient on both. I don’t deny the possibility of them being pretty fucked up, because I cannot say that what I think is completely backed by canon. To each their own, but since you have experienced a similar environment, I had to preface this, because my view on it doesn’t adhere to the reality of some of these institutions, and I don’t want you to believe that I’m oblivious to the real-life problems that occur.

I think I took more liberty here, because I had few things to start from, and I’m really fond of the idea that the people (Roger and Watari too) at the Wammy’s were like a family, with its ups and downs (more downs than ups – even in my fic, so I realise that not everything is all peaches and cream). It’s just the wishful thinking of my younger self that so desperately wanted to be part of that world, and I have a hard time getting rid of it.

I must also say that most of my choices regarding the Wammy’s structure and organisation is based on “gut feeling”/intuition. More often than not, I feel if something is right or wrong, even though I can’t pinpoint exactly what’s the reason for that. I just have the impression that something must be in a certain way, and if I don’t comply to this, it just feels uncomfortable until I fix it.

WATARI & ROGER

I want to start from them to explain exactly what I think of these two, particularly their past and what led them to create the Wammy’s.

Reference to another post I wrote – headcanons about Roger – but you needn’t to read it, since I am going to repeat it here, and it talks more about their relationship than the Wammy’s.

In my mind, Watari was both a professor and an inventor. The professor job needed to provide for him before his inventions took off and gave him enough money to live comfortably for the rest of his life, since it seems that he was quite rich, even before L gained something.

So, together with Roger, who was his assistant, he was in close contact with different types of students and noticed the disparity between those who can study and have the resources and those who don’t have them but have the abilities to continue. Of course, they couldn’t intervene in the private business of these people. Instead, they discussed knowledge, intelligence, and the social economic situation of England (and later around the world) that didn’t allow young kids, especially orphans, to develop themselves and their abilities, since they didn’t have the means.

Not trusting the state institutions with their money, they decided to take matters into their own hands and had in mind to create an orphanage that had an internal school, so they can provide them resources and knowledge, without making them sacrifice any of those.

But then a dilemma appeared: “what if some kids can learn faster than others and we end up slowing them down?”

[learn faster than others – because “prodigy” doesn’t mean anything when it comes to orphans that don’t have resources or any help from adults.]

And from that dilemma, the Wammy’s House was born. It was a specific type of the institution they had in mind, which was meant for those who seemed more capable than others.

It’s said that Watari owns different orphanages, but they are not talked about like the Wammy’s, so it’s safe to assume the main difference is this one – what kind of kids are there and what they learn.

About Roger, I honestly think that the “he hates kids” was added to have some sort of comedic effect. However, if it was meant to be taken seriously, and I do consider it canon, there are two reasons to me:

He began to hate them, as he continued to work at the Wammy’s, because they pulled pranks on him. He’s not fierce – shown to us by how he responded to Mello grabbing him and how he stopped Mello from bothering another kid. He is quite passive and not confrontational, so I believe he was an easy target for the kids, and he grew to despise their behaviour and to be quite afraid of them in a way, because, while he tried to stop Mello, his attempt was shallow. I don’t think this is because he didn’t care, but because Mello was angry at him, and his explosive nature made him wary.

Romantic reason: the kids, and especially L, took Watari from him – before and after his death. Watari was too occupied with his work that he almost forgot what he and Roger had. That obviously pained Roger and he began to resent the situation and those who stole him and his attention. That would explain why their relationship grew cold, because we don’t see Roger communicate with Watari once, so it means that something happened that drove them apart – aka these kids got in between.

No matter what the reason is, Roger tries to be emotionally distant from them. I have this trope that I associate with him of the grumpy old man having to deal with a kid because of circumstances he cannot control, and he grows attached to them, wanting to protect them at best of his abilities. But this is my wishful thinking, but I believe he has those moments in which he thinks, “maybe they are not that bad”, and they then do something that makes him annoyed, and he’s like, “never mind”.

Watari is emotionally not present too, not because he doesn’t want to be involved, but because he is still an inventor before becoming L’s right hand indefinitely and full-time, so he has to fulfil that role and be involved in that community to promote his stuff, to develop it, and etc. Also, the Wammy’s and the other orphanages are relatively new in my opinion, because he first established them when he’s around 40-45, so a few years before L was born, and he has to make sure they all work as he wants to, and he has to make connections so he can find these kids to bring to the Wammy’s. So, he has a lot on his plate.

WAMMY’S HOUSE

Location

I have actually thought about this for a long time, and even wrote a post (after I finished this section, I noticed that I was repeating word for word what I had put here, so please, consider reading it for all the reasons).

Littleton, in the north-west part of Winchester.

I know I’m kind of going the extra mile by doing this, but I’ve always dne it for every structure I had to write something about, so the Wammy’s gets a real-life location too.

The actual true reason for which I chose this location is because it’s near big fields, and I needed that for plot purposes, but even without considering that, it seems to fit what we know about L’s life there.

He played tennis – there’s a tennis court 20 minutes by foot from there. Relevant that it’s by foot, because I imagined that Watari couldn’t constantly leave the Wammy’s with L for long periods of time and multiple times a week. He had other affairs to attend to, aside from his responsibility at the Wammy’s. In my mind, during L’s time there, Watari was still working on his inventions, which meant he had to attend meetings and conventions and whatnot.

A’s suicide – there’s a church where he can be buried. It can be reached by foot, so the kids could attend his funeral. I also have a morbid headcanon that B took his body from his grave. I also liked to tie the church to L hearing bells before he dies, so this closeness would make it possible for everyone inside the Wammy’s to hear them.

Big space – because the Wammy’s seems to be pretty big by the manga panels we have, and I have a specific idea of how it’s structured, both its exterior and interior, so it was necessary to have many hectares available.

Structure (New floor plans)

I made floor plans. I started this a while ago and never actually completed it, because the site I was using was infuriating, but I found an app, and managed to copy what I had done in the other one. I forgot to change the names of the rooms, because I created this to help me visualise the setting of my fic, so ignore them for now (I will point out some names there, just to explain one thing).

It’s not definitive, because I still don’t understand where I should put their stairs – or if to put them, ‘cause based on Mello and L’s egos, they already think so highly of themselves that I don’t think they need a staircase to reach the first floor.

In my fic, I didn’t explicitly state where they are supposed to be. I’m letting the readers figure that one out for me, while I just stick to say if they go down or up them. The main problem is not if they should face or not the entrance, because they have to, but where the hell are on the first floor? My gut feeling keeps making me imagine them next to Lex’s room, but that doesn’t make sense and would be pretty ugly on the ground floor – they would be too close to the entrance, and I hate it. So, I’m just going to ignore it, until it becomes a problem, which I doubt because I’m the one writing this, and nobody is going to police every single detail.

[EDIT 2025: fixed it. They are a pair of stairs with landing halfway that merge from there in one staircase.]

The two unnamed bedrooms on the ground floor are for people that work there (cooks, cleaning people or the nurse) that can’t go home for reasons.

In my fic, one of the rooms is always vacant, because I imagine that the employees are near the Wammy’s, so they don’t need to stay there, and it became a storage closet, with all of things – costumes and decorations for all kinds.

It’s a pretty big institution. The size of the rooms might not give that away, but it’s big. It has high ceilings, and the classrooms and bedrooms are longer than wider, but they are still very spacious. When I write and imagine it, even it’s from the perspective of small children, I envision everything to be comfortable even for older kids.

I couldn’t add everything I think it has, so I’ll just list them:

A small football field on the left with two benches, so the kids can rest.

Some big trees next the corners of the garden and some bushes here and there.

A stone path from the main entrance to the gate.

A shed on the right, with all the gardening tools.

The interior might not coincide with the way it was portrayed in the manga panels, but I like to imagine that after A’s death and L’s parting, things got restructured and the internal organisation changed.

Internal organisation - from the year it was founded to 1993, so even during L’s years there.

I placed L’s arrival in 1988, when he’s about to turn 9, because L is shown to us to be in relatively light clothing in the one-shot “L: The Wammy’s House”, so it can’t be after 31st October. Winchester usually has a high of 11° and a low of 4° in November, and 8° and 2° in December, so I don’t see why he would be dressed up like that.

And 1993, because he says to Light that he has been in England for 5 years, which also means that he is not from there. I headcanon him to be born in Scotland, because it’s hilarious to think he has a Scottish accent that he hides. – “Bang! if Ah was kira, yoo'd be deid.” | “Looks loch someain drapped thes ceel phain in th' crowd earlier.” and so on. It’s so funny. And also, it kind of makes sense why he wasn’t in England before and why he knows standard English. He could also be from Northern Ireland, but he gives me Scottish vibes.

1993 is also the year in which I place A’s death. I don’t follow the timeline from Another Note, because I cannot imagine A and B being younger than L. I’ll talk about this later.

ENTRY

The first requisite for the kids to be brought to the Wammy’s is to show that they are more able than others (as in “able to learn to a faster speed”), and they usually are kids that were in another orphanage already. Watari managed to have a wide social network and, to me, he’s called by the people in charge of that institution (that could his, like he just owns it and is contact with the ones who take care of it) when they realise a kid’s ability. For this reason, rarely there are kids who are very young, and I put that the second requisite is that they have to be at least 5 years old, because the school inside it goes only from elementary school to high school.

Only in exceptional circumstances, the Wammy’s House takes on young kids, e.g., if they were in danger and the Wammy’s was the closest place where they could stay. However, after everything is settled (a matter of a few days), they are transferred to other orphanages administrated by Watari if they are that young. They still can come back, when they are older, but it’s a lot more work to look after toddlers or pre-schoolers.

After passing the entry exam, all the kids have their own personal folders with all their existing documents – birth certificate, medical records, etc. – that will be given back to them once they leave the Wammy’s House.

While the whole letter system became a thing when L appeared, the kids still have to choose their alias, because some of them surely have a troubled past and choosing a new name is a fresh start, as if the bad things that happened to them can’t reach them anymore inside those walls. Since making only some choose it would make them stand out, it was implemented as a general rule.

ENTRY EXAM

To enter the Wammy’s House, you need to take a test. Since every one of the kids that are sent here is with the idea that they are more able, the admission rate is 100%.

The exam covers different abilities: raging from knowledge the orphan should possess for their age to difficult stuff (this knowledge is chosen based on the national curriculum for students up to 18 years old), and it includes other scopes (e.g., musical, artistic, etc. – to understand if they have an inclination to something or if they are interested in that).

There is also a social part. Since they live into a community, it’s good to understand how to live with others. If you don’t pass this part, it doesn’t mean you get automatically excluded, but it can lower your position a bit.

There is an obvious fallacy, because if they theoretically know how to behave towards others, it doesn’t mean they employ that behaviour. In fact, most of the kids “know” how to act in a community, but they have some behaviour issues, and the higher they are in the grade system, the worse they are. I like the irony I created, so I’m keeping it in.

This exam focuses more on the thought process than the result.

THE GRADE SYSTEM

I created a system made by 6 grades + 1, which is called “Apex”.

All of them have a basic requirement in knowledge.

The first three (1 is the lowest, 3 is the highest) are more socially oriented and coincide with elementary and middle school. They mostly teach kids social skills, so they can work all together to get to a common objective, aka pass the grade. They focus on play, conversation, emotional and problem-solving skills.

When developing this, Watari thought it would be quite easy to pass it, but he was wrong. He found out that letting the kids try the test – which is, like, a presentation, a competition and a debate – every year created more hatred between them, so he had to add another year, so they could defuse these feelings and make them understand that cooperation is the best option.

The result here is not that important. The most important part is how they got there and how they all behaved towards each other, which should be inclusive. And, while the kids can maybe work better together as a class or big groups and pass the first two with ease, grade 3 is tricky. Not because the curriculum is hard, but because they need to find a person and trust that they are on the same page as them, but not everyone is eager to get to the new grade.

It never happened for someone of the age 13 to still be in the grade 3, so it was never a problem to “what if they remain there until they become 18?”, because Wammy’s existence is short at this point in time, and usually they find someone, but, in case it happens, Watari has a plan B and it’s individual classes to teach them what they should know at their age. They are still in grade 3 and they still have to do the debate with someone else, but if they pass it, depending on how much they have learnt, they can also do the exam to get to grade 5 or skip the classes about the things they already know, because the other three grades (4 is the lowest, 6 is the highest) are more individualistic. They don’t have to work with the others to pass it, so here is more important the result.

The last “grade” is not a grade, but a category. These are those who fulfilled all the requirements and are “free” to do whatever they want. It’s like they finished high school. They are not required to go to class or take some exams, unless they ask to get a degree or a master, in which case, if they need it, a professor is called to assist them and then, an external qualified examinator to test them and their knowledge. But, other than that, they are completely free.

CLASSES AND TEACHERS

Classes are semi-mandatory, and everyone is greatly encouraged to take part to them. Watari may even talk to those who deems more needing to go to them, which are usually those in the first grades, especially if they misbehave or show anti-social behaviour.

For the first grades, there is one teacher per grade for every subject, since the syllabus is not hard. They are of course specialized in those parts. This choice was made for consistency and to create a great bond with them, since having different teachers might throw off the dynamics that exist within the class.

For the other grades, since the topics are harder, there is a different teacher for subject.

School time is a bit different from the one for the public school:

Youth Month represents the start of summer break.

Classes are resumed in September.

They have all the other breaks like Easter, Christmas and so on.

The classes are from Monday to Friday, and every student has their own timetable that may or may not coincide with those who share their same grade – it depends on what they know already, determined by a test at the end of every quarter.  

ACTIVITIES

Youth Month

For this, I took inspiration from youth games in Italy, which is basically an event that promotes inclusivity, sport, healthy competition, and social relations.

It’s in May, and every Sunday there is a different activity in which pairs compete. There are two different competitions based on age: 7 – 12; 13 – 17.

In 1989, I put that:

May 7: three legs run.

May 14: relay race.

May 21: treasure hunt.

May 27: cops and robbers (the last game is divided into two big groups to give a chance to gain a lot of points for those who didn’t until then).

In 1990, the only change I made is that the third game is ping pong, since it was raining outside.

Holidays

Halloween and Christmas two are the main two holidays that are celebrated, because even though I believe that Watari is Christian and the Wammy’s has an affiliation to Christianity, I don’t think he indoctrinate the kids. That would go against the core of the Wammy’s in my opinion, because kids are supposed to think critically and accepting the existence of God without questioning it is not. They can always turn to that religion if they feel close to it, but it’s not mandatory. They don’t go to Church (imagine two old gay men having to make sure 30+ kids don’t destroy it every Sunday) nor celebrate other very Christian holidays, like Easter. They might have a feast, but it’s not publicly associated to the resurrection of Jesus.

This is a choice I made based on the fact that nobody showcases any belief in any type of supernatural entities. Mello wears a rosary, and it seems more symbolic than him actually believing and practicing the religion. I associate it to his mother, who I like to headcanon as a devoted Christian, since Eastern Europe/Balkans are very, extremely, to a worrying extent religious, to the point that people would rather go to church or call a priest home and pray instead of visiting a doctor to cure any kind of injury.

[Tangent about Church in Romania removed.]

Halloween:

I put that a few days before Halloween one of the older kids is appointed to go around the Wammy’s and take notes of what the kids would love to eat (candies) and what they want to dress up as. Everything is done in the realm of possibilities. Watari is going to buy the costumes he can find. Usually, they are passed down from one person to another, so during L’s years, there have been enough requests to have pretty much the ones that are more common, and the only change is to make them fit the new person wearing it. Kids like also to be crafty, like for a mummy costume, they are going to use toilet paper and so on. It’s more about the candies, because he needs to buy something they will like.

In the first part of the day, Watari calls some people to help him decorate the Wammy’s and carve pumpkins into jack-o'-lanterns. Some kids give a hand, but the others are more preoccupied with their costumes.

The party usually starts at 17:30, after they take a group photo under the “Hallowe’en XXXX” banner over their head. They then play games and just do their things, while eating candies and other sweets. At 19, there is a feast. After that, Watari or Roger tell the kids some age-appropriate scary stories, and 23, Littleton has fireworks, but you really have to be lucky to see them, because it doesn’t have to rain, and it usually does.

Since trick and treat wasn’t popular in UK until the late 80s-early 90s, I put that the kids at the Wammy’s experienced it for the first time in 1992, both because Watari didn’t understand it and he was wary of letting the kids roam around the community, even if accompanied by those who are older.

Christmas:

I wanted to do something different. Watari doesn’t ask the kids what they might want, but tries to surprise them, so that he can make up for all the time he isn’t present, which is a lot. He buys the gifts and places them under the tree in the main hall. After the kids open them, they take again a group photo next to the tree and the kids have all their presents in their hand, showing them to the camera. It’s very cozy and calm holiday. They have a big feast, and the kids are let playing with their new toys. Then, they have some Christmas movies playing.

New Year's Eve:

Watari doesn’t prepare anything special, other than a feast. There are fireworks, that everyone can see from the garden of the Wammy’s.

Valentine’s day:

There are two types, for those older than 14 and those younger, because I think the Wammy’s is strict when it comes to romance (mostly about PDA), which is not that serious at that age, but it’s an important part of growing up and they cannot go around fearmongering that liking someone in a romantic sense is bad. That would defeat the purpose of the first 3 grades. If you can’t like someone in that way, then you can’t even get near them, as to avoid the possibility of that feeling to develop.

Generally, everyone gets chocolates and candies, but they are also required to write a nice card to someone else. This person is chosen by extraction – done by Watari, who can actually pretend that is random, but it’s actually not.

In my fic, they usually write stupid things, like “you are funny”, but some of them get someone they have petty rivalry with, and so they write backhanded compliments, because they can go to Watari and complain of the card, and the other person can just lie that they meant it, that it’s all in good faith.

Those that are older than 14 can ask Watari a gift to buy to someone, but of course, it’s fucking embarrassing to go and ask him that, so they usually just gift their sweets to that person and do a hand-made card for them, if they feel like it. Only those that are more brave go to him ask him to play a rose, a special card or something.

[Edit 2025: on 5th November, there's also Guy Fawkes Night. They do a little bonfire, with each kid burning an effigy of Guy Fawkes. If they are lucky, there are also fireworks.]

Stargazing

I added this activity for the summer break, in which they all gather in a nearby field and look at the sky on some specific. There is also an astronomer called by Watari that can answer their question, but the reason for this was to let the kids feel a bit freer and not confined within the gate of the Wammy’s, especially the younger ones that can’t go to the recreational ground. They can play some games there, but usually they just lay on the ground and talk with each other. There is a telescope they can use.

Recreational ground

There’s a park near the Wammy’s – 20 minutes by foot, but they usually use bicycles to get there. Only those age 13 or up can go there. They can’t go alone, but always with someone. If someone age 11 or up wants to go, they need to be accompanied by someone age 15 or up, because those of 13-14 might not pay attention to them that much, even if they say, “yes, of course”. For extra measure, Watari has the numbers of those who live near the park, that can contact him in case something happens. Those under 11 can’t go there under no circumstances. I decided this because the roads that take to the park are not safe for riding bicycles and there is an age limit for doing that on the road.

Other than the necessary stuff for riding the bicycles, they have a tag with the number of the Wammy’s and a bag with Wammy’s insignia on it, because I did create it. It was just a vision in my mind, but I did a draft using picsart and color, so here you go. It’s not well made, since the lines of the ribbon banner are not straight. The ribbon banner I took from Google was so bad quality that I could see each other pixels, so I had to draw over the border to make it more full. The first idea was to have a W with an H behind it, but I decided to do it like this, also because it has all the letters of Watari. Everything that is propriety of the Wammy’s House has this.

SUCCESSOR PROGRAMME

Premise

First and foremost, I don’t like the idea of Watari being the one to impose it on everyone, without any regard for what they want to do, because I think he’s experienced enough with kids to know that you can just force them to do something. They won’t. You can coerce them by using violence and threats, but none of the kids that we know of showcase any sign of being physically abused.

It’s also important to note that not everyone in the Wammy’s is competitive. Mello is the only one who wants to be at the top. Mello and Linda don’t care, and neither does Near. He is just first, because he is that smart. However, this is after. Competitiveness is more prevalent in the system I had created, because being in the Apex means not having to follow classes or have to listen to teachers. That’s the prime reason for why people want to reach it. It’s not about prestige, because I don’t think the kids, especially younger ones, have that concept wired in them. And usually, as a self-preservation technique, people tend to either consider negative something they cannot reach/have and that opinion is automatically applied to those who can enjoy it, which makes them want to stay away from it so nobody thinks that of them, but if they had the chance to join it, they would take it in a heartbeat.

E.g., imagine someone that wants to go to a water park, but they find out that the entrance costs a lot or it’s far away. They are more likely to think, “well, it wasn’t that good to being with” or that it’s only for rich bastards or something, rather than accept that it’s just unfortunate. They will even talk badly about it to others. However, if they managed to get in, they would enjoy every second of it.

So, in this case, while advancement is okay, getting to the higher position is pretty much a curse, because if you act in a certain way that it’s redeemed rude, then the reason is considered to be your status.

In my fic, when A and B got in to the Apex, people started to have a negative opinion of them. They have always been on their own, but since they are now reserved AND in the Apex, then it’s because they think too highly of themselves and less of others, which makes people find them some times annoying, even when they are doing nothing wrong. They might still interact with them nicely, but that doesn’t mean they like them.

Secondly, the general theme of the Death Note is that people are responsible for their own downfall in a way, so I’m going to follow that when it comes to its establishment and organisation.

L’s idea.

Unlike others in the fandom, I consider A and B to be older than L (4 years apart), so the successor programme was first tasted out when L was living there. Decided this because I want him to see what he caused, and for the reasons in the post I hyperlinked.

I have a kind of specific yet not definitive idea of how L’s life before the Wammy’s was. I won’t write all down because I don’t think it’s that important. The only part that is, is the fact that he managed to stop a terroristic attack to get Watari’s attention, because “go big or go home”, and he was the one who decided to establish the successor programme.

Establishment

When he arrived at the Wammy’s, he wanted immediately to get down to business, and asked Watari to talk to the smartest people there: A and B, together.

L introduced the idea for “when I’m away”, as in “when I am taking a break” – because I imagine him to ramble about his career to Watari in the days they stayed together before going back to the Wammy’s and on the 8-10 hours long trip, and Watari pointed out to him that he needs to have time to play/free time, and L said that he was right, that he’d put someone in his place for that time, he’d teach them what he knew, because he was very good at it, he was basically justice itself for how many things he knew – but A and B took that as in “when he dies”.

It was in that moment that L took everything more seriously. They talked for hours. A and B asked him lots of questions about that project, the possibility of that to happen, and how to make sure that it can last for a long time.

And while the conversation started as more of an abstract idea, after L showed them what he managed to do, they were both impressed and eager to learn to be able to do the same. They too had an interest in solving riddles, and… C’mon, it’s cool to be a detective, especially one that was supposed to be the greatest.

They discussed the technicalities and decided not to limit themselves only to two members, so that’s how the successor programme was actually created. It was also A and B to decide their own names, because they said that, since he’s called L, they too should have they own letters, and, while talking, they said, “I would be an alternative” and “if you are that, then I’ll be your backup”, so that’s how they got them.

Basically, it started with L, but A and B became co-owners of this programme in a way, and L didn’t mind it, because they were older than him, seemed wiser, and he looked up to them in a way.

For the others, the letters were chosen in two different ways: the first smartest people there would be the first letters of the alphabet, while the others would have their own letter based on their real name, because five people were enough.

And I say, “smartest people”, but A and B advised L to look for other qualities other than that, because you can have someone that is extremely intelligent, but if they are extremely reckless too, then that detective persona is doomed to fail.

All three of them talked to kids in grades 4-5-6 and the Apex (in my fic there are other two people here) about this project, but they weren’t obliged to accept. They let L speak, who explained what they were planning to do, showed them what he did, and gave them the choice to accept or not. If they didn’t accept, they would ask them to not divulge the information they discussed. In my fic, no one actually says no, because they think it’s awesome.

In case they accepted, he granted them a wish, something that he would fulfil, so that, if they wouldn’t get chosen, at least they wouldn’t think they wasted time. It’s a quality I noticed in L, while reading the manga. I explained it in my long post about the characters: he compensates his actions, which I think it’s something he picked up as he started to be interested in solving cases (before he arrived at the Wammy’s), because he saw what criminals had to do after they got caught doing something bad, and wasting people’s time is bad.

So, everyone had a choice and L, initially, worked mostly with the first five people in the successor programme, but not immediately.

In my fic, there is the MC that tries to destroy him and his project, but even without her, it makes sense that he would take time, years even, to make sure this project can operate without any vulnerabilities. He’s far-sighted and took things more seriously, thanks to A and B’s inputs, so he wanted to create a solid foundation for this detective persona and the project.

However, he didn’t spend all his time over that, because we know he was into stocks. He is also a child, so he experienced a bit of his childhood: he participated in Wammy’s activities, played with the other kids, spent his time picking and giving up interests, etc. He even had tennis practices and tournaments, so it’s not like he just solved cases. He still did – smaller cases – but not all the goddamn time.

To me, he started when he was 12-13 to solve them periodically, but not publicly, just to have some credibility in the eyes England’s law enforcement, that could then recommend him to other national law enforcement, slowly building up his empire.

There wasn’t this urgency or this pressure to be like him. It was like a long-period plan that still had to show its fruits. L wouldn’t even tell all the members everything he solved – just the first five, because he would give them the case files to practice their skills.

ALTERNATIVE / A

So, he was older than L and participated to the establishment of the successor programme.

For the first years, he didn’t actually think to much about it, but as he was slowly approaching being 18, he started to have doubts about his abilities, because, as said before, L gave him case files to solves and he wasn’t able to get any of them entirely right. He still didn’t want to admit defeat and be a disappointment in the other eyes’, so he tried times and times again. This had an impact on his mental health, of course.

L noticed this change in attitude and told him that he can switch places with B. He had no problem with it, but A, instead of admitting that he wasn’t fit for the position, preferred to argue with him, damaging their relation.

The situation was really heavy for him, and since telling the truth was worse than anything else, his first attempt to leave it was by running away from the Wammy’s. That didn’t go well, because B, with a group of people there, managed to find him. A invented some kind of excuse, that he was being followed, and didn’t want to bring them to the orphanage. B didn’t buy it, and they too started to argue.

So, in that case, telling the truth was worse than death and he couldn’t bear the idea of being a complete failure, and killed himself.

That’s how I see how things went, more or less. And L was blamed for it. The successor programme was interrupted, and some of them decided not to participate anymore, even though they could always return, once and if it would be resumed.

L leaves the Wammy’s the same year, before he turns 14, which is important, because B kills a 13-years old girl by bashing her head, and that what I think he wanted to do to L (in my fic, it’s the MC, but whatever) at that time, but couldn’t.

In my fic, A’s name at the Wammy’s is Natal, because it means birth/birthday. And B’s name is Elioenai, which means “towards him are my eyes”. Now, this can have different interpretations: the “eyes” could mean the Shinigami eyes and “him” could be Natal, or L. I am not sure how much I consider him having the Shinigami eyes to be canon. It’s an interesting concept, but I don’t understand how that would be possible, like what led to that and what else does it mean for B? Is he part Shinigami? Or his mother had wild sex with a Shinigami, that then got some time of punishment by the King, because it’s against the rules?

I don’t know, so I don’t count them as canon, to be honest. Cool, but I don’t get it.

For me, Beyond Birthday means also “After Natal”.

BEYOND BIRTHDAY / B

I don’t believe he went completely insane after A’s death. In my mind, he was always kind of shady, ruthless, based on survival instinct and self-preservation. He had an attachment to A, but he had no problem to consider him also a tool that he could use and then discard, if he needed to. He loved him, but he always prioritized himself, at the end of the day.

If things went differently and A became L, that would not last long, because B would kill him so that he can succeed him, and nobody would question it, because they wouldn’t know what truly happened.

A’s death screwed up his plan and blamed L for it. He wanted to take his place, but he first needed his detective persona to be well established. He let L do the hard work to create it. A mostly gave some inputs to help him, while B supervised it, to make sure that everything was going according to his plan.

Since A was chosen as first successor, he couldn’t convince him to switch places, because he didn’t want him and L to have the impression that he really wanted that.

He honestly believed that L would be the first one to crack, because he was younger, but when A died and the project stalled for an indefinite period of time, he couldn’t take it. He planned his life to go in a certain way, but now L wouldn’t work as L anymore for an indefinite time, making no progress, and the project stalled, without any information on when or if it would be resumed? That made him see red.

If he couldn’t become L, then nobody deserved it, and he decided to impersonate L and ruin his career. If he had managed to kill himself in Another Note, while Misora still believed him to be L, then that would’ve had irreparable damages to L’s credibility, and L would’ve needed a lot of time to get that trust back.

That’s one of my interpretations of the LABB case, because I can’t really explain why B decided to that. We take for granted that the Another Note is canon, given also the praise by Ohba, but… It’s not. I have a hard time to consider things about L published after the manga conclusion canon, because they follow the fandom’s reaction. I consider the two one shots about Near canon, because Near has never had the same kind of fanbase L did and does, so it’s easy to not be influenced by what other people think.

In Another Note’s case, it’s written by someone else and, even though it might be weird to say it, it’s a fanfiction in my eyes, that Ohba considers canon because he is lazy, and couldn’t come up with any type of case L solved. He said that himself.

I pick and choose, basically. I could also throw Another Note out the window, with A and B, and pretend they don’t even exist, and I wouldn’t be “wrong” in doing so, but I like them, even though some parts of the novel leave me confused, because it contradicts the canon.

After A’s death.

I haven’t thought about this too much. I have just a general idea of the fact that the orphanage got restructured in some way, but don’t know what exactly changed. It’s just my gut feeling telling me that, as well as saying that the grade system got replaced by a simple graduation list, who ranked the kids based on points they gathered during the year by doing tests, and etc. Can’t go in-depth, because there is nothing here that I actually explored. It isn’t important in my fic, so I haven’t paid too much time to that. I might start to think about it in the future, but I still want to submit my answer.

It gets tricky when it comes to who decided that Mello and Near are meant to be his successors. It makes sense that it would be something imposed to them, but they seem to want it. Near takes on the title of his successor and even tells Light that he is that, meaning that he does not despise it. Mello clearly wants to be the best, and the best in his eyes is L, and I think this is due to the fact that L, during their time, is an established figure in the world and they want to be like him. He came from the Wammy’s, which tells them that they can reach that level of grandiosity.

In the “It’s not about justice” speech L gives, it said that some of the kids lose respect for him and keep their distance, so it is not mandatory for everyone to be part of the successor programme. Maybe even here, it’s catered more towards the best in the institution, so that position was offered to Near, Mello and Matt (third in line). Mello accepted for obvious reasons. Near because he likes to solve puzzles. Matt because, “yeah, why not”, but never believed that he would ever end up actually taking on that role, because Mello was in front of him. Here, they are not given letters in an alphabetical order, so there isn’t a first or a second for L’s position (it exists only inside the Wammy’s), and it ties well with what I said before about A and B. A felt like he needed to become L and couldn’t back down or ask for help, but now, who feels fit will take on L’s role and can also work with the other, without feeling like they need to do things alone.

I doubt L would make the same mistake twice and impose such job on them, without any regard for their opinion. Besides, I don’t think L believed to die that young, so while they taught them some important skills to be a detective, the idea was that they will become L later in life – 40/50s. Unfortunately, L died young and so even the successors were young.

Maybe it’s just naivety on my part, and the interpretation of the majority in this fandom of the Wammy’s House, Watari and the Successor Programme is more accurate than mine.

Of course, characters’ individual experience of the Wammy’s can be absolutely horrendous and they are not fond of the institution, but I don’t think Wammy’s House was born or became as something meant to create copies of L, especially because Near and Mello’s, as well as Matt and Linda’s, personalities and thought processes aren’t a carbon copy of his. They are their own people, in some way.

That’s all I had to say. I think I wrote enough to get a grasp of my idea of everything, even though there are some parts that I did not disclose or aren’t definitive. So, keep that in mind – I might as well wake up one day and decide to consider Wammy’s a factory of Ls, that resembles the common depiction of Hell in cartoons, but I highly doubt it.

Hope you like it. Let me know. And thank you for the ask, as always.

I kept thinking who you might be, based on when you sent the asks and my notifications around that time – maybe to find a correlation (e.g., you read something I wrote and thought of talking about that) – and I identified some accounts. Some of them are mutuals, that I can now exclude. The other non-mutuals that ship L/Light but have views that are different from yours. So, when I said that maybe I know who you might be, I think I was wrong, so I am quite curious to find out the truth.

Take care, E.H.

[amaliazeichnerin]

Not separating the art from the artist

July 29, 2024

When the news about the allegations against Neil Gaiman broke at the beginning of July, I was shocked. In this text, I’ll write some thoughts about this. I’ll put links down below, in the footnotes.

I listened to the podcast that broke the news (1), all four episodes. I later read a bit about it on Reddit (2) and listened to an extensive video (YouTube channel Council of Geeks, footnote 3).

Then I read that another woman had come forward, talking about her experiences with Gaiman ten years ago, in another podcast (4). I also read about rumours how questionable behaviour of Gaiman towards young female fans has been a thing for decades.

And he has admitted to some of what one of these women, Scarlett, has said – having a consensual relationship with her.

Well, even if the relationship (and other similar ones) has been completely consensual - which I doubt after listening to Scarlett’s experiences and what the other two women said - there still is a strange power dynamic at play: A wealthy, privileged older man and at least three young, inexperienced women, two of them fans who likely were to some extend starstruck by the attention he gave them. And Scarlett was employed as the nanny of his child.

In my eyes, this kind of power dynamic in a relationship is unethical, especially given all the details in those podcast episodes.

Why am I writing about this here? I have a hard time with „separating the art from the artist“. Some time ago, I have written a blog in German why. (5) I used to be a fan of the Sandman series and the Good Omens series. I also like the Dead Boy Detectives series and I watched and read American Gods.

I think the connection between the Dead Boy Detectives Netflix series and Neil Gaiman is not that strong, because while he has written a part of one episode as far as I heard and has created the characters for the Comic books, he wasn’t that much involved in the creation of the Netflix series. They also changed the two main characters quite a bit, as far as I know, for instance making them older.

When it comes to Good Omes, Gaiman was heavily involved in creating the series. I used to love it. I wrote an alternative universe fanfiction about it, I created some fan artworks and two cosplays. I also bought some fan artwork and hung it on my wall. I also love how Michael Sheen and David Tennant portray the main characters. However, after these news about Gaiman, „Good Omens“ feels … tainted to me. I lost my enthusiasm about the show. I have to admit about season three that I was mainly interested in a happy ending for Aziraphale and Crowley, preferably a romantic one. At this point, I do not much care for the rest of the plot. So far, there haven’t been any news that season three gets cancelled because of this controversy. So we’ll have to wait how that goes on.

But there is more, and here is where it sort of gets a bit more personal. „Good Omens“ inspired an urban fantasy novel I wrote last year and want to publish next year. I even wrote an acknowledgment in the book thanking Neil Gaiman for the inspiration, but I have deleted that now. I have written that acknowledgment also this June in a question to Neil Gaiman here on Tumblr, but I now hope that he never sees or answers it.

As for Sandman, I am not sure anymore if I want to watch the second season which is said to come out some time in 2025.

I have never bought books or comics of Neil Gaiman, except for an e-book of „American Gods“ and a print copy of "Good Omens" which I both bought last year. But I have deleted the e-book some days ago. I used to read some of his books from our local library, back in the early 2000s.

I am going to keep my copy of „Good Omens“, because at least half of it was written by Terry Pratchett. And so far, I haven’t heard about any controversies about that author.

I would like to close this blog with a German article from a SFF website why we shouldn’t put famous popular authors on pedestals: https://www.tor-online.de/magazin/mehr-phantastik/neil-gaiman-und-co-wir-muessen-aufhoeren-menschen-auf-ein-podest-zu-stellen

Addendum August 2, 2024 Two more women have come forward with allegations, in a new podcast episode: https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/master-the-allegations-against-neil-gaiman/id1756088562?i=1000663998586

Btw, if after all you are still a Neil Gaiman fan and enjoy his works – you do you. But please do not reblog this to come to his defense, do not comment, do not message me. Just scroll on. I am not going to discuss this any further.

Footnotes: (1) „Master: The Allegations against Neil Gaiman“ by The Slow Newscast Episode 1 of 4: https://open.spotify.com/episode/1NxQdD9F1vb4YxtAPEiI5J

(2) https://www.reddit.com/r/neilgaimanuncovered/

(3) "About those Neil Gaiman allegations (and the outlet that broke the story)" by Council of Geeks: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xmeEXDFM8I

(4) Podcast „Am I Broken: Survivor Stories“ by Papillon DeBoer Season 4, Episode 2 https://open.spotify.com/episode/47enk8V96GGkJtXEgwpXbs (5) Blog: „Muss man die Kunstschaffenden von ihrer Kunst trennen?“ https://amalia-zeichnerin.net/muss-man-die-kunstschaffenden-von-ihrer-kunst-trennen/

This is also interesting: „Manufacturing consent“ by Annabel Ross https://politicsdancingxyz.substack.com/p/manufacturing-consent

Rollingstone Article: https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-news/neil-gaiman-denies-sexual-assault-allegations-two-women-1235053131/

A round-up with a time line of everything going on with the allegations, reactions and more: https://muccamukk.dreamwidth.org/1678972.html Transcripts of the Tortoise Media podcast as PDFs for free download (TW: graphic descriptions of SA) https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1CuFVjs06gtQcPhhUEeR4GMORY37iMfz3

Addendum August 31, 2024 Two more episodes of "Master: The Allegations against Neil Gaiman" have come out, with more women coming foward with allegations.

Vera from "Council of Geeks" has done a second video on the topic.

[carriehobbs]

1a, 1c, 6d, 6g for the mix and match asks!! Good luck with internet 😭😭😭

1. Which of your fics is your favorite?

6. Which of your fics is the most serious?

a. What is something you wish more people noticed about it?

c. What do you think makes it deserving of love?

d. What is your favorite line or excerpt from it?

g. Which section was most difficult to write?

Ty for asking 💕💕💕💕

Questions from this ask game.

1. Which of your fics is your favourite?

As I said before, picking a fave fic is like picking a fave child, but for consistency, I'll say from the corners of my room again. This was the second fic I wrote after getting back into writing and it was more experimental for me (as I've said before), so it was a really fun opportunity to try to rediscover my voice and try something new with minimal fear of failure.

a. What is something you wished more people noticed about it?

I answered 1a over here!

c. What do you think makes it deserving of love?

I spent so, so much time thinking about every little detail when it came to writing that fic: at what time of day should each message be written?; how many days should be between each message (I pulled up a real calendar from 2018 too, so I could get the weekdays vs weekends right)?; how exactly do Alina’s emotions change over time?; what things would Alina willingly say, what things would she write down and then not send, and what things would she feel but not even admit to herself in a message she never intends to send to Nate?; how would she phrase something and then how would she rephrase that text?, etc. Every little detail in that fic was meticulously thought out and re-thought at least three times.

And I think all of that planning paid off – I think that Alina’s anxiety and insecurity and fear were palpable, I think her emotional arc (very polite -> emotionally oversharing because she knew she was never really going to send her messages -> convincing herself that her and Nate’s connection wasn’t real -> retreating back to politeness, especially knowing that she was going to see him again soon) made sense and worked within the format of the fic. I think (at least from the comments and feedback I got on it, lol) that it really effectively executed the concepts I wanted to explore and the techniques I wanted to practice. In short, I think it did a good job of doing what I wanted it to do.

6. Which of your fics is the most serious?

It’s not published yet, but my turning fic (post-canon Alina becoming a vampire) is definitely the most serious.

d. What is your favourite line or excerpt from it?

I have so many lines from this fic that I absolutely adore, it’s so hard to pick just one. I even have a full diatribe planned out with IPA and syllables parsed and everything for why I think one particular line is a really good bite in the mouth. I refuse to name an “absolute favourite” (please don’t make me pick 😭) but there is one line I absolutely adore.

This line is kind of a weird choice to me for a “favourite line” because it’s not particularly pretty or prosaic. Maybe it’s because I know its context in the story. But it always gives me this intense shiver-response when I read it. It’s the very last line in Chapter 3, which is the chapter where Alina drinks blood for the first time. It’s only four words:

She’s a messy eater.

g. Which section was most difficult to write?

I have a couple different scenes in the turning fic that I am fighting with (I know what still needs to be written in the scene and what the scenes need to do for the fic but I just have to execute them), but there’s one that I’m fighting with more than the rest which is the first part of Chapter 8.

The first half (part/section/whatever) of Chapter 8 actually takes place years before Alina turns (before she and Nate have kids, are married, or are even engaged). It occurs during this place in their relationship where they've gotten serious about each other and have started talking about and making actionable plans for their future (they’re having the “do you want kids”/“do you want to get married”/“do you want to become a vampire” talks). Ultimately, the entire scene is about Nate asking Alina why she wants to become a vampire.

The scene is really complicated for me because it needs to do several things all at once. Firstly, it needs to go over the different reasons why Alina wants to become a vampire (kind of self-explanatory). There’s a lot of back and forth between Nate and Alina (at least in the current version of the scene) that needs to be tense without feeling outright antagonistic. Alina is balancing trying to answer Nate’s question (why do you want to become a vampire) without actually answering it (she believes that her reason will be considered “unacceptable”, so she has a whole list of other reasons that aren’t untrue (that she has been giving to other people who ask her motivations based on which reasons she thinks they will find most compelling), but aren’t the main/most important reason to her) while Nate is (at least in this version) pretty much calling bullshit on all of them. And the scene needs to build to a particular moment (and particular line) that I’ve had in my head verbatim for over a year, far longer than I’ve even had the idea for this fic. The line needs to feel as natural and impactful in the fic as it does in my head, and it’s always harder for me to write a scene that I already have a strong image of (because the writing never meets the expectations).

Secondly, this scene does a sort of “reveal” that explains characters’ motivations in earlier chapters. This scene happens, chronologically, earlier than every other scene in the fic – this means that Nate, as a character, knows Alina’s reason for becoming a vampire the whole fic even if the audience is only finding that reason out in Chapter 8. So, there’s this tension between Nate and Alina in (quite frankly) every other scene of this fic that Nate is in that isn’t explained or unpacked (like in this snippet) until this moment.

Because everyone who’s likely to read this fic is an N-lover, they will already have the context of his character and backstory, so I’m not expecting anyone to really be surprised by how Nate is acting (I’m sure there are plenty of people who will read this and think, “oh, yeah, Nate definitely would bring baggage about his own unwanted turning to his partner’s turning, even if it was planned”). However, I still want readers to have this feeling of “ohhhhh, this adds so much more richness and complexity to what was going on in previous chapters” when they read this chapter, if that makes sense. So there’s a lot of pressure as well to write this scene in a way that doesn’t… like… flop, lol. I keep hmming and haaing over it because I need it to do what it needs to do effectively while still being an interesting scene to read.

[prettyboybuckley]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @saybiwithme @bi-buckrights @zainclaw

How many works do you have on ao3?

160

What's your total ao3 word count?

1,070,239

What fandoms do you write for?

I've mostly written for 9-1-1, though I started off with Shameless (6 fics) and I have written some for Teen Wolf (5 fics). There's one 9-1-1 crossover with Schitt's Creek.

Top five fics by kudos:

parents always yelling (telling us to get our acts together)

i just want something to hold on to (and a little of that human touch)

I will come to you (even in my sleep)

open up again (i believe in second chances)

exes and the oh's

Do you respond to comments?

Always, even if it takes me months. I actually just caught up again (there's still a bunch to go, but right now the oldest is 17 days ago instead of 250 days...). It's just a rule I have for myself, and even with the backlog I've kept it up so far, so I'm not going to stop doing it now.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I'm not a big fan of angsty endings, I generally try to at least make it a hopeful ending or, in the case of the college au, use an epilogue to fix things.

But I guess sunny skies & summer highs qualifies as an angsty ending simply because of the cliffhanger (and yes, there is still going to be a continuation, I'm working on it 🙈).

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Choosing one out of 160 is really hard, but I think tell me, will you stay or will you run away is definitely one that deserves a mention here, because it already has a happy ending and then the epilogue just makes it even better 🥰

Do you get hate on fics?

Not commented on the fic itself, no. I've had some people talk shit about my fics on twitter, though, and not even vaguely but calling me by (user)name.

Do you write smut?

Is grass green? Yeah, I write smut 🤭 Thanks to two times kinktober, I have 95 explicit fics, by far the most used rating for my fics.

Craziest crossover:

let's have some fun tonight is my 9-1-1/Schitt's Creek crossover fic for 9-1-1 Rarepair Week, and my only crossover fic

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

My head over feet Buddie valentine's two-parter got posted as one chapter in Wattpad work with over 30 fics once. Filed a DMCA and Wattpad took it down within two hours.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Two of my fics have been translated into Russian afaik, one on ao3 and one on Ficbook

Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Nope. It may be a nice challenge for the future? Not sure who I'd do it with.

All time favourite ship?

Gotta go for Buddie on that one, lol. Especially if you look at my writing history. But I often tend to hyperfixate on one ship at a time (current reading obsession is McDanno)

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Buck's POV of if love is art then you might be my masterpiece. I really want to, but at this point it's been two years since the original so I don't know if it'd be worth it either. (I know not everyone was happy about how I ended it, but I doubt any of them are still waiting for more). Writing a different POV of the same fic takes an amount of planning that my brain just really struggles with. And I could pick up where the last chapter (before the epilogue) picks up, but I think that way there would be some crucial information about Buck missing.

What are your writing strengths?

I've been told quite a lot of times that I am good at keeping characters, well, in character, even when putting them in partial or complete AU's. Of course, what is in character or not is subjective, but I do always challenge myself to work as much of the canon backstory and personality into who they are in the AU as possible.

And I like to think I'm pretty good at writing smut.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm terrible at pacing, which multiple of my long fics prove. It'll be drawn out first and then suddenly rushing. And being ESL I do struggle with things like sentence structure and grammar pretty regularly still.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

As long as there is some kind of translation provided somewhere I like it, but I'm not so quick to use it myself. Not beyond a few Spanish words here and there (generally pet names between Eddie and his family we've seen on the show or the occasional curse word when I feel it fits better than an English one, but I usually need to employ help from Spanish-speaking friends for those).

First fandom you wrote in?

Shameless! I binged that right before I started 9-1-1 and combined with the creative writing minor I was doing, it was actually what got me back into writing in general and what made me write my first ever fic.

Favorite fic you've written?

My in your arms i feel safe-series (which I always lovingly refer to as the ace kink fic) is definitely one of my favorites simply because of how personal it is to me and for the reason behind me writing it in the first place.

Other strong contenders are i would've loved you forever (it's never enough but i wanted it to be) and i'm begging you, come home to me (Teen Wolf, Thiam)

tagging @monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @loserdiaz @watchyourbuck

[beatrice-otter]

20 Questions for Fic Writers Tag Game

@whetstonefires tagged me! 17 was missing, and I searched for the meme and found one that had a question 17, so it's back!

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

256! But that's going back 18 years, so it's an average of a little over 14 fics per year.

2. what’s your total AO3 word count?

1,245,329. Which works out to an average of 4900 words per fic, or 69k words/year. Respectable, solid, but I know a lot of people who've written more.

Oh! But there are a couple of podfics in there, which probably skews the words-per-work a bit.

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Uh. A quick count gives me 112 fandoms on my AO3 page, so ... a lot. I regularly write for Yuletide, and I'm polyfannish, so. A lot. I used to be big into Stargate SG-1, so I've written a lot of that but not recently. Other top fandoms include Battlestar Galactica, Buffy, various DC fandoms, various Star Trek and Star Wars fandoms, Babylon 5, Terminator (especially the Sarah Connor Chronicles), the Vorkosiverse, the Goblin Emperor, and Rivers of London.

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Past Lives (a stalled WIP that is a Star Wars time travel fixit starring Finn)

Lieutenant Bennet's Visit (Temeraire/P&P with Bennet as an aviator)

Darcy's Surprise (sequel to the above fic)

Revenge of the Zillo Beast (Star Wars, Anakin-and-Mace-Windu Groundhog Day AU)

Far Above Rubies (P&P AU, Marry Bennet marries Mr. Collins and is quite happy)

5. do you respond to comments?

Yup! Or, at least, the ones that are more than an emoji or "second kudos!" I value those too, it's just ... what would I say?

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't tend to go in for angsty endings. But, as it happens, I did write an ending lately that was fairly dark.

Fertile Ground, Battlestar Galactica, Simon only bothered to continue the fertility experiments because the others demanded it. Things are different on New Caprica. Warnings for canon-typical ... everything

7. what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

How would one even judge? I have 256 fics, most of which have positive endings of one sort or another.

8. do you get hate on fics?

Not really? Or, at least, it's probably happened sometime in the last 18 years, but I just deleted it and forgot about it. I am very lucky, I know other writers who've gone through hell.

9. do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope!

10. do you write crossovers?

I love crossovers! AO3 thinks I have 38, but a few of those aren't really crossovers, just different corners of the same universe, and one of them is the work that combines most of my Twisting the Hellmouth crossover drabbles into one drabble collection. (The ones where I had several drabbles in a sequence to tell a longer story, I separated out to each be their own fic.) Anyway, it averages out to about two a year, although I have not written as many in the last few years as I did earlier in my fic writing career. Most recently, I have:

A Spy on the Golden State Train (Miss Fisher/Agent Carter gen)

Undiscovered Stars (Star Trek/Star Wars, Lando Calrissian/James T. Kirk)

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Oh, sure, there have been a couple of times people have put some of my fics on those skeevy for-profit websites that pop up every now and again.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Twice! Both times into Russian. Though oddly enough, none of my Vorkosiverse fics have been translated into Russian. There is a very large and active Russian fandom for the Vorkosigan saga, so if I were going to predict which of my fics would be translated into Russian, it would be those. But no, the two that were translated are a DS9 fic, and a Doctor Who/Mary Poppins crossover.

Тридцать четвертое правило by Lazurit (The 34th Rule, DS9)

Завтра ветер переменится by Kollega (A Change in the Wind, DW/Mary Poppins)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope!

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

That's tough to answer. Does it include the ones that I abandoned, say, 15 years ago and haven't thought of since? I don't tend to post WIPs because I don't like them hanging over me.

Probably Hello, Piccadilly, Hello, Leicester Square, a Wonder Woman post-movie fic about Diana trying to figure out how to live in Man's World. I had a really great hook--they pass Diana off as a war bride--but no real idea where to go from there. Which is why it stalled out after only two chapters.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Worldbuilding, probably.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Endings and action. I am not good at writing either of them. The thing I am most likely to need a beta's help with is whether or not an ending feels like an ending or if I need to wrap things up better, and if so, what do I need to do to wrap things up. And action bores me, and it's really hard to write something that bores you, so I try to avoid needing to write it.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I don't speak any other languages, so I wouldn't do it! Unless maybe I had someone who had already volunteered to translate for me.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Stargate SG-1! It was a spitefic that I wrote because I was so annoyed by all the Broca AUs. "The Broca Divide" was an episode where they all turn into cavepeople, and as part of it Sam Carter kisses her commanding officer, Jack O'Neill, who then takes her to the infirmary before succumbing to the infection himself. There were a ton of fics about that where they have sex instead and she gets pregnant, and afterwards she keeps the baby and they get married and everything is fine and the team stays together and nobody cares about fraternization or anything.

(There were a LOT of Sam/Jack fics out there where like the President or whoever would call them up and say "oh, you're in love? awesome! we'll just waive all the regulations about having a romantic relationship with someone in your chain of command because you're so extra special and awesome. Which really annoyed me.)

Anyway, I got annoyed enough to write a fic where they sleep together as cavepeople and she gets pregnant and things are not fine, actually, there are consequences to it.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

lol

I can never figure out my favorite anything. If you give me five options, I could maybe narrow it down to the top two. Out of 256? You have got to be kidding me.

Tagging @tielan, @alexseanchai, @mihrsuri, @birdylion, @anghraine

[star--nymph]

@plisuu: Conversations at the Edge of Everything sounds intense 👀

Ohohoho boy, it is! So Conversations at the Edge of Everything is my exploration of death in the FF7 universe and the relationship between Sephiroth and Aerith (because I truly believe it's the biggest dropped ball in the series). I don't know if I ship them romantically, especially in this, I just want to throw them in the same room and see what they do.

I also started writing it because I was genuinely done with how Aerith is depicted in the series after the OG and I want to see this woman snap. I want to see her go ape shit.

I already wrote chapter 1 here (which I love the descriptions in, by the way. I think it's some of my best work) and the WIP is for chapter 2:

Those souls that touched down in her garden after a wary life would be greeted with sunlight and the scent of flowers. Before they would reach the porch, she would fling the doors open and come to them in a flurry of skirts, basket in one hand and a cool drink in the other. She’d sit them down at a table with a full meal and there they would lay out the expense of their life, long or short, contented or sorrowful, and they wouldn’t realize until the end that at some point, Aerith had weaved flowers into their hair. She listened to a lot of stories there, at her mother’s table, with tea in between them that was always steaming warm, even when she told them “Take a breather and have some before it gets cold”. It was her favorite part of this new…life. The world she only caught glimpses of unraveled itself in its people, and once their glassy eyes came into focus and they no longer saw Meteor ripping through a red sky like a knife through soft, bleeding flesh—oh, the things they told her. Of the things they lost, loved, even hated sometimes. School trips, late nights, giving birth, attending a funeral, walking down the beach, scaling mountains, dinner with their lover’s parents, failed tests, animals they found and tended too, steamy honeymoons, getting to work late, fighting one hundred fiends to see the light of day, their first and last snowfall, and every other facade that bounced off the ever turning prism of Gaia. She’d lay her head down her arms and tell them to go on until they emptied themselves of their memories and emotions. Until they were satisfied and realized, on some level, this was it. It was over. The final word on the final page of their book. Sometimes, there were tears when this happened, other times there was rage. Most of the time, Aerith noted, they were just confused. Humans understood the concept of death in a roundabout way, but not really the conclusion part. The idea of their existence just stopping. No tomorrow or next week or next month or next years; there wasn’t even a next second. That hazy cloud would come back over their mind and listlessly they would look around, putting together that nothing here was real, just constructed for their comfort. They turned those eyes, which were twinkling with the Lifestream’s energy, to her and she wondered if they saw her sitting there or something entirely different. Sometimes they reached for her to see if she was tangible; when their hand touched hers, she would hold it gently and smile ruefully. “That’s it?” They’d ask. “It’s over? What am I supposed to do now?” Aerith would tilt her head to the side, never sure the best way to answer just a lofty question, and then would just go with her gut, “Nothing, I guess. There’s nothing else to do but go.” The soul would ripple from one form to another, shifting and spinning between time periods in their lives. When they opened their mouth, they’d asked with a child’s voice and a child’s uncertain eyes, “Go? Go where?” “Back to the Lifestream, where we started. I know it doesn’t make sense, but it’s where you and I belong. Everyone belongs there, one way or another—and it’s where all stories end. Besides, aren’t you tired now? You talked for a long time. Maybe a hundred years!” “…Will…will I feel anything…or will I…even be anything?” “You will. You’ll be something different, something the Planet only knows. And where you go, whatever you become, everyone will be with you. You won’t be alone.” “And you? Will you be there?” “…in a way, yeah. I’ll be here, I’ll be there, and I’ll never be far.” “…okay.” “Okay?” “It’s like you said…I am tired—and-and maybe I want to be something new.”

[indigowallbreaker]

Finished a book and need to unload thoughts

Just finished a book where I could NOT stand the writing style x_x I thought maybe it's because the book is actually the 4th in a series-- I got it as a gift and didn't realize until I started reading-- but I wasn't lost at all in terms of characters or setting. It's the way the author wrote that made me roll my eyes every other page. Maybe cozy mysteries just aren't for me?

The things I can't stand in fiction are 1) the narration/author feeling the need to hold our hand instead of just letting us figure things out (telling instead of showing, essentially); 2) needless repeation; and 3) all the main characters are perfect people and the author goes out of their way to make SURE you know that. Let me use this book as an example:

1) ["I hope the issues your company faces are resolved to everyone's benefit. And by everyone, I mean your family, the farmers, and the customers," Jane said. This was her way of expressing sympathy for the Sullivans while making it plain that she believed it wrong for consumers to be exposed to harmful chemicals in products claiming to be organic.]

There's a dozen other ways the author could have expressed what Jane was getting at without hitting readers over the head. Maybe pair it with a meaningful look at the Sullivans, or "she stressed the last word and was satisfied when the Sullivans looked appropriately sheepish". This is one of the many instances where I found myself saying "I GET IT" out loud. Tying into point 3 a bit, you don't have to TELL me the main character dislikes chemicals in food since she's been portrayed as a saint this whole time, but thanks so much for the reminder.

2) [Only Eloise remained quiet, staring at Jane with a mixture of surprise and confusion. And why wouldn't she? Jane thought. My sons were just abducted. Here I am, hours later, talking about leaving them.

"Why do you need to go away now? So soon, after everything that's happened?" Eloise asked after the rest of the women had fallen silent.]

The input from Jane, our main character, is totally unnecessary here. "I know she's confused" followed by "I'm confused!" is absolutely annoying. In cartoons or comedies, something like that can be played for humor, sure. "Eloise isn't going to like this!" *smash cut to Eloise's house* "I don't like this!". But in drama it's just irksome. If the author is trying to demonstrate how well Jane knows her friend Eloise, there's other, more compelling ways to do so than just telling us what Eloise is about to say and then having her say it almost virbatum. "Jane had been expecting Eloise's outburst" or "Only Eloise remained quiet, staring at Jane with a mixture of surprise and confusion. Jane knew exactly what was going through her mind and turned to her best friend ready to receive the question she was sure to ask."

If the author was trying to guess what we the readers were thinking and trying to address our own potential confusion, then it was a completely pointless gesture. This scene is at the very end of the book-- you've built a bit of trust with me; I already assume Jane has her reasons.

3) [Anna stared at it for several seconds before saying, "I didn't ring him up. I'd remember his face if I had. He looks like a badger." She quickly glanced at her friends. "That's not a criticism. I like badgers."

"It's okay, Anna, I thought the same thing when I first saw him," Jane said.]

This is (to all but Jane) a random person no one in the room is going to see again! It's not someone's relative or boyfriend or child-- in fact it's someone suspected of murder! There's no reason Anna has to back pedal on her description, especially since she only likened the guy to an animal. It's not like she said "He looks like a horrifying snot monster" or something. But gods forbid the author portray the good guys as people who make passing comments about strangers. Quick, make sure the reader knows Anna wasn't being mean! She likes badgers! It's a compliment! Such scenes make me roll my eyes. Anna calling the suspect a badger just makes it easier for me, the reader, to picture him. No need to attach an apology.

At first I thought the writing rubbed me the wrong way because the vibe is more like a TV show, if that makes sense? Some things the characters do or say would work well in a visual medium but are clunky written out. Like the amount of times Jane says things aloud for dramatic effect that totally could have been thoughts. I thought maybe I was just being judgemental.

But then the above points kept happening over and over AND OVER. It's been a long time since I skim-read a book but I wanted to skip all the fluff and just skip to how the mystery ended.

I'm not saying this is a horrible book or the author is a bad writer. As I said at the top, it's the 4th book in a series. Maybe it's more of a character driven series and I would have enjoyed it more if I knew the characters better. Maybe this is a low point in the series and I just entered at a bad time. This book ends on a bit of a cliffhanger so it's possible the author was trying something new and this isn't typically how they write.

Mostly I'm picking on it because it's a prime example of the things I dislike reading in fiction. It's a fantastic one-stop-shop for textual examples I can point at to explain my preferences. It also got me fired up about a book (albeit with negative feelings) which hasn't happened in a while, and confirmed that this genre isn't for me. And for that I thank it.

On to the next book in the pile.

[hmslusitania]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

I was tagged by @littlespoonevan!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

83!

2. What’s your total word count on AO3?

885,673

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently just DC and Star Wars (if you are looking at my ao3 going “i dont see Star Wars??” its wips. Its all wips)

4. Top five fics by kudos

- Leave the Light On

- I Didn’t Know I Was Lonely ‘Til I Saw Your Face

- Close My Eyes and Stumble

- Half Awake in Our Fake Empire

- Don’t Take the Money

5. Do you respond to comments?

I do when it’s a fic I’m still excited about! Especially ones I’m actively posting

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I’m… not sure I ever let anything end on an angsty ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Leave the Light On just by contrast with everything that came before the end

8. Do you get hate on fics?

For about ten.7 seconds I was writing fic for Once Upon a Time and it is the only time I’ve ever gotten hate on fics and i removed said fics from ao3 and don’t write in that fandom anymore

9. Do you write smut?

The answer to this question used to be “no haha well maybe like every once in a while” but like. Considering I posted an E rated chapter this very morning, I cannot equivocate about that anymore

10. Craziest crossover?

That I won’t ever finish? The one time @starry-eyed-guttersnipe and I wrote part of a 9-1-1/Fringe fusion fic. That I’m actively working on? DC/Star Wars and I am having So much fun

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Several times yeah! I think that’s neat

13. Have you ever Co-written a fic?

Working on one right now!

14. All time favourite ship?

It’s physically impossible for me to answer this

15. What’s a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I started a Star Wars alternate timeline fic like two years ago and I think about it a lot because the main point of the plot ended up being, uh, the main point of the plot of Jedi: Survivor so like… it got weird to work on lol

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I’m good with dialogue and character

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Transitions

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Depends on the language and the context

19. First fandom you wrote in?

H*rry P*tt*r

20. Fave fics you’ve written?

Like Any Unloved Thing

Weakened Like Achilles

Gotham Honest, Anyway (the last chapter of which goes up tomorrow morning)

Tagging anyone who wants to do it and also specifically @rhysiana and @sonseulsoleil

[night-market-if]

Hello this isn’t a question but i just wanna praise you and your work.

First, I love how you wrote each RO with depth & characterization. You make them stick out without leaning too hard on certain tropes or you flip those tropes on their head. Each of them has just their reasons of being selfish.

Second, The MC choices feel very impactful not in actions, but also dialogue. Especially when interacting with the main group. As a player i feel like i have agency in making decisions. That’s not a feat to brush off by the way.

Third, The way you do twists, reveals and feeding the player information throughout the story is brilliant. I don’t see them coming until after it happens. But you do leave out clues & crumbs along the way. Still it’s rewarding experience.

Thank you!

I get so worried about the choices sometimes and I have been criticized for the MC not having enough agency or being able to affect the world. I think those people haven't read through to the end and realize what is going on yet but to each their own.

I do get into my own head about the choices though. Because I don't want it to feel like there is no change in tone or MC doesn't have the ability to be layered. One of the reasons I threw stat based choices out of the way was because I wanted MC to be sad and empathetic sometimes while getting up and arms about other things. I didn't want to lock those emotions off. I mean, I go through a range of emotions daily so I feel like it's weird to lock them off because your last three choices reflected differently.

As for peppering in all that information about the twists? Some of it was for sure on purpose but others just kind of happened. There were times when I went back to read where I got excited because I had put something in there that I hadn't realized was foreshadowing. But that kind of writing is also some of my favorite. I don't think we'll have as big of a mystery/reveal for book 2 but I am glad it paid off in book 1.

Thank you for all your support and your kind words!