#feels almost as if it's an attempt to justify a character being unable to use an injured limb

[actualaster]

I know media does it to most easily showcase how much pain a character is in, but you don't actually need to be in so much pain you're screaming from it for a limb to give out from pain.

Sometimes it's just a white-hot flash of agony so sudden it takes your breath away and the next thing you know you're on the ground/bed/back in the chair/whatever.

It's so abrupt and intense and quick that it's over before you have even a chance to make a sound and all that's left is the deep, lingering ache of it.

And sometimes it's not even pain! Sometimes a limb can just... Stop working and down you go. The pain comes after.

(That's what happened to my knee where I ended up needing to be wheeled around because I couldn't walk--just gave out and hurt after it stopped working)

There's pain you cry out from, for sure, but there's plenty of pain--pain that can be literally debilitating--that you don't scream from, either, but that doesn't make it less of an impediment. Depends on the person themselves a lot, as well as the type of pain itself.

[pinkberrytea]

Killing you was the sinful culmination of his undying love, and breathing new life into you, a dowry bestowed upon you out of unconditional devotion.

Memento mori—Remember you must die. Enveloped in memories of her death, the Vampire Ascendant watches his darling consort as she slumbers, lost in dreams of blood and mist. Life is short, and shortly it will end; death comes quickly and respects no one. To death we are hastening, let us refrain from sinning.

An exploration of Astarion’s character and his relationship with his Dark Consort following the ascension, from a softer perspective.

Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav (F!Reader)

w/c: 6.2k words . ao3 . spotify playlist . 18+ only . nsfw . dividers

a/n: thank you for reading! this is my first time dabbling in creative writing, and of course my first attempt at smut fiction, but still, I hope it is at least somewhat enjoyable. I would like to dedicate this work to the lovely @locallegume, who was a huge source of inspiration, and also to hismostbelovedspawn over on reddit, for being always so incredibly kind and supportive. I love you guys!

tags: blood drinking; cunnilingus; body worship; light dom/sub; vaginal fingering; mildly dubious consent; creampie; fluff & angst; emotional sex; dry humping; possessive behavior; somnophilia; orgasm edging; piv sex

The beginning of the morning twilight is Astarion’s favorite time of the day, for it feels at once ephemeral and infinite. The wistful silence, broken only by the still timid chirping of the waking birds; the royal blue-colored sky, tinged with specks of the purples and violets of the dawn; the chilly morning breeze, gently rustling the flowers in the garden, pushing the still forming dewdrops off their petals and onto the ground; you, slumbering beside him, pale skin reflecting the dim light of the fading moon, rosy lips slightly parted. Sleeping peacefully like this, you look like a life-sized porcelain doll, he thinks—your unmoving chest betrays your otherwise healthy likeness, as does the unnaturally blanched color of your skin. Your nightgown hangs lazily off your shoulder, exposing one of your breasts, and your undergarments lay discarded on the floor, on the exact same spot where he had tossed them earlier that night. He adores this version of you—so vulnerable, so defenseless, laid open for him, and him only.

Astarion finds it curious, how you seem to completely lose yourself in your dreams, yet he is also greatly perturbed by the notion that there is a part of you that he is still unable to access, to dominate. It feels unnatural, not to be able to control this elusive slice of your essence, but having ever only tranced, it also mystifies him that you’d voluntarily give up your consciousness each night. You were after all ever the trusting fool—from the moment you met, he had lied to you, manipulated you countless times, and each time you fell for it, standing by his side even when the world screamed at you not to. And even now, you give yourself to him, unquestioningly, unconditionally. In all the long years of his existence, there had been none like you, and there never will be again. None as trusting, none as kind, and he both hates and loves you for it. The very notion of you extending your kindness to anyone other than him is infuriating, and makes him want to take it for himself, put it in a glass dome and hide it away in a place where only he can bask in its warmth. He thinks he is owed that, at least; yours was the only hand that ever reached out to him, so he is justified in not wanting to share.

You shift slightly in your sleep, and a lock of your hair that had been trapped underneath one of your arms falls onto your chest. After eyeing it for a moment, Astarion reaches out for the tresses and grasps them between his fingers. Bringing them close to his nose, he takes in your scent, that is now also his. It smells comforting, familiar—it smells like home. The corner of his lips curl into an almost imperceptible smile, and he closes his eyes, letting out a contented sigh. The hushed shroud of the early hours acts as a cloak, under which he is granted a brief respite, a rare chance to let himself be gentle, be kind. Just as you become entirely vulnerable before him in your slumber, he too exposes the soft underbelly of his feelings for you; that chaotic, intoxicating brew, a messy blend of passion, guilt, hurt, longing, and love, endless and unrelenting love.

He brings his elegant fingers close to your face, and ever so gently glides their soft pads across the cold, velvety smooth skin of your cheek. Your long lashes flutter slightly, tickling the sensitive area under your eyes as he lowers the digits to brush the plump of your lips. He admires you for a short moment, taking in your image—his pretty consort, so beautiful, so frail, so foolishly devoted to him. Oh how lucky he is, to have you who would do anything for him by his side; his most precious treasure, the reason why his long dead heart beats inside his chest once more. He grasps your chin, delicately tilting your head upward to face him, and tenderly presses his lips to yours. His other hand moves to your chest, fingers softly caressing the pebbled peak of your exposed breast, his touch so faint that his skin barely comes into contact with yours. As much as Astarion enjoys asserting his dominance over you, making you kneel before him, seeing the dejected yet submissive expression on your pretty face whenever he decides to make a show of his power, it is these moments he values the most. In your intimacy, he may treat you gently, tenderly, and in your state of unconsciousness, by morning his loving touches will be but a hazy memory, securing your place below, but close beside him, from where you shall never leave for as long as he draws breath—which he can now only do thanks to you.

His fingers on your nipple leave it alone for a moment to close around your breast, giving it a soft, gentle squeeze. Moving quietly so as not to wake you, he slides his right leg under yours and presses it against the back of your knee, creating a space between your thighs as he pushes them apart, where he then nests himself, climbing on top of you.

“Astarion…” when you softly whisper his name, his half-smile widens into a grin; how reassuring it is, to know you belong to him even in your dreams. He lowers his head to plant a kiss on the delicate skin of the curve of your neck, and his lips brush against the two small indentations disrupting the otherwise pristine smoothness of your flesh. Instinctively, he brings his hand to the back of your right shoulder, his long fingers blindly searching for the matching set of bite marks. The last of the three pairs adorns your left wrist, for which reason he will ever so often take your hand in his, only to lovingly kiss it and turn it around so he can admire the evidence of his proudest feat—having sired you.

“Oh my love, I’m here. I’ve got you,” Astarion coos, holding your head gently against his bare chest, fingers tangled in your hair as you writhe and squirm in his arms, empty and glassy eyes lost in a hollow stare, seeing nothing but darkness, endless darkness. The expression on your face is at once delirious and vacant—mouth agape and fists clenched, pupils blown wide, eyelashes wet with tears and a thin string of drool coming out from the corner of your lip and trickling down your chin. At least for tonight, you are lost to him, and as he winces at the still foreign sensation of the loud, vigorous throbbing in his head, your own fading heartbeat softens, dying down into nothingness. And right as it is about to fall perpetually silent, he lets his fangs pierce his own tongue, drawing droplets of now living blood; bringing your face close to his, he presses his thumb to your lower lip, and covers your mouth with his.

He loses himself in the memory for a moment, as he so often does. Your peaceful, serene expression stands in stark contrast to the one that had been etched on your face on that fateful night. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet still he remembers the pain, the agony, the relentless fear building up in his stomach as your body contorted and tears glistened in your vacant eyes. Never had Astarion been more afraid of anything than he’d been of losing you, and by his hand no less. Killing you was the sinful culmination of his undying love, and breathing new life into you, a dowry bestowed upon you out of unconditional devotion. You only ever questioned him about what had happened on the evening of your turning once, but it mattered not how many times you asked, for he would never fully disclose the raw truth—how he had cradled you in his arms and whispered sweet nothings in your ears, kissing away your tears; how he had picked you up as you lost consciousness and carried you to your bed, where he would then tuck you in so very tenderly, so very gently, softly patting your hair and holding your hand, sharing his warmth with you as you lost your own; how he would patiently wait by your side, watching as the color slowly drained from your face, his stomach sinking at the thought of you never waking again—only for you to then slowly open your eyes, their hue now a rich crimson, much like his own. No, he would never again allow himself to be so weak, for he was supposed to be your warden, your liege. This pathetic side of him was to be ever hidden from you, only rearing its ugly head during the brief, sleepy moments preceding the crack of dawn.

With his lips still pressed against your skin, Astarion starts peppering kisses down your neck, on the hollows of your collarbone and across your sternum, his hand on your breast fondling it gently, the other still tracing the bite marks on your shoulder. His still clothed hips start lazily, almost imperceptibly rocking back and forth, lightly grinding against your naked thighs; thinking back to the night when he made you his almost inevitably causes blood to rush to his groin, and his body starts unconsciously seeking the sweet relief of the friction between his hardening erection and your supple skin. He moves his hand on your breast to grasp your nipple between his fingers, lightly squeezing it. You involuntarily buck your hips in response, which amuses him greatly as he continues playing with the tender nub. A soft moan escapes your lips, encouraging and emboldening his attentions as they drift away from your clavicle towards your chest. He plants gentle kisses on the plump of your bosom, using his teeth to pull at your nightgown and drag it down, exposing your clothed breast to the chilly morning air. You shiver, and he smiles against your skin, pressing his lips to the valleys of your ribs, the softness of your lower belly, and finally to your bare crotch. With his face so close to your swollen sex, the sweet scent of your essence now intoxicates his senses. He stands back for a moment to admire how it glistens in the faint glow of the moonlight, so deliciously inviting, as your juices start building up and collecting in-between your folds.

Feeling his breath caressing the sensitive skin of your core, you finally start to slowly regain consciousness. Once his arousals were returned to him, Astarion would make a habit of waking up during the night at various times to bury his cock in you, so it takes you but a moment to gather your bearings. Either out of mischievousness or curiosity, you play coy at first, pretending to be asleep still. His soft lips briefly come into contact with your engorged bud, sending shock waves through your body, and you are barely able to keep yourself from letting out a yelp, although you can’t prevent your skin from becoming covered with goosebumps. When his tongue pokes out of his mouth to give it a tentative lick, you know you won’t be able to keep up the charade for much longer. He feels your body tense up, and slightly raises his head to look at you from his position between your legs with half-lidded, lascivious eyes, dilated pupils partially covering the ruby hue of his irises. You’re unsure if he has already caught on to your little ruse, so you try staying as still as possible, which proves difficult with his face so close to your cunt.

After what seems like an eternity he decides to continue, lapping at your clit again and then sliding his tongue downwards, burying it between your folds. He presses it against the outer edge of your entrance, squeezing slick out of you, and as he savors your essence, he can’t help but think that while its sweet tanginess does not compare to the coppery, velvety richness of the crimson in your veins—nothing ever will, for his is the blood that courses through them—it may well be the second best thing he has ever tasted. Gliding his tongue upwards once more, he uses it to gently massage the raw bundle of nerves crowning your mound, leaving a trail of saliva mixed with your fluids between it and your twitching cunt, which then dribbles down onto your thighs. Placing a hand on each side of your hips, he pulls you closer to him, and the shift causes his fangs to graze the sensitive skin of your folds, in response to which your eyes water and you clutch the silk sheets under you both. Taking no notice of your desperate reaction, he continues swirling his tongue up and down your wetness, gently sucking on the tender skin, eagerly eating you up as if you were a full-course meal served especially for him, just begging to be ravished.

You feel heat pooling in your lower abdomen, and at this rate it won’t be long before you are brought to the edge. Momentarily forgetting the fact that you are supposed to be pretending to be asleep as you lose yourself in the crescendo of your release, you arch your back, leaning on your elbows to support your weight, and as soon as you do, he mercilessly pulls away from you, leaving your dripping core empty and aching. Eyes closed still, you let out a soft mewl in protest, which you regret as soon it leaves your lips, for once Astarion notices your desperation, you are done for.

Still unsure if he has already perceived your awakened state or if he believes your body to be involuntarily reacting to his touch, you dare not produce any further sounds. Having cruelly left your throbbing arousal unattended, his tongue now glides its way up your stomach, leaving a glistening wet mess in its wake. Upon reaching your chest, his lips latch onto your left breast, your perked nub fitting perfectly inside his mouth. He sucks on it ever so tenderly, teasing it with a pointed tongue and lightly scraping the squishy surrounding flesh with his fangs. One of his hands leaves its place on your hip and finds its way between your legs, and you let out a sigh of relief when you feel a long, elegant finger ghosting over your clit. The other hand slides further down to the curve of your ass, and his blunt nails dig into your soft skin, giving it a firm squeeze.

The pad of the wandering digit finally presses down onto the engorged flesh of your reddened knot, massaging it leisurely in circular patterns, and another finger suddenly slides between your folds, parting them gently. Unable to contain yourself, you roll your hips into his hand, which you soon learn is a grave mistake as he tightens his grip on your ass, applying such pressure that come morning, bruises are certain to form on the pale skin, which he will then tenderly kiss better while looking apologetically at you from under thick lashes; and you will forgive him, as you always do. Lifting his head up from your now rouged, swollen nipple, he readjusts his position above you, using his body weight to pin you down and hold you in place. He lets go of your ass, firmly grasping at your jaw with his newly freed hand, and even from behind closed eyes you can feel the intensity of his gaze. This does not bode well, and try as you might you cannot ignore the sickening pinch in the pit of your stomach as his eyes scrutinize every inch of your face—has he noticed? Is a punishment in order? Will he deny you your release?

“Open up, darling. Your mouth.” The commanding tone with which Astarion vocalizes the otherwise unassuming words is all it takes to placate your erratic thoughts, and obeying is for you as natural as breathing—or it would be, if you were still alive. Once you do as he says, you feel his thumb pressing on your lower lip, forcing it further down. He slides the digit inside your mouth, gagging you slightly, and your lips instinctively close around it. “Good girl,” he purrs, and encouraged by the tenderness of his praise, you start lightly sucking on it, coating it with saliva. For a short moment, he becomes entranced by the feeling of your wet tongue massaging his skin, and his mind wanders to the thought of your plump lips wrapped tightly around his cock. This prompts him to once again start bucking his hips, rubbing the now obvious bulge underneath his pants against your stomach, but this time his rhythm is much more frantic, more desperate.

Relief washes over you as you feel the fingers still in your mound resume their fondling, the one on your clit now applying greater pressure, handling it much less gently, yet just as skillfully, his knowledge of all the ins and outs of your body having always been something he prided himself on. The other makes its way down from its place between your folds, plunging into you as soon as it reaches your entrance. Your body jerks in response, and your moan is muffled by his thumb in your mouth—when he then plunges another, stretching you open without giving you time to adjust, you involuntarily bite down on the digit gagging you, sinking your fangs into his flesh. He grimaces, and you can tell you have hit an artery, because the flow of the thick, hot blood running down your throat is alarmingly heavy. However, rather than pulling away, he lets you drink, curling his fingers inside you and massaging the tight walls of your cunt with his knuckles. The rich taste of his crimson lingering in your tongue and spreading inside your body, mixing with yours within your veins and making them pulsate with life—pure, raw, vibrating life—works as a powerful aphrodisiac, heightening all your senses, and the feeling of him fucking you with his fingers is all it takes for you to come undone on his hand, muscles spasming and clenching around the digits, coating them in the sweet nectar of your release.

Just as you reach your climax, Astarion’s own teeth sink into the indentations marking the otherwise smooth skin of your neck. You instinctively cock your head to the side to grant him more access, letting him feed on you as you bask in the afterglow of your orgasm, sucking on his thumb still. His blood flows from him to you and then back to him, and the sheer intimacy of it brings you so close together that it’s as if you have merged into one single being. You can no longer tell where you end and he begins, as your minds touch and mesh and then untangle again, in a sensual, chaotic dance, where you both sway to the rhythm of his heartbeat. And while the connection lasts, his emotions rush through you and yours through him, rendering words meaningless as the everlasting adoration, the inebriating, all-consuming love you share, no matter how tainted, is laid bare before you, in all its wickedness and allure.

“Fear not: you are mine.”

You finally open your eyes, letting go of his thumb, and as the fog from the afterglow subsides you notice his fingers remain inside you still, gliding effortlessly up and down your twitching walls, which are now lubricated with slick and come; your skin tingles from the overstimulation, but the sensation is not unwelcome. With the hand you have just freed, he holds your head in place while he continues to feed, and you both stay like this for a while, his fingers buried inside your cunt and his fangs in your neck, where they rightfully belong. His little grunts as he drinks from you and the feeling of his hardened cock pressed flush against your stomach rekindle the ache between your legs, causing the living blood now coursing through your veins to flow to your tender core.

Having drank to his heart’s content, Astarion pulls away from you, making you wince at the sudden emptiness as both his fangs and fingers leave your body. No longer plagued by the perpetual, agonizing hollowness of vampiric hunger, his only reason for feeding on you still is the invigorating thrill of your taste on his tongue and your blood pulsating in his arteries; you were his first, after all, having offered him the greatest gift of them all when you had no good reason to. Killing you on the evening he first revealed his true nature had never been out of the question, and it puzzles him still why you would willingly surrender this sanguine gift to a vampire stalking you in the night—a pitiful creature, hiding in the shadows, with murderous intent and offering you nothing but pain and misery. He is reminded of your foolishness and naïveté every time he sinks his fangs into your soft flesh, and the familiarity of it is oddly comforting to him.

Not bothering to wipe the red smear on his chin, he brings his hand up to your mouth once more, only this time his digits are covered in your juices. A single look into his crimson eyes, clouded with lust, tells you all you need to know, and you eagerly obey the silent order, wrapping your lips around his fingers.

“Ever so obedient, aren’t you, my sweet?” His honeyed words and impish smile send shivers down your spine, and unable to talk as your tongue flicks and swirls, lapping at your own sticky essence, you look up at him through your lashes with coquettish demureness; his pretty little spawn, always so good to him, so docile, so devoted. The very sight of you makes his cock twitch with desire. “I do find it charming when you play your darling little games. Mostly because you are awful at them. You did know I was aware the entire time, didn’t you?,” although his smile widens, there is a hint of danger in his voice, “That you were awake.”

As his blood within you rushes to your cheeks, spreading to the tips of your ears, Astarion’s expression darkens, and the lust in his eyes grows wilder, more desperate. There is something endlessly enticing about how bashful and girlish you look with your face hot and flushed with his crimson, like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar, and it makes him want to devour you whole. He abruptly slides his fingers out of your mouth, and the glistening string of your fluids that forms between your lips and his digits breaks off as he uses that same hand to grab your neck and bring your face close to his. Once you are mere inches apart, he stops for a moment, the proximity between you such that you can feel his long lashes brushing against your skin and see the flecks in different shades of red swimming in his irises. The stillness in the air makes you acutely aware of the sound of his heartbeat, and it paradoxically both comforts and torments you. Such is the nature of your relationship; yearning and sorrow, worship and regret, lust and greed. The duality of it is not lost to you, but you’re past the point of coming up with justifications, for it is far too late for redemption. You made your choice, he made his, and now his burden is yours to bear. It matters not if outsiders looking in cannot make sense of it, as the bond between you was never meant to be understood by anyone else—however ugly and twisted it may be perceived by those around you, it is undeniably a bond of love, one you are willing to protect even if it costs you everything.

“Until the world falls down.”

When he finally closes the distance between you and crashes his mouth into yours, your mind is wiped clean of any semblance of coherent thought and your senses are filled with nothing but him—his scent, his warmth, his taste. He hungrily parts your lips with his tongue as soon as your skin touches his, your teeth clicking in his desperation, and his grip on your neck tightens. You feel tears well up in your eyes, some spilling through your lashes and rolling down your cheeks, your repressed emotions overflowing as you lose yourself in the fierce intensity of his kiss. You want him, you need him, you hate him; you love him, oh how dearly you love him, more than life itself. He explores the inside of your mouth, wantonly, passionately, only stopping to suck on your bottom lip, nipping it with his fangs and lapping at the droplets of blood blooming from the punctured flesh. Once he pulls away, gasping for air, you are both a disheveled mess, lips swollen and bruised and red. Not yet letting go of you, his fingers wrapped around your throat still, he guides your head back down, laying it on the soft feather pillow, only to then straighten up his torso, hand on your neck holding you in place and darkened eyes looking down upon you. From your position below him, he looks ethereal, almost godly, as the moon casts a pale halo around his frame, shining its light on the naked skin of his upper body.

He holds this position for a while, silently studying your face, and as he does, his intense gaze seems to gradually soften, mellowing out into almost tenderness. You feel the pressure of his fingers on your skin lessen, and then cease completely as he frees you, raising his hand up to cup your cheek. His thumb traces the trail of dried tears, and you lean into his soothing touch, eyes wettening once more. Taking notice of this, he leans back down and brushes his lips against the teardrops threatening to escape from your lashes, drying them before they fall.

“Shh, my darling, hush.” The softness in Astarion’s voice and the gentleness of his caresses as he runs his fingers through your hair are all you ever yearned for, all you ever needed, and yet with every touch your chest tightens and you feel a pang of loneliness and guilt tugging at your unbeating heart, for this is what you want, but not what you deserve. You failed him, just as he failed the others, and your regrets bind you together for eternity as the thread of your fate entangles with his in a constricting embrace—so is it too greedy, to let yourself be selfish and indulge in his warmth before the sun rises? Is even someone as broken and wicked as you allowed a moment of reprieve, however brief? You know not the answer to these questions, nor do you think you ever will. All you know is that there’s nowhere else you want to be but in his arms, no matter how much it hurts, for you’ll endure the pain as long as you are by his side.

“Kiss me,” you quietly plead, your supplication barely a whisper, prompting him to pull away slightly to look into your eyes. He takes a moment to try and read your expression, his gaze sharp, inquisitive, stripping you off all your defenses and laying you bare before him. A short time passes, and without saying a word, he lowers his head down again, lips brushing against yours, their pillowy softness and the taste of your blood still lingering on his skin shrouding your mind in a white fog. You raise both of your arms and wrap them around his neck, bringing him closer as your mouth matches his movements, the desperation of before now manifesting more tenderly, more lovingly, but just as intensely. One of his hands remains on your cheek as he kisses you, and with the other, he finally unlaces his pants, freeing his neglected erection, which by now is slick from the precome leaking from its engorged head. The color of the sky outside slowly begins to brighten, now a beautiful blend of periwinkle and cyan, and as the twilight peaks and starts to reach its end, Astarion decides he has waited long enough—he will take you here and now, before the merciless, harsh light of the sun engulfs you both.

Feeling his hardness against your thigh, you readily comply, spreading your legs apart. You need this just as much as he does; to be one with him, carnally, for your souls have long merged, and there is no you without him just as there is no him without you. As he lines up with your entrance, his lips leave yours and he presses your foreheads together, staring into your eyes with reassuring tenderness. You feel the tip of his cockhead flush against your dripping sex—the reddened, puffed up skin feels warm, and thinking of how it is swollen from his blood in your veins is all it takes for him to finally snap and give into his desires. He slides inside of you in a single thrust, the wetness from your juices facilitating his entry as he stretches your walls to accommodate his large size. You try to bite back a whimper, your eyes once again tingling and prickling with the promise of tears as one of your hands finds its way to the back of his head and your fingers become entangled in his silvery curls. Not moving immediately, he waits a while, giving you time to adjust. You revel in the familiar feeling of his cock stuffed inside your core, the pain and warmth of it, and you wonder if he too can find comfort nowhere else but in your flesh, as it is only when filled with him that you are able to hold together the broken pieces of your descended mind.

The hand that had been cupping your cheek now rests on your waist as he moves his head to nuzzle the curve of your neck, taking in your scent. Ever so slowly he starts rolling his hips back and forth, planting gentle kisses on the delicate skin where his fangs had been buried just moments ago, now stained with patches of dried blood. You close your eyes, still trying to hold back the tears, hugging him as tightly as you can, or as tightly as he’ll let you. His pace is at first languid, sensual, allowing you to feel the entirety of him as he massages your aching, tender walls, still sensitive and spasming from your orgasm. He grunts in your ear, prompting you to start undulating your own hips, doing your best to match his rhythm. Emboldened by this, he moves his hands down to grab your ass, tilting your pelvis up and pulling you closer to him. Just as desperate to feel him as deeply as physically possible, you wrap your legs around his midriff, allowing him to reach the innermost parts of your throbbing cunt. When the tip of his cock brushes against the spongy skin of your cervix, your gut tightens and you cry out for him, unable to contain yourself.

“Astarion…”

The sound of his name in your lips, so very eager, so very sweet, is all the encouragement he needs, and the once languid movements give way to more vigorous pounding, the lewd sound of smacking flesh echoing in the otherwise quiet room as he snaps his hips and buries himself deeper inside your aching core. Your body rocks in rhythm with his thrusts, the tears in your eyes finally escaping your lashes and running down your face, a chaotic culmination of all the pleasure, all the hurt, all the desire and all the devotion brewing deep inside your heart as your raging feelings come to a boil. No one can understand, no one will understand—and yet, as he fucks you senseless in the early hours, pumping his cock in and out of you with lascivious abandon, none of it matters. You hold him even closer, pressing your squishy breasts flush against the sweaty, glistening skin of his chest. He moans at the sensation, intensifying his pace and using his hands on your ass to tilt your pelvis higher, pushing your folded legs, which are still wrapped around him, as close to your upper body as your flexibility will allow it. You feel the muscles in your thighs stretching and burning, but this only excites you further, and the soft whimpers leaving your lips escalate in frequency and loudness alike.

As he continues pounding into you, Astarion’s kisses on your neck become more passionate, more heated, going from pecks, to licking, to sucking, until eventually he gives in and once again sinks his fangs into the bruised flesh. You mewl faintly and your grip on his hair tightens, in response to which he bites down on you harder, nails raking across the skin of your ass as his thrusts grow fiercer, more violent. The message immediately gets through to you—the cheeky little spawn must know her place—so you obediently let go of his curls, although your digits remain entangled in them still; yet he does not slow down his pace, ramming into you with such force that you are afraid you will have trouble walking once he is finished. Mercifully, one of his hands leaves its place on your ass to hover above your swollen clit, which twitches desperately as his cock resurfaces and then disappears again inside your cunt. He grasps it between two deft fingers, massaging the engorged bundle of nerves as a reward for your obedience, and that is all it takes for tension to again start building up in your groin.

“You have given me everything.”

His digits on your tender bud; your blood running down his throat; his cock slamming into you, stretching open your tight walls—you are so very close to climaxing again, and yet you don’t want the moment to end; you don’t want morning to come, breaking the spell and robbing your lover from you, as it always so cruelly does. The tragic inevitability of it is however unaffected by the infinitude of your existence, a gift that was also bequeathed to you by him, and enveloped by the ice-cold embrace of the memories of your death, your body comes alive as you are pushed over the edge, your twitching cunt fluttering and contracting around him, creaming and squirting your sweet juices all over his length.

As you slump back and go limp is his arms, Astarion unlatches his mouth from your neck and props up his torso to marvel at your image as you bask in the glory of your release—so maddeningly beautiful, cheeks and plump lips flushed bright pink with what remains of his lifeblood within you; his consort, his spawn, his to use as he pleases, his and nobody else’s. While he continues fucking you through your orgasm, all you can hear are his low moans and grunts and the squelching sounds of your wetness as he ruts into you with ever increasing furor. You can tell he is also close by the way he holds your hips with both of his hands, pushing his own against them with almost vicious ferocity while you remain slumped on the headboard, tits bouncing cutely with every thrust. The daylight seeping through the curtains now brightens up the room, and as you look up at him with half-lidded eyes, you notice how handsome he looks illuminated by the gentle glow of the rising sun, sweat beading his temple and dripping down his chin and nose.

“Gods…” he groans, voice raspy with lust, and with one final push he empties himself inside you, filling you to the brim with his seed, which feels thick and warm flooding your tender walls. Still panting and sucking in sharp breaths, he falls on top of you, not bothering to pull his cock out of your still spasming cunt, chest flush against yours and head burrowed in the crook of your neck. Spillover runs down your thighs and soaks into the wrinkled sheets, but neither of you bother cleaning it up, the resulting stain surely to give the maids good reason to blush later.

You bring a hand up to his silky curls once more, gently running your fingers through them as you feel the calming thumping of his slowing heartbeat vibrating against your cold skin. As the dawn finally breaks over the still sleeping city, signaling the beginning of a new day in your undead life—for better or for worse—you find comfort in the warmth of his flesh and the sound of his ragged breathing as it gradually steadies. All your suffering, all your pain; if even your death is required to bring him to life, then so be it. He will live for the both of you, and you will love him for it. Forever—for good.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

[ravenclod]

DISC: this 'essay' is NOT hating on madohomu, or hating on people for shipping them. nor is it hating on Homura, or implying that her actions should be changed. It is simply an opinion from someone who loves Homura's character who also ships Madohomu, and just wants to rant about things i feel are ignored by the fandom. Please read the full thing before reblogging or replying with your opinions so i dont need to repeat myself.

Maybe I'm just a hater, but I don't understand how people can look at Homura and just excuse everything she’s done, especially in regards to Madoka, because she "actually loved everyone!” and "Is traumatised" and "It’s just toxic yuri!". It feels like a complete ignorance of her character and disregards the complexity and depth of her writing.

Now, obviously, I don't mean when people make jokes about it, I get that, but it’s when people genuinely don't acknowledge how madohomu is unhealthy and homura is a bad person. That is quite literally the whole point.

I'm aware that she does care about the other girls, which is why she didn't try to kill Mami in rebellion, and just acted like the others didn't matter throughout the show because she was all out of hope and had to concentrate on the one thing keeping her sane, which was Madoka. But that is exactly my point. That obsessiveness, that reliance on one singular person [ who is also largely unaware of the reason for said reliance ] is incredibly unhealthy. It is unhealthy. It is toxic. I'm not saying homura is abusive, like some people have, because she absolutely is not, but she is obsessive to the point of being unable to see madoka in a negative way. Even when she criticises her it’s from a "you're so stupid you can’t tell that people love you/you’re so stupid for doing this you're gonna get hurt" point of view, rather than the view of "oh you are genuinely naïve and mess up like everyone". [1] This in turn harms both of them, as she is putting her on a pedestal which Madoka will feel guilty for being on and worry about upholding, and it ruins Homura as she will simply spiral further into this unhealthy mindset.

She takes her [ Madoka’s ] word to the extreme, the word of which has no form of context and is speaking from the equivalent of the naïve Madoka that we see in the first episode. Homura then uses that to justify what she goes on to do during Rebellion, which in turn harms Madoka. when she rips Madoka from herself, I understand it's to avoid the incubators getting to her, and it is very in character, but she still actively harmed Madoka, and went against her wish to save all magical girls [ from becoming witches ] at least, in part.

Her obsessiveness does then leech off and affect everyone else, because she is also friends with them and does care for them. They begin to lose respect and gain upset over Homura, as she is now a girl who has one goal and throws them to the side to achieve this, not attempting to make genuine connections and discarding those which she does have - namely Kyoko in the show. This behaviour affects the other girls in the obvious sense of they die quicker and more frequently as Homura is no longer attempting to intervene; affecting Madoka too, as she ends up getting stressed about her friends not getting along, before then having the trauma of seeing her friends die. [ This is not to put the blame on Homura as it happens regardless, but the point is for everyone else, it will seem like Homura could have helped, even if it was out-with her power.] This will harm Homura as a result, for it will plague her how she treats her friends like this, and will only cause her self-esteem to plummet further than it already has.

Additionally, there are points where she could be argued to be manipulative, which is up to personal judgement, but it is worth noting. Obviously, it would not be from her own awareness or intention, but it is still a plausible outcome of her actions - i.e., the way she speaks to Madoka in the show, almost threatening her before then sobbing over her and acting like she is the most important girl in the world, [2] which, keep in mind, will be weird for Madoka as she barely knows this girl. This isn't to say Homura's actions aren’t understandable, especially in the show, but that doesn't remove the negative impact that they have. Homumado may be cute, and it is cute, especially pre-timeloop, but the reality is, even now, it wouldn't work without years and years of couple therapy.

I also am going to mention kyosaya, as they are also unhealthy, and I know someone may try to bring up how I love them so much in spite of this fact. They are definitely not the most healthy relationship, literally trying to kill each other in a fight in the first episode they met. It is practically impossible to ship characters in this show and have a healthy relationship [ with maybe the exception of madosaya pre-timelooping ]. However, the difference between kyosaya and madohomu is my general issue altogether, which isn't that the ships are unhealthy, but rather the way the fandom treats them in regards to them being such.

Kyosaya is known for being enemies to lovers, its known for being unhealthy and its known for being liked in the theory of "oh this is what they could have been, had they been given more time to understand each other.". It is also an equal relationship, there are no forms of power dynamic between the two, both are equally vulnerable; both hate the other at the start, and respect and care for one another at the end - as seen in rebellion. Even when Kyoko is stronger than Sayaka, that's cancelled out by Sayaka's determination and healing properties.

Homumado, on the other hand, are known for being equally doomed, but in the sense of "Oh Homura will never save Madoka, Madoka will always die, they can never be together.". There is never that acknowledgement that they wouldn't work, even if by some miracle the looping ended. There is simply too much that has happened. The only possible scenario is arguably one in which Madoka stays as Madokami, and Homura stays as the devil, for at least both have equal memories of all that has transpired, but even that has huge issues due to Homura's abandonment issues and obsessiveness toward madoka. There is also, unlike in kyosaya, a large power imbalance, which goes both ways at different points.

In the main show, this is heavy on Homura, as she knows so much about Madoka, she's seen her at her best and worst, and she knows all that will happen. She is also stronger than her, as for the most part Madoka is not a magical girl, and is unable to do anything to prevent her friends’.

Flip that to when Madoka is god however, and she is now the topheavy one, as she is fully aware of everything that has transpired. and Homura is so obsessive. If madoka were anyone else, it could very quickly turn bad with Madoka manipulating Homura's infatuation - which obviously isn't an issue as madoka is so nice, but you get my point.

It is a point though that homura still has power over madoka, especially considering her removal of "Madoka" from "Madokami". She technically has a part madoka all for herself, and has relative power over that for the time being. No one is able to do anything. It’s almost like she’s controlling a doll, except the doll is a piece of madoka she’s refusing to let return to the rest of her.

This is what I mean when I say there is no form of permanent equity between the two, while kyosaya are a yin and yang of give and take, madohomu are simply always off balance. Which is why they're so unhealthy.

Again, that doesn't mean they're not a good ship. That doesn't mean they're not cute, and they don't deserve to be together. It could 10000% work out, just as kyosaya is also toxic but could still work out. My issue isn't with the ship, the writing, or the characters, but rather the disregard to the discussions surrounding it.

To paint Homura as a "cute girl who's a bit obsessed” is a disservice to the complexities of her actions and her humanity, as again, she is a heavily traumatised 14 year old girl. Her actions are realistic, her actions make sense. But her actions aren’t good. This is not a critique on Homura, but a critique of the denial that she has done these bad things. denying as such waters her down and mischaracterizes her. It defeats the point of her as a character.

After all, she is the devil. She’s not intended to be nice.

[1] - "How stupid can you possibly be" - episode 5

[2] - fountain scene, episode 8, where she breaks down in front of madoka

[cosmicjoke]

Levi and Zeke and the Question of Nature versus Nurture:

I just wanted to expound in a separate post upon a reply I just gave in my post about my problem with Zeke, as I think it sort of summarizes further what that is. 

Zeke professes that his actions are done in the name of mercy.  That his attempts to euthanize an entire race of people is done out of a desire to end their suffering.  But Zeke is a character that takes pleasure in the suffering of others.  There are numerous occasions in which we see this from him.  With Mike. With the soldiers in Shinganshina.  With Levi.  So what does that tell us?  What do people who defend Zeke’s actions as a product of his upbringing say to this?

Zeke was damaged by Mr. Ksavar, of course.  But Mr. Ksavar didn’t teach Zeke cruelty, and neither did his parents.  Mr. Ksavar, as misguided and deluded as he was, never taught Zeke that he should take pleasure in the suffering of others, and in fact imparted his philosophy to end suffering through extermination.  We could talk endlessly about how this shaped Zeke’s world view and how it dictated his later actions.  But I have a problem with this very conceit of Zeke’s actions deriving from a place of philosophical belief at all.  Because in spite of what he claims about wishing to end the suffering of others, this is contradicted by the fact that Zeke takes pleasure and satisfaction in the torment and suffering of others.  A fact which flies directly in the face of what he professes to be his goal.  I think this exposes Zeke as a liar and a hypocrite.  It essentially undermines the entire foundation of his claims, which is that his actions are done out of some benevolent, altruistic aim.  If he truly cared about preventing others from suffering the way he has, then why does he take such obvious and genuine pleasure in inflicting suffering?  Don’t try and tell me it’s all playacting and him trying to cope with his “pain”.  He’s needlessly cruel to his victims.  To Levi in particular.  He deliberately takes aim at whatever he knows will cause the most harm for each individual he targets, and openly revels in that harm.  With Levi, it was being placed in a position of having to kill his comrades, with Zeke even banking on the assumption that it would be so unbearable for Levi that he would let himself  be killed rather than defend himself.  I think this exposes Zeke’s entire claim of what his motivation to be as false.  I think it exposes Zeke’s actions as being dictated almost entirely by his own sense of ego and self-importance and narcissism.  He’s bitter and angry and feels unjustly wronged by both his father and the world, and so wants to take those angry and embittered feelings out on others.  He likes hurting others, but he needs to justify it to himself by claiming, both to himself and to others, that it’s because he really wants their suffering to end.  I think Zeke is a liar.  He lacks empathy for everyone and everything around him, and while he convinces himself that his actions are that of a merciful martyr, in truth, they’re entirely ego-driven and narcissistic, viewing himself in the light of the “chosen one”, highlighting his own suffering and sacrifice for the benefit of others, like when he kills Falco’s brother, and then uses Falco as a weapon.  Instead of showing any, genuine understanding of the cruelty of his actions here, he instead whines about how hard it is for HIM to do what he’s just done.  He has both a god-complex and a hero-complex, and expects others to acknowledge and understand his great sacrifices made for, supposedly, their sake’s, while bemoaning his great burden when no one does.  He thinks of himself as special, as uniquely qualified to solve the problems of the world, while at the same time he is completely unable to place himself into the shoes of others, to see things from their perspective or their emotional point of view.  

Meanwhile, Levi very much WAS taught that he should take pleasure in the suffering of others.  He was taught this by Kenny, a serial killer who murdered countless people for no reason other than personal satisfaction, who taught Levi to kill, not just to survive, but as a matter of course.  When he talks about teaching Levi how to “say hello”, he was talking about hurting and killing people just as a general mode of conduct, as the way one should operate in daily interactions with others.  Think about this.  I always laugh when people try to hold Kenny up as some sort of positive parental figure in Levi’s life versus Zeke’s supposed lack of positive parental figures, as if citing Kenny’s influence is some sort of “gotcha’” moment which proves Levi had some sort of privilege which Zeke lacked.  As if Kenny himself didn’t cause Levi immense harm by the way he raised him.  I can’t think of a worse role model growing up than a brutal and remorseless serial killer who’s sole lesson in life was that one is worthless if they aren’t strong, and by strong, specifically, meaning if one can’t kill.  But yeah, okay, Levi was so lucky to have Kenny. 

All of this is to say that Levi was being shown through constant example that the lives of others are worthless.  Some of his earliest lessons in life centered on being shown how worthless his and his mothers lives were to others.  How do people think Kuchel was treated in general, day to day?  Given the state of the room they were living in, the abject poverty and desperation apparent, and the fact that they were outcasts forced to live in the Underground, afforded no rights and no citizenship, I think the answer should be fairly obvious.  When his mother died from disease, no one even realized she was dead, or that Levi was starving to death.  So worthless was hers and Levi’s lives to others, that no one even thought to check on them for days and days, possibly weeks, to the point that Kuchel’s body was already half decomposed by the time Kenny came upon them.  Are we really meant to believe that Kuchel’s love alone was enough to counteract the horrific lessons Levi was being exposed to in terms of how the lives of others were treated and regarded?  Would his mothers love for him have been enough to nullify every other horrific experience he endured?  I don’t think so.  The same people that try to argue this will turn around and claim that the love of Zeke’s grandparents wasn’t enough to save him from what he became.  And yet Levi somehow turned out exactly the opposite of cruel or heartless, driven almost entirely by the need to protect life and make certain no one dies in vain.  

I point this all out for those who would argue that Zeke and Levi are entirely a product of their upbringings, and use that as some sort of defense of Zeke’s actions.  While each of them possesses qualities connected to how they were raised, obviously, they both also possess qualities not connected in any, clear way to how they were raised.  You can argue about how much Zeke’s and Levi’s philosophies are linked to their upbringings, but Zeke’s cruelty and Levi’s kindness aren’t products of their upbringings at all, imo, but rather, simply, their natures.  Levi’s kindness is in spite of how he was raised, and Zeke’s cruelty, in turn, is in spite of how he was raised.

[todoscript]

SEQUEL TO  “don’t forget it”

SYNOPSIS: One week after accidentally blowing you off on your date, Bakugou Katsuki seeks your forgiveness.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

genre: fluff, very little angst

word count: 5.4k+

warnings: none really accept maybe a character sustaining an injury

author’s note: hellooooo this is a very very very late part 2 of my don’t forget it drabble that many people asked for! i hope this lived up to your expectations and was worth the wait!

Since the events that led you to leave Bakugou’s room in a fit of bitterness after attempting to penetrate that thick head of his, he hadn’t been able to speak to you for a week.

It goes without saying he did his best to chase you down the hallway from his room and toward the elevator the moment he realized his faults. But at the stink eye you shot him through the minimizing slit of the elevator doors sliding into place, he knew he had no right to reconcile with you after pulling a stunt like that. Nor did he think you’d want to spare him any more words to begin with. It was clear you were done arguing with him.

“C��mon man, it’s probably best to let her cool down before you try to make up with her,” was the advice Kirishima offered when Bakugou returned to his room, disgruntled as he heavily fell back into his seat next to the desk. He did the bare minimum to acknowledge his friend’s words with a grunt before resuming tutoring the redhead, his method of teaching suddenly harsher than how it began thanks to his soured mood. He lapsed the day away by pounding Kirishima with problems upon problems against that hard noggin of his, both literally and figuratively.

At the very least, Kirishima earned himself a passing grade on their exam as a result of his hard work and their rigorous tutoring sessions. But what followed Bakugou’s and your relationship was still undetermined.

Days later and you were relentless in giving him the cold shoulder.

Bakugou was met with nothing but empty glances and blatant disinterest whenever he crossed your path. It felt like the wall you slotted between him grew another layer at each encounter, your defenses so impenetrable, it could give Kirishima’s quirk a run for its money. He couldn’t so much as utter a word in your direction without you effectively dodging every possible interaction in favor of joining another conversation nearby.

At first, Bakugou shrugged it off, calling your “childish attitude” unwarranted for something he thought was incredibly trivial. In his eyes, it was just an ordinary date at some run-of-the-mill restaurant he just happened to suggest to you because he took a liking to their spicy food. Not like it was some fancy dinner reservation serving caviar on dry toast beside a pretty, city night skyline. To him, it was nothing special.

However, as the week continued to roll by, it became clear to him how much he hurt you due to his selfishness. In a hangout with the Bakusquad, he learned that you apparently told Mina, along with the rest of the girls, everything during one of your girls’ nights. Which included the events prior to your heated argument in Bakugou’s dorm. And Mina, being just as peeved as you were at how Bakugou stood you up that day, had to let the blond know of the damage he’d done.

.

.

“I swear, Bakugou Katsuki, I know you can be an asshole sometimes—”

“Make that all the time,” Sero quietly adds in the middle of Mina’s rant while he lounges backward on Kaminari’s bed. If it wasn’t for his current dilemma, Bakugou would have elbowed him in the back of the head.

“—but this is crossing the line!” she finishes. Her arms are thrown exaggeratedly over her chest. The amber surrounded by the black scleras of her eyes points a beady look at the ash-blond crisscrossed on the floor between Kirishima and Kaminari.

“Poor girl sat there for hours waiting for you, only to find out she got blown off because you couldn’t even properly check your reminders!” She paces back and forth in the room, feet excessively stepping across the floor as she’s engulfed by the emotions she feels for her friend. “What’s worse? She comes back and finds out you’ve been doing your own thing with Kirishima the whole time!”

“Hey! It’s not like we were playing around! We were actually having a very serious study grind, thank you very much,” the redhead immediately clarifies. Though his explanation doesn’t alleviate Bakugou’s case in the slightest, who pounds his palms against the surface of the table they’ve gathered around.

“Look. I fucking get it, Ashido. I screwed up, okay?! Now what the fuck do you want me to do about it?!” he exclaims, anger overpowering his voice, but it does little to deter Mina.

“Fix it, obviously!” she quips back with equal fierceness, leaning in eye level with Bakugou.

“And how do you propose I do that, Raccoon Eyes? Hah?” Repositioning his elbow to rest on the table, he leans his cheek against his hand. “Y/n won’t even let me within five fucking feet in front of her and you still expect me ‘fix this’?”

Despite the situation weighing heavily on his shoulders, no immediate answer is bestowed upon him. That is, except the obnoxiously loud crinkle of a chip bag popping open next to Bakugou that cleaves into the scene like a record scratch. As if unable to read the mood in his own room, Kaminari fishes a chip to throw in his mouth, stirring the awkward silence into tension.

“Wow, Bakugou. I know you’re bad with girls and all, but you really messed up this time,” he remarks. His voice is slightly muffled as he munches his chips, continuing to wrinkle the bag for more. It incites a vein to swell on Bakugou’s forehead. He amasses all the willpower within him not to blast the bag of chips to ash, and the boy alongside it.

“If you dunce faces are just gonna sit here and throw salt in my wound then I’m outta here.”

“No, wait!” Kirishima catches Bakugou’s wrist before he fully lifts himself off the floor. “Come on, Bakugou, I’m sure we can think of something! We just need to put our heads together! Right, guys?” he assures. Finding it hard to deny his friend’s hardened conviction, Bakugou gives Kirishima the benefit of the doubt, albeit with slumped shoulders and a tentative raise of his brow as he slowly sits back down.

“Right! Everyone, let’s get some brainstorming done!” Mina yells encouragingly.

The atmosphere of Kaminari’s room is consumed by moderately thoughtful silence for the next ensuing minutes. A few hums pass, followed by an exchange of contemplative looks as four of the five rack their heads together to uncover a solution. The one in need of help only hunches in his seat, waiting with mild disinterest.

“Oh hey, don’t we have hero training with All Might tomorrow?” Sero is the first to comment, scooting to the edge of the blond’s bed.

“Yeah. So?”

“He said we were going to work on group exercises this time around. You know, teamwork and stuff,” he explains further.

At that, Mina snaps her fingers, the work of a brilliant idea flickering in her head. “Sero, that’s it! Tomorrow, during training, we’ll just form a group together with Y/n! After all, she’ll have to talk to Bakugou if you two are on the same team!” She claps her hands in front of her, her enthusiasm rippling through her body and shown energetically with each raise of her voice. “Then, while the rest of us ‘split up’ to cover more ground, that will be your chance to make everything better with Y/n! It’s genius!”

“You missed one fucking crucial detail, Pinky,” Bakugou gruffs. “That will only work if Y/n doesn’t join another group. The moment she sees I’m on yours, she’s not even going to hesitate making a u-turn.”

“Worry not~ I’ll just text all the girls except Y/n about the plan later and ask them to help sort everyone out!” She solves the problem with relative ease—quick as a click of her phone lighting up and finger sliding open to her messages.

“Uh, another thing though.” Kirishima raises his hand to spare his concern. “All Might says we’ll be splitting into groups of five at most, but there’s already five of us here.”

There’s a brief moment of deadpanning until Mina speaks casually. “Oh, that’s right. Kaminari. Take one for the team and make sure to join another group, ‘kay?” She settles without batting a lash.

Kaminari almost chokes on a mouthful of chips. “H-Huh?! What?! Why me?!!” he sputters.

“Because you’ve been eating chips this entire time and haven’t contributed to anything.”

“Hey, I offered the room, didn’t I?!” He tries justifying but is inevitably rejected by Mina’s wagging finger.

“Ah-ah, no complaints! Besides, it’s only one day of training. If we want this dilemma between Bakugou and Y/n fixed then we all have to play our part, got it?” Mina finalizes with a firm point of her finger nearly grazing the tip of the blond’s nose as he leans back to avoid it, eyebrows scrunched in discontent at the role he’s been reduced to.

“Alllllright!” Kirishima springs from his seat with outstretched arms and tightened fists. “Operation: Get Y/n to Forgive Explosion Boy is underway!”

“Dude, that’s a terrible name!” Sero laughs but rises from the bed to join the redhead’s cheer alongside Mina, the group already in high spirits.

Despite rolling his eyes at their swell of confidence, Bakugou does not object to the state of things. As crazy as it sounds, one could almost decipher the cusp of a grin pulling the seams of his lips as a possible sign he’s actually all for this extravagant little plan. Quite a first for Bakugou, but then again, there’s not much else he can do in this situation except rely on his pack of chumps.

Meanwhile, Kaminari grumbles something beneath the salty grit between his teeth.

“Alright, can you all get out of my room now?”

.

.

The scowl etched on your face carries a strong air of disdain that dampens the mood around your teammates considerably. Well, no one should be surprised. With Bakugou standing across from you, staring into the void of your expression, it’s to be expected that you wouldn’t be happy with this outcome.

No, “unhappy” doesn’t quite do your circumstance justice. You are beyond livid.

You feel your eyebrow twitch as you try quivering your lips to form a tinge of a smile. Unfortunately, all that quickly falls apart when you suddenly recall the disaster of last week, triggered by an accidental glance at Bakugou’s mug.

Trying to simmer down, you release a mental sigh amidst the turmoil boiling inside you.

Okay, maybe you’re over-exaggerating. Maybe you’re still just a bit too bitter for your own good and letting your emotions get to you. But in a class of twenty or some students, how did you end up in a group with the one person you were actively trying to avoid?

The moment All Might gave everyone the go-ahead to form their teams for today’s training exercise, you swiftly made a beeline toward two particular star students. Midoriya and Todoroki.

It was simple really. Your experiences throughout the school year told you Bakugou planned on staying away from his rivals when it came to teamwork, regardless of whether you’re there or not. He’s a competitive ass whose goal is to beat anyone he deems a threat in his climb to be the number one hero. It’s only logical you partner with people he adamantly dislikes to evade him.

Yet it seems fate has other plans for you today. By the time you found yourself pacing over to the two students you had in mind, they’d already gone and picked their own group members, forming teams before you could even ask.

Your nose wrinkles like you’ve taken a whiff of something rancid. Or, to be more specific, something fishy. Hooking an arm around Mina’s elbow, you drag the pink-haired girl off to a corner somewhere while tilting your head back at the three other boys.

“Ex. Cuse. Us.” Your words sound as stiff as cardboard. It comes out in practically a hiss when your eyes cross Bakugou. Once you’re positive you’re out of earshot, you whip your head at Mina.

“Mina, what the hell? When you dragged me over here to form a group with you you didn’t tell me he’d be there,” you groan. Childish and petty as you may sound, you just couldn’t fathom the idea of confronting the boy so soon.

Mina holds her hands out, ready to rationalize the whole ordeal. “C’mon Y/n, this is actually an advantage for us! With us four plus you on our team, we’re sure to knock the rest of the other guys out during training today! I mean we showed pretty good teamwork together at the sports festival, didn’t we?”

Steadying your gaze, you hold a finger below your chin as you slowly buy into the explanation. The reasoning is there. It’s hard to argue against a case like that, fully aware that being on the same team as explosion boy will easily snag good results for you and your party. ‘Cause as much of an arrogant jerk as he is, you have to admit Bakugou Katsuki knows his way around hero action like the back of his grenade gauntlets.

“Besides it’s not like you could avoid him for the entire school year. I mean, you two are in the same class. It was only a matter of time before you had to—”

“I know, Mina,” you interject, not wanting the rest of her sentence about the inevitable fall to your ear. “I just… Agh, you know what I mean!” You ruffle your hands through your hair in confliction, unsure how to piece your thoughts together.

Tilting your head over Mina’s shoulder, you sneak a glimpse at Bakugou, watching him as he’s cast to the side with the others. He’s fending himself from Kirishima and Sero’s combined jokes, that usual look on his face sending glares at the two and yelling something you could almost pick up on if you honed your ears a bit more. Surprisingly, when his eyes meet yours for a split second, he stands there looking nonchalant again. Both of you immediately avert your gazes.

Mina pats your shoulder, bringing you back to the conversation at hand. “I know, I know, but after this, I’m sure you can go back to ignoring his ass. After all, it’s just one training exercise, right?” she says. As her words deliver some relief to your ill-timed situation, you give in with a sigh.

Unbeknownst to you, turning your back to Mina and striding toward the rest of your teammates again, you miss the small glint in her yellow eyes, along with the subtle gestures she aims at the three boys, waving her pointed thumbs over your head secretively.

“So I take it you’re on the team with us, Y/n?” Sero asks when the two of you return. You nod in reply and the boy flashes his pearly whites in a wide grin that Kirishima mirrors. He nudges Bakugou at his sides which you subtly catch in the far corner of your eye.

You raise a brow suspiciously at their fidgeting, wondering why having you on their team warrants such enthusiasm, but you’re thankful for their energy at least. Someone has to lift the atmosphere for this not to be a complete drag and Bakugou surely isn’t going to be the mood maker of the group.

The blond scoffs. “Yeah, well, if you dumbasses are going to form a team with me, you’ll follow under my leadership, got it?”

The three readily agree. Though you roll your eyes, you don’t challenge his position, considering no one else is that much up to the task as he is. You’ll simply have to deal with the fact that you’re forced to tread through the day under his leadership. So with no objections, the five of you walk back to the class, gathering around the entrance of today’s battlefield.

Jumping into the activity, All Might goes about explaining today’s lesson to the four sets of teams—consisting of a group exercise to heighten teamwork. The name of the game? Capture the flag.

In short, each team will be split off into different sections of the labyrinth where their assigned flag is stationed. The objective is to not only protect your flag from being stolen but also try and steal an opposing team’s flag from their base and escort it safely to your home field. Nice and simple.

Not long after All Might’s explanation, the gate to the training grounds opens and you all scatter off into your teams, navigating through the twists of the maze to locate your flags. Once your group situated themselves onto your home base, you assemble in a huddle to devise a strategy before the game starts.

“So what’s the plan?” Kirishima asks, eyes darting around his teammates until they rest on Bakugou—the team leader. The ash-blond crosses his arms, a confident sneer plastered on his face as he’s already thought of his plan of action the moment All Might announced the mission.

“Easy. I’m going straight to the front-lines to swipe one of those dumbasses’ flags. You lot are gonna stay here and guard ours until I come back.” He delivers the strategy in a matter-of-fact tone that you quickly don’t take a liking to. Your fist curls in irritation.

“What kind of a plan is that?” you question audaciously, your voice louder than you intended. “So you’re just going to do all the work while we sit around and wait for you?”

Bakugou grits his teeth, leaning further into the huddle to direct his senseless logic. “Look, it’s the fastest and most surefire way to snag our victory without sacrificing anyone,” he says. Playing over his words again, he finds it surprising he even chooses to offer his reasoning. Because if it were anyone other than you he was arguing with, he’s certain he’d leave it at that.

Knowing the current tension between you was a result of his misjudgment, it feels only right for Bakugou to make an effort in communication. He ignores the antsy expressions belonging to the others who signal from behind you to follow along with their original plan.

You don’t seem to catch the hint, nor do you buy into his ridiculous strategy. “Oh, so you’re that confident you won’t get taken out by the other team then?” you quip. As a result, Bakugou’s brows tighten at your noncompliance.

“I know how to take care of myself. You of all people should realize by now that no other nerd in this whole damn class can outmatch me.”

“And what about an ambush? How do you know they simply won’t anticipate your strategy and see you coming?” You fire another counterargument and the boy purses his lips, beginning to find this quarrel spiraling into a headache rather than a step in the direction of reconciliation.

While Sero and Kirishima stand there, shifting their heads back and forth throughout the fiery exchange, Mina speedily reacts. The gears of that cunning mind of hers click into place again.

“You know what, Y/n’s right. Why don’t you two go together then?” she proposes boldly. Her suggestion catches you by complete surprise. You veer in her direction with an incredulous look blown in your eyes.

Before you can open your mouth to protest, the two boys standing beside her immediately back her up.

“Hm, Mina has a point. The chances of you falling into a trap wouldn’t be much if you two work together,” Sero remarks.

Kirishima follows, “Yeah, you guys can watch each other’s backs while going to collect the flag! It’s safer to go in a pair than by yourselves I’d say.”

The three seem adamant about the idea, sharing equally content expressions, and with all that said, you find it hard to dig yourself out of this situation. In a way, you practically volunteered yourself after questioning Bakugou’s plan and doubting his abilities. The group only feels it’s right you come along as his support since you clearly must be worried about his well-being.

Pushing your objections down your throat, you reluctantly agree to tag along with the blond. What you find exceptionally shocking is how Bakugou doesn’t oppose these new conditions. Given his hard-headed temperament, you thought he would’ve scoffed and turned his back at being paired without notice, but no such things were happening here.

...Odd.

“Tch, whatever. Let’s get going then,” is all he gives, starting in the direction into the urban area of the training course.

You trail behind him. “Coming, Boom-Boy…” you mutter the last bit but don’t suppress the urge to let your words be known. Bakugou turns his head and gives you a look akin to an uptight six-year-old you just offended at your local playground. You shrug in response, a corner of your lip pinched upward. He doesn’t pick a fight over the nickname, but his eyebrows remain fiercely slanted, and coupled with his heavy steps and the excessive swinging of his gauntlet-clad arms, it tells you of his emotional constipation plain as day.

.

.

The journey toward the other teams’ flags is cloaked in strained silence and the physical gap between you two does not encourage any of you to speak up. At this point, both of your levels of annoyance for each other have mellowed out. Now it just feels... awkward—strange. You don’t see his expression, nor does he see yours. It feels like you’re being left in the dark, having only the back of Bakugou’s head to stare at the entirety of the way, and though you supposedly have his back, Bakugou feels precarious in this state as he trudges along at the front, not daring to turn his head to cross your eyes.

The ambiance is reminiscent of the ancient Greek legend of Orpheus and Eurydice. Where Bakugou walks through the depths of the underworld, seeking you out in hopes you’d join his side once again. If he turns around now and spills his thoughts to you too soon, he fears that your forgiveness would be whisked away, thoroughly beyond his reach, and replaced with your promises of retribution.

That was the eloquent version of the situation anyway. To put it bluntly, Bakugou was just impatient as hell to say something to you. The silence suffocates him to the point where the words are nearly about to be squeezed out of his throat, but he bites his lip to snuff out the urges.

The more he keeps them in, the more fidgety he becomes, hands itchy and mouth trembling with grit between his teeth. The idea of not letting his voice be heard was something Bakugou detested. Mainly because it was already such a challenge to even keep his mouth shut, given his fiery attitude and lack of patience.

Man, what the hell am I hesitating for? he asks himself, that outspoken side of him spurring him on.

Ah, screw the uncertainty, he thinks. If he doesn’t say anything now, then he won’t get to say anything ever.

Bakugou stops in his tracks, turning his head. Here goes nothing,

“Hey, Y/n, I–”

“Katsuki–”

Words collide into each other, jumbled and incoherent, which take you two by surprise as you meet each other’s furrowed gazes. It’s quiet as you both piece your way through this, eyes trained like you haven’t seen each other in months when the reality is that a week of bitterness has somehow made you act like strangers. The bewildered look crossing his features is foreign to you; you’ve never quite seen Bakugou as taken aback as he is now.

“You first,” you grant before Bakugou could mix up your words again. Even being given permission, the blond still isn’t sure what to say, his thoughts lost on him the moment his voice clashed with yours. He takes a deep breath, calming his senses and steadying his mind for what he wants to convey.

“Look, Y/n, I don’t know how to put this as nicely as I can,” he begins, tone consistent yet wary, assessing your expression, “but I know I fucked up and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you there all by yourself. I shouldn’t… have blown you off like that and forgotten about you.” He delivers this bluntly—honestly—as open as a boy of his nature can muster with arms spread out, willingly exposing him to his faults and your reprisals.

Looking at you, he finds your eyes are cast to the floor, assuming to be reflecting on his words carefully. After some deliberation, you come across the vermillion in his eyes.

“Frankly, I haven’t entirely forgiven you just yet. But I will say that despite how I’ve been acting, I’m not as mad at you as you think,” is what you give, and Bakugou would be lying to himself if he didn’t achieve relief at your statement. He mentally releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding throughout the exchange. However, you aren’t done yet.

“I just want you to understand what moments like those mean to me. It’s during that time where I can share my feelings and learn more about you—understand who you are,” you say. Bakugou latches onto every word. “And it goes both ways, you know. It’s hard to want to stay in a relationship with someone who doesn’t make an effort to make time for you.” It’s obvious you aim that comment at him as Bakugou’s eyes soften slightly hearing it. His calloused, glove-clad hands wrap into his palms. Man, he really was a jerk.

“Still… I know you’re making an effort to be sincere and that you’re genuinely sorry for what happened, especially considering how the others seem to have set this whole conversation up, right?” Bakugou winces over the Bakusquad’s ploy coming to light and makes a note not to follow along next time unless those dummies can scrape up a more elaborate plan.

Despite that, he presses on, “So, what does this mean?” A smile settles on the curve of your lips, sensing his impatience as his voice hastens you along.

“Well…” you begin, speech drawn out in anticipation as you step toward him to where Bakugou follows your movements. That is until he catches a few shadowy figures shifting around atop the small building behind you. Before you can open your mouth to continue, his instincts flare to life.

“Hey, look out!” he exclaims, already acting on his warnings by lunging forward to push you out of the way. Your breaths draw back into your lungs, your body thrust abruptly into the opposite direction. Landing on your butt, you wince at both the shock and the pain, but your whines desist when you witness Bakugou taking a force to the head as a result of coming to your aid.

“Katsuki!” you yell, immediately getting off the ground to rush to his side, but he can’t find it in himself to respond. Afflicted with a substantial blow to the crown of his head, his whole being throbs and his vision spins.

Fuck, is Y/n, okay? is the first thing on his mind, ignoring the liquid trickling down his forehead. His question is answered upon turning his head to meet your anxious expression—your eyes wide and lips quivering as they move to say words he can’t exactly make out beneath the pounding sensations consuming his mind. As he feels a set of arms wrap around him, he tries discerning his surroundings to form a reply, but can only capture bits and pieces.

“—tsuki! ...old… n!”

“...god—! I’m so dead!”

A sputter of words tangling together is the last he hears before his vision fades to black.

.

.

The next time Bakugou awakes, his eyes slowly sever open to come face-to-face with a blurry white ceiling. The lights assault his vision as his senses take time to adjust, unraveling the environment to realize he’s laying on a bed—a hospital bed to be precise.

He attempts lifting himself but is met with retaliation in the form of his pulsating head which he immediately flinches at. His hand goes to rub his scalp to soothe the ache and he finds bandages wrapped tightly around him. “What the hell happened?” The last he remembers is traversing the urban area with you for the capture the flag mission before finally confronting the subject that had been plaguing your minds for a week now. After that, he caught sight of some object descending toward you and before he had even realized it, his feet had moved on their own. Next thing he knows, he’s waking up in the nurse’s office with a headache from hell.

Wait, what about you? Were you okay? Surely, he had to have pushed you out of the way in time, right?

His head moves quicker than it should’ve, revealing the other hospital bed in the room to be unoccupied, vacant. He sighs and his relief is further bolstered by the door to the nurse’s room opening to unveil you unharmed with only your heavy look of concern troubling him.

“Katsuki, oh thank god, you’re okay!” you say, quickly pacing over to his side with a glass of water in hand. You leave it at his bedside, sitting before him. Gauging your appearance up and down, Bakugou tries making out even the smallest details.

“You aren’t hurt?”

You’re appalled he would ask this despite clearly being the one patched up in a hospital bed right now, and likely sporting some serious head trauma.

“Of course I am, you’re the one that lunged forward to protect me,” you tell him. Bakugou looks down at his lap, figuring that was what happened, but hearing it from you comforted him more than he thought. However, his comfort is wretched from him by the intense pressure persisting in his skull. Seeing him in pain, you urge him to lay down and rest.

“How the hell did I end up here anyway?”

You fidget with your fingers, hesitating on answering. At that, the blond lifts a brow, suspicious.

“Mineta… accidentally dropped a rock on your head.”

“...You gotta be joking, right?”

Bakugou leers hard, finding the reason he was out of commission to be a damn pebble hitting his head a detriment to his pride. And because of Mineta of all fucking people. Still, if he hadn’t acted as quickly as he did, you would’ve been the one to meet his fate instead, and he weighed this outcome to better than the former.

Then you explain how the teachers had temporarily intervened to bring his unconscious body to the nurse’s, where the old lady went about tending to his injury. Said she did her job and all he needed was to rest and let her quirk take fuller effect within that time.

“So did we win the game?” He switches the topic to today’s mission of capture the flag that was cut short on his end.

You shake your head, but at least grant him the benefit of knowing Mineta’s team ended up placing last. At that, his eyelids shut and he crosses his arms behind his bandaged head. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t my intention to win anyway.”

You give him a look. “...Liar.”

Bakugou cracks an eye open at you. “Hah? What do you mean I’m a fucking liar?”

“I know you, Katsuki. I dated you, after all. And the Katsuki that I dated is an arrogant, competitive jerk who thinks of being the best above all else.” Bakugou scrunches his nose, wondering what you’re implying through your... overly frank descriptions. “Still… he’s sweet and caring at times… and reliable when he needs to be,” you continue, tone softening that draws Bakugou in, “And the kind of guy I want to give a second chance to.”

Absorbing your words, Bakugou blinks. “S-Seriously?” He doesn’t mean to stutter, but the offer catches him off-guard. He replays what you just said. That’s what he heard, right? A second chance?

You giggle at how uncharacteristically astonished he sounds. “Yes, seriously.”

“Does that mean you forgive me for what happened last week?”

You hum between pursed lips in playful contemplation. “Well, maybe you can redeem yourself by going on another date with me then?”

Hearing your proposal, a wide grin arcs his lips, edging into a smirk.

“That’s it? Well, I can definitely fucking do that,” he states, confidence rejuvenating his body at the new, hopeful chance before him.

“Oh, just one more thing though,” you suddenly add.

“What?”

“We are not going to that Chinese Restaurant again.”

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

liar liar

request: I have a request, the reader is dating Spencer, and she and JJ are the ones that know that Emily faked her death. I’m thinking of it taking place in “It Takes A Village,” and she has to deal with Spencer being upset with her, like he was with JJ, but it has a fluff ending? Thanks!

for: @flklrevrmre​

word count: 3,722                                                                                     reading time: 15 mins

a/n: i) if you guys want to be added to my taglist lmk ii) can we all simultaneously fall in love with asa butterfield so i can read more fanfic about him? iii) it’s good to be back ;)

masterlist

You’d think that in a room of profilers they’d be able to recognize the antsy twitches of my ankles and the incessant rubbing of my wrists. Let alone the fact that one of those profilers was someone who knew the inside of my skin better than I did. My staggered breath elicited an involuntary gulp from my esophagus, throwing off my composure.

I pretended to stare at the blank screen of the television in the round table room, dissociating myself from the events to come. Curious murmurs and the shuffling of feet behind me became a chilling tether that reminded me of my circumstances. My breath hitched slightly at the presence of Spencer’s voice, although even the comforting thought of him only aggravated the disquietude bubbling at the bottom of my stomach.

I feel like I’m standing on the precipice of a cliff with the rocks rumbling beneath me. I knew this was a burden, a responsibility that I had to keep for the team--for Emily. I know that I’m not alone on this cliff, but I also know that the weight of this secret was slowly pushing all of us on edge.

-

“Hotch, are you sure you want to do this now?” JJ questioned him with an astonishing look. I tucked my hands into my pockets, leaning against the round table to give his proposition some thought.

“It’s time,” he sighed, lost in his world of thought. “We’ve kept this for months, and Doyle won’t speak about Declan. We need Emily,” he continued, pulling out his phone to ready an alert for the team.

“You don’t think Morgan can get through Doyle without her?” she reasoned.

“No,” he firmly answered, pulling his phone to his ear, and walked out of the room to call Penelope.

JJ shook her head in disapproval, taking a seat on the tabletop behind her. “I don’t know about this Y/N,” she announced, turning her head to gauge my reaction. “I just feel like...it’s too soon,” she expressed.

I chewed on my bottom lip, my mind engulfed by one thing: Spencer.

“What?” I snapped out of my thoughts, JJ’s voice finally registering in my head.

“It’s too soon, don’t you think?” she sought my confidence, but in all honesty, I wasn’t sure either. “I’m sorry, JJ but I don’t know,” I confessed, unable to gather my thoughts, “All I can...all I can think about is Spencer. I know it’s selfish, but…” My voice was caught on my tongue. Although there is a reason for that, I’ve been lying to someone I loved for seven months.

At the mention of Spencer’s name, JJ moved from her position to sit idly next to me. She observed the solemn and grief-stricken expression on my face, reaching over to lay a tender hand on top of mine. “I know,” she reassured.

“But Hotch is right,” I reasoned, “Emily--t-the team--they have the right to know,” I stammered over my words as I took a calming breath, exhaling out my worries. “JJ, he’s going to be devastated.”

“Then...we’ll tell him together,” she justified, a motherly yet comforting air radiating from her.

-

Together. That was the plan.

“Everybody take a seat,” Hotch gestured to the team. He folded his arms together and peered at his colleagues with a stern yet apologetic expression. “Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team.”

Everyone looked around at each other with curious glances. Spencer, on the other hand, turned to me for an explanation. Although when I refused to meet his eyes, it was evident that something serious had occurred.

“As you know, Emily lost a lot of blood in her fight with Doyle,” Hotch lamented, observing the sudden pensive atmosphere of the room. From the corner of my eye, I saw Morgan clench and unclench his fists, empathetic about the guilt that still haunted him. “But the doctors were still able to stabilize her.”

An audible gasp escaped Garcia’s lips, instinctively turning to gauge at Derek’s countenance. But the only emotion present was turmoil. His features had hardened into bewilderment, letting Hotch’s words resonate in his mind. Rossi looked to Hotch while Spencer faced me and JJ. The expression on Spencer’s face was similar to Derek’s, he was in between disbelief and denial. Although what I couldn’t face was his pleading eyes that begged for my confirmation.

“...and she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under convert exfiltration,” Hotch continued to explain, receiving pained looks from his peers. “Her identity was strictly need-to-know, and she stayed there until she was well enough to travel.”

“What does...what does this…” Garcia shook her head, stammering.

“She was assigned to Paris and given several identities--none of which we had access to for her security.” Hotch finished.

Morgan scoffed in incredulity, retreating into his mind. Standing up from his chair, he backed away from the table, clasping his hands behind his head. Garcia, frozen in her seat, spoke apprehensively with glassy eyes, “She’s alive?”

My heart broke at the anguished crack in her deliverance, remorse eating up my insides. Spencer’s posture straightened up in his chair, leaning forward to question Hotch’s place in all this. “But...we buried her,” Spencer rebutted in a strained voice.

“As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision,” Hotch nodded at the team, “If anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me.”

“Any issues?” Morgan seethed, “Yeah, I got issues.”

The combined expressions of deception and the troublesome atmosphere was enough of a cue for the individual in question to step out. In all her glory, Emily unveiled herself by the door with a conciliatory frown upon her lips. Her fingers were tethered together, an idiosyncrasy of hers that became apparent at the times of disquiet.

“Did you...you know about this?” Spencer flipped his focus on me and JJ, “Did you both know about this?” he scoffed. The dreaded time finally came, the time of confession. I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat tightened up, and my tongue swelled. Regret had tangled me in its inescapable ropes that no noble reasoning would have freed me from my part in this decision.

“Spencer,” Hotch attempted to contend, but Spencer refused to listen.

How was he going to take the news? How could his best friend and his girlfriend lie to him like this?

“Spence,” JJ sighed, “This operation had to be covert for Emily’s sake--and Declan.” By now, everyone’s attention was on me and JJ. I almost couldn’t handle the distraught expression on Morgan’s face as I wasn’t only Spencer’s girlfriend, but his close friend.

How could I have done this? I’ve not only hurt Spencer, but I’ve also hurt the team--my family.

JJ stepped in front of me, brushing a calming hand on my arm. She gave me a reassuring glance, nodding at me to step forward alongside her.

I couldn’t do this.

My stomach curled, and my hands began accumulating sweat.

I can’t.

JJ took a breath, peering at Spencer with regretful eyes. She knew how to get through to him--sometimes better than me. JJ was the shoulder that Spencer could comfortably fall apart on besides me, and I didn’t have the heart to take that away from him. That’s how I knew I had to venture through this alone.

JJ hesitantly opened her mouth to speak, dropping her shoulders in vulnerability, but before the truth can slip past her lips, I interjected. “Wait! um,” I paused, processing the next words that would determine where I stood with Spencer, “I...I was the one that knew,” I muttered through my teeth, knowing that every syllable was a lie. I stepped in front of JJ; averting the attention away from her. “JJ had nothing to do with it. I informed her minutes prior to the meeting.”

Spencer became despondent. His once ardent expression slumped into one that resembled a Tim Burton character, although it was the dejected glare in his eyes that crushed me. Nothing else registered in my head; I knew that I forever scorned him.

With the silence suffocating the room, Hotch called the meeting to end. Everyone wearily stood up from where they were, Garcia instantly leaping onto Emily with numerous inquiries. Spencer didn’t even bother looking back, instead, he paced out of the room, giving Emily a long-awaited hug, and left.

As Emily became occupied with the rest of the team, JJ tugged at the end of my sleeve, pulling aside. “Why...why did you do that?” she questioned, her expression deep in perplexity. “I thought we were supposed to tell him together,” she shook her head, sighing at the sudden deviation from our plan.

“I just,” I took in a breath, “JJ, you know Spencer, and...you know how he gets,” I rationalized. An aching sensation spread across my chest as I recollected the events before, a film casting over my eyes as I justified my decision. “JJ, all I could think about in that meeting was how Spencer would feel afterward,” I croaked, “You and I know he’s already been through too much. I just couldn’t,” I repressed a choked breath. “You and I are the only people he’s okay about being open to, so I couldn’t let him deal with this alone,” I smiled pitifully, a single tear trailing down my cheek, reaching my lips.

“Y/N…” JJ consoled, pulling me into her embrace. I knew that she wanted to say something back--something to combat my reason. But deep down, she understood. I pulled away from her arms, gathering my composure.

“I don’t know where we stand right now,” I bit my lip, shaking my head in sorrow, “JJ, just...just be there for him. Be there for him because I love him.”

-

An agonizing week had passed in the BAU. Emily was reinstated after the team’s hearing at court, the unit dynamic languidly surfaced again, and it seemed like everything was back to normal.

Everything but Spencer.

It’s been eight days and seven nights since he’s slept at our apartment. JJ was generous enough to let him crash with her and Will, which I was appreciative to know that he was at least safe. JJ would give me updates during his stay, reassuring me to have faith and be patient with him. But each night that I spent in a distant bed, every dinner I sat through with an empty bowl opposite from me, and every eerie silence that would suffocate me when arriving home thinned out my perseverance.

Every time that I would reminisce on the warmth of his touch, it tore the remaining strands of my heart. The snarky remarks and malicious glares at work didn’t ease my state of mind either. I was on a cliff again, but this time I was alone.

We were on the jet, working a missing child’s case in New York City. Most of the team surrounded Hotch as he briefed them on the case while I notably sat at the front to evade the disagreeable tension. From time to time, JJ would text me, asking if I were okay. I found the gesture sweet the first few times, but it soon became a remembrance of my reality.

“I need everyone to split into teams,” Hotch announced, making sure that I had heard his statement. “The M.E. will be ready in a few hours, so Dave and Morgan, I need you to go to the morgue. Emily and JJ, I need you to interview a suspect back at the station. Y/N and Spencer, I need both of you to interview the second victim’s family,” Hotch delivered resolutely. However before he could finish, Spencer already had his disputes.

“Hotch, don’t you think I would be more useful in building the geographic profile?” Spencer interjected.

“Reid, I can’t send Y/N alone,” Hotch reinforced.

“Well it seems to me that she’s capable of making big enough decisions, so I think she’ll be fine,” Spencer jeered. “Matter of fact, why don’t we let her interview the suspect instead, since she’s so good at-”

“Reid,” Hotch warned him, sending him a disarming look.

Spencer scoffed, sinking back into his seat, pulling his book up to his face. JJ sent me another text, expressing her condolences about Spencer’s performance, while I sulked in the coldness of my arms.

That’s all Spencer did that week. He pulled away.

-

One. Two. Three rocks surpassed my pacing feet on the sidewalk.

It was the only thing I could force myself to focus on, considering the asphyxiating rigidness between me and Spencer. I was quiet as a mouse with every inhale I took, feeling that even the slightest disturbance would rattle the seemingly innocuous silence. However, despite the invisible barrier between us, Spencer began uttering details about the unsub’s profile.

“I’m thinking that our unsub might be a woman,” Spencer proposed, looking straight ahead of him.

In an attempt to alleviate the atmosphere, I entertained his suspects, “Why do you think so,” I inquired. My breath hitched towards the end of the sentence, sending a small jolt of nerves through my chest.

“Well,” Spencer began, “We can see from the unsub’s methodology that they still nurture the victim--a mother’s instinct--before death. The choice of disposal also indicates cleanliness which we profiled before as a women’s attribute.”

Four. Five. Six rocks.

“That’s true, Spence, but the level of cleanliness doesn’t match the M.O, and the profile points towards a male offender. If it were a female, then that would be one hell of a job to throw off the authorities,” I counteracted, feeling safer in the exchange we shared.

“It could be possible,” Spencer shrugged. “Statistically, women are presumptively better liars than men. They do one hell of a job being deceitful,” He quipped.

Seven. Eig-

My movements stilled at the unforeseen comment, while the same pang in my chest reappeared from before. Despite the wave of self-reproach invading my thoughts, I swallowed my feelings and maintained my professionalism.

“How far is the house from here?” I deadpanned, evading the touchy subject.

“Why don’t you check the coordinates that Hotch sent us. You seem to have a closer relationship to hi-”

“Can you stop?” I exclaimed, stepping out in front of him.  

“Stop what?” He scoffed, refusing to acknowledge my irritation by feigning innocence. He proceeded to project his attention towards the side garden that decorated the sidewalk, observing the various flowers that littered the grounds.  

“This,” I gestured to both of us. “This, this thing that you’re doing. Wh-what are we doing, Spence?”

“You’re acting like you’re not at fault here,” Spencer implicated with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s similar to this unsub’s psyche.”

“That’s not what I meant, Spence.”

“The unsub also didn’t mean to kill the first child so you might have that probability.” He paced off a distance away, leaving me at my lonesome.

“Spencer, can we talk-”

“What if the unsub used a lure to get to the first victim,” Spencer eluded the topic. “Possibly candy or a tactic using the transference of parental authority. Either one would disarm the child.”

I shook my head, playing his little game. “Candy is quite the killer,” I added on, supplementing his theory.

“So are tears,” He quipped. “Hopefully the family can tell us more.”

With that, he ran off once again.

-

In a matter of a week, the unsub had struck again. Unfortunately for the team, our leads had been disproven, and our patience had worn thin. Chagrin had traveled throughout the team rendering us all exhausted. With the additional stress on our shoulders, Spencer’s remarks had intensified and painted a target on my back. Solving this case was the only motivation I had to endure the onslaught of his petty slander; however, my persistence was at the end of its line.

“Spencer, can you pass me a copy of the geographical profile?” I mumbled, running my fingers over my eyelids to wake myself up. I leaned on my elbows, feeling the heat of stress warm up my face. I glanced at Spencer’s movements from my peripheral vision, although my sight proved to be unreliable as Spencer’s face resembled an expression of--what I thought was--worry for a split moment.

Without a reply, Spencer handed me a marker. I looked at Spencer bewildered, glancing between him and the marker that lay in my hand. “What is this?” I deadpanned.

“A marker.”

I bit the inside of my cheek in restraint, retracting my tongue from spitting maliciously. “Yes, I know, Spencer. What is the marker for?” I fumed through my teeth.

“To write with,” Spencer replied shortly, focusing on the file he was analyzing on his lap. I shook my head, rising from my seat to walk over to the whiteboard that Spencer assembled the geographical profile on. I tossed the marker behind me, ridding myself of the negative energy bestowed on the writing utensil.

Before I could set my focus on the board, Spencer pulled me from my concentration with another one of his random probes. “Why aren’t you using the marker?”

“What do you mean?” I sighed, sensing ridicule.

“You’re modifying the profile at one of the points right?”

He looked up from his files, making eye contact with me for the first time in weeks. By reflex, I shifted my gaze away from him, guilt making itself ubiquitous in my conscience. “I’m analyzing one of the points of the profile,” I uttered. “I think our initial impression about the unsub’s disposal area is inexact.

“Is that how you and Hotch figured out Emily’s burial site?”

An ember began swirling inside of my veins, traveling to each corner of my body. I bit my tongue once again, suppressing the build-up of indignation coursing through me. “The location of disposal doesn’t make sense. It’s not even in the area that we triangulated,” I challenged.

“What are you saying?”

“I mean, could it be possible for the unsub to transport the victims to different disposal sites?”

“Like how Emily was transferred from Boston to Bethesda?” Spencer mentioned. “Then yes, the probability of that transpiring is notable” he mocked.

The suppressed spark inside of me aggregated, overpowering the last bit of patience I harbored. The ropes tethering the frayed strands of my rationality snapped, leaving my impulses to burst through the seams. Even my best attempts at subduing myself rendered useless to Spencer’s incessant commentaries. I was done.

“You’re relentless aren’t you?” I jeered, spinning around to face him. Fire laced my veins, and the childish sneer on his face only kindled my resentment.

“Relentless on figuring out this case.” Spencer brushed my comment aside, diverting his attention to the papers on his lap.

In the momentum of my impulsivity, I seized the files away from him, forcing him to acknowledge the issue at hand. “Spencer, you can’t keep pretending like everything is fine,” I threw up my hands in the air in exasperation, catching a few lingering eyes of the team.

“I don’t have to deal with this right now,” Spencer professed, rising from his seat to walk away. But before he had the opportunity to reach the exit, I grabbed onto his wrist, halting him.

“Then, when?” I taunted. “When are you going to deal with this?”

By now, we had attracted an audience.

“Certainly not with you,” he snickered mockingly.

“Reid!” I snapped, my voice rising in volume and fierceness. “You can’t keep running away from your problems.”

“Are you serious right now, Y/N?” he vocalized incredulously, glaring at me with bitter hostility. “You’re just bothered that you did something that hurt me--th-that hurt all of us, and I sought comfort in someone I could trust.”

“I don’t care that you went to JJ fo-”

“God Y/N! Yo-you didn’t even have the decency to tell me--YOUR boyfriend--that this happened.”

“Reid, that’s not fai-”

“Oh really? That’s not fair?” Spencer seethed, disdain bound to his words. “You know what’s not fair Y/N? I spent nights--NIGHTS--crying on JJ’s couch from the loss of a friend, only to find out that they’re alive,” he gestured to Emily sitting idly by the team, watching the scene between me and Spencer unfold. “What I especially loved was coming back to the same couch because of my own girlfriend’s deception.”

At this point, JJ attempted to step forward to intervene, but I waved her off. “I. Had. No. Choice,” I defended, practically speaking through clenched teeth.

“You know what?” Spencer scoffed, shaking his head. “Gosh, JJ has put in more effort into being my girlfriend than you ever did.”

I was suspended in place as the words rang out in my head. A shiver crept up my arms and sent harrowing shockwaves that pierced my chest. Simultaneously, a stinging sensation engulfed my esophagus in flames, stunting my ability to form sentences. “Spencer, you...you don’t m-mean that,” I swallowed my voice, mumbling a question rather than a firm statement.

I felt myself on the cliff again, but this time the rocks were slowly crumbling underneath my feet while burning tar glued my feet to the ground.

“You practically pushed me into her arms. When you were out there lying to ALL of us, she was the only one that stayed with me.”

“Spence…” JJ called out from behind me, attempting to diffuse the situation. Although, Spencer was far deluded by his discourse that nothing obstructed him.

“No, it’s okay,” Spencer assured, inching closer to me. With a repugnant sneer on his lips, his eyes squinted into a loathing glare, and his countenance aflame, he gave me what I couldn’t give to him: his truth.

A truth that I didn’t want to unfurl.  

“You know I don’t even know why you’re constantly reminding me that I can’t accept my mistakes or problems...” he bickered, a deliberate sneer etched into his features, “...because it was pretty damn easy to accept that YOU are my biggest mistake.”

-

I thought the rocks would crumble from beneath me, and I’d fall. I thought choosing to stand on that cliff alone, to bear the weight for someone I loved, was noble, even if it meant ending up in the abyss below.

But I didn’t fall. I was pushed.

Pushed by the very person I stood on that cliff for.

-

part 2 

taglist: @rexorangecouny​ @howdycharlie​ @honeymilk-4​ @linthebinbag​ @andreasworlsboring101​

[yesiamkai]

So I’ve been thinking about Midori (shocker) and decided to dump my thoughts and a bit of an analysis.

Fair warning: I am expressing some criticism of the game in this post, and there is some discussion of the Shin + Hiyori dynamic, so please avoid if you don’t want to see that.

My train of thought started with me thinking that GOD, what I wouldn’t give to see Midori absolutely lose it! Like, aside from his weird “BEWITCHING AND SUPREME” speech, he maintains his cool so well throughout 3a, and only loses it a little at the end of 3b with the whole “fear of dying” thing. (I have my gripes with this plot point — it’s a very unsatisfying weakness for his character to have, but I digress). And yet, even at that critical moment where we’d have the opportunity to see something deeper from him, he’s trapped in a box and he doesn’t have time to do much more than sweat and beg for his life before he dies.

This led to me thinking that honestly, the way his arc plays out is disappointing for me. He’s an incredibly compelling villain, partially because of the fact that he’s absolutely irredeemable, but we don’t get to see much of that depth that would make him feel like a character rooted in reality, or the horribly messed up individual that the game reflects.

Gameplay Midori is a cheerfully irreverent man who treats killing people like casual fun. He’s entertaining, charismatic, and makes a great addition to our wacky cast of characters. But when compared to almost everyone else, he unfortunately ends up feeling one-dimensional and cartoonish in his presentation. The plot fails to humanize him in any meaningful way, and his character suffers. This isn’t because humanizing him would “justify” his actions or make them redeemable, but simply because he would be more believable as a villain.

(Btw, this isn’t a Midori hate post. I love love love Midori. He’s actually my favorite character in the game — that’s why I feel so passionately about this hehe.)

The game attempts to humanize almost all of the other Floor Masters. We are told outright that Rio is evil because he was made that way — he is a doll who was created to lack humanity. Safalin’s depth stems from her presentation as the antagonist with the most sympathy for the participants. We don’t know exactly what her backstory is, or why she is with Asunaro, but she displays a pretty consistent internal conflict between her role as a Floor Master and any desire she might have to help the participants. (It’s not entirely that straightforward with Safalin, but this is turning into a novel and this isn’t meant to be about her lol.)

Even Gashu is a very “human” antagonist. His obsession with his work has overwhelmed him to the point where he no longer sees right and wrong, or the value of the lives being lost. He has been so absorbed in the making of the Death Game and feels so justified in his actions that he is unable to feel guilt, even for the death of his own son. He sees people as nothing more than pawns. Weirdly, it’s the loss of his humanity that makes Gashu so uniquely human.

Aside from Meister, whose true role in the plot is pretty clearly just getting started as of 3b, I think Sue Miley is the only character who falls victim to the “cartoon villain” issue that Midori has. We do have a hint of a backstory for her that somewhat explains her behavior — her fiancé being driven to insanity by Asunaro — but as of this point in the game, her motives go mostly unexplored. However, Miley is still alive, her arc is incomplete, and I have no doubts that she will reappear in the final parts (and hopefully clear up some questions when she does).

Midori, though, is supposedly dead. The game sets up the possibility for him to return using the forgotten doll head, but the plot also seems to be eager to wash its hands of him. For a game that sets Midori up to be so threatening and traumatic that his mere photograph causes almost everyone to freak out (before they even remember him!), his actual role in the story ends up being very short-lived. He undergoes no character arc, we learn almost nothing about him, and then he gets killed off.

But all of this could have been avoided if the game a) introduced him earlier than the final chapter and b) took better advantage of the single meaningful link Midori has to humanity. This link?

Shin!

The game criminally underutilizes Midori’s connection to Shin. We do get some insight from Shin directly via his memory, and their limited in-game interactions are some of the most fascinating in the entire game.

It’s pretty obvious that Midori, back when he was Hiyori, was the most important person in Shin’s entire life. Shin admired him, leaned heavily on him, and considered him his best friend (at least). It’s also heavily implied that whatever feelings Shin had were reciprocated, although Hiyori took his side of the relationship way too far and ended up damaging Shin emotionally.

The Hiyori we see from Shin’s perspective is still disturbing, but startlingly more human. Instead of a one-dimensional villain, we see a version of Hiyori who complains when it’s hot, likes robot action figures, writes poetry, and takes countless pictures of his smiling friend to hang up in his room.

We see with the Shin AI that Midori is still quite possessive over his former friend, but the game gives us very few interactions between the two of them. In fact, Midori all but ignores Shin throughout many of his run-ins with the group.

Is this a fault of the way the branching paths of the game treat Shin/Kanna as merely a stand-in for the other in their respective routes? Probably. We don’t get a lot of insightful commentary from whichever one of them lives in Chapter 3, or Reko/Alice. It’s also rough because Chapter 3 introduces so many new characters, and it’s hard to develop them all in such a short time when none of them even make it past 3b. The Dummies deserved a lot more backstory and characterization, too.

I really just wish the game would have used Midori’s ties to Shin to develop him more. Even if he would have simply appealed to Shin directly to save him while he was in the coffin, that would have been really interesting to see.

The fandom does a really great job of bringing characterization to Midori that the game lacks, and despite all of my complaining, he’s still my favorite character, lol. I just know the game is capable of creating really complex characters (Keiji and Shin himself are great examples), so it’s saddening to see it fall so flat with Midori.

Anyway, sorry for my rambling! I just had a lot on my mind that I wanted to put down somewhere.

[septembriseur]

I want to come back to this article, which I reblogged a post from (after seeing it reblogged by loads of people on my dash). I recommend reading the article if you haven’t done so. Its central argument revolves around the idea that “modern liberal democracy presents itself as non-ideological beyond ideology,” and that ideology itself is always presented in literature/media as unacceptably violent— villainous. (I would argue that, in fact, any sort of cultural “accretion,” in the sense that culture is perceived as "on top of” and obscuring universalized western ideology,  is tolerated only insofar as it is not really taken specifically or seriously. That’s why even characters who are presented as deeply religious (think of Matt Murdock or Rogue One’s Baze and Chirrut) are portrayed as religious in a way that is broad, universal, flexible, and vague. 

One issue that the article doesn’t really delve into is that supposedly “ideologue” villains are actually profoundly anideological, except insofar as their ideology is, like, anti- modern liberal democracy’s lack of ideology. A really interesting example of this is in Iron Man: Tony Stark gets held hostage by a group of extremists whose extreme belief is... well... even the MCU wiki seems unable to provide any detail on this beyond “destroying world peace.” The film employs a weird move where it obviously relies on the Afghan setting of the villainous Ten Rings to suggest associations with radical Islamism, yet also provides evidence that the Ten Rings are not Islamists. On the one hand, it provides a sort of generic Western specter of radical Islamists— brown men speaking foreign languages and living in Afghan caves— and on the other hand it coyly removes all potential religious, political, or cultural motivation for their actions. These guys aren’t impoverished tribesmen who’ve been subject to tumultuous centuries of imperial warfare, and they’re not religious extremists living out masculine power fantasies. They’re just a group of dudes who kind of look vaguely Middle Eastern and kind of sound vaguely Middle Eastern (since Arabic and Persian are the languages we hear the most). 

Of course, there’s a real-world explanation for this: Marvel wants to be able to tap into that specter of radical Islamism without offending Muslim consumers. But the textual effect is to create a picture of the world in which terrorism in Afghanistan is evacuated of all meaning. Don’t get me wrong: terrorism in Afghanistan is unbelievably destructive and to a large extent nihilistic, in that it benefits no one and spreads only despair and suffering. But at the same time, it arises out of a historical, political, economic, and religious-cultural context, and if you refuse to understand this context, then you will fail to understand why people make the choice to become terrorists (or how to stop them).

That’s the real problem here: the creation of a world in which the only rational choice is modern liberal democracy, and all other choices are nonsensical. 

Marvel is a great site at which to explore this, simply because there’s so much of it. (You could also easily look at Star Wars, as MacQuarrie does in that article— why does the First Order want power? New extended universe writers have fleshed this out more in their web of liminally canonical texts, but on screen the answer seems to be, in the words of the also-manifestly-guilty-of-this-and-guilty-in-other-ways Joss Whedon’s Dr. Horrible: “the world is a mess, and I just need to rule it.”) 

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is a wildly characteristic example of this. It has the thankless task of trying to engage with the effects of the canonically almost effect-free (cf Spider-man: Far From Home) blip, and pieces together a weirdly nonsensical storyline in which the blip enable border-free mass migration, which was revoked when the other half of the world’s population reappeared. The plot revolves around a group of super soldier refugees/displaced persons who want to stop borders from being reimposed on the world. Sam Wilson refers to the refugees as “people who have been welcomed into countries that previously kept them out with barb wire,” and indeed it's hard to imagine any version of this narrative in which the “migration” we’re talking about is the migration of Global South nationals to the Global North. There’s a really plausible specter here: the Global North does source its manual and domestic labor from the Global South while, whenever possible, keeping Global South nationals out with barbed wire. It does make sense that the Global North would import laborers and then attempt to deport them when their presence was no longer convenient. That is, in fact, literally what has happened/is happening in the UK to foreign healthcare workers during the pandemic.

However, as in Iron Man, Marvel wants to mobilize a specter while also evacuating it of all meaning. None of the displaced people we see in TFATWS bear any resemblance to real-world displaced persons. In spite of their United Colors of Benetton racial diversity, they display no marks of culture, religion, nationality, or indeed poverty. They even have British and American accents. They are completely neutral in every way.

This matters for several reasons. First of all, it allows the viewer to differentiate between the migrants on-screen— Western-looking, English-speaking, non-religious— with migrants off-screen: [perceived to be] too religious, non-English-speaking, culturally and racially “other.” Secondly (again as with Iron Man), it removes all context from the act of migration. Why did these people become migrants? Uh... because of the blip, I guess? Beyond some vague references to suffering, it’s never addressed. This allows the viewer to completely detach the question of migrants/displacement from any of its structural context. Why do people migrate in the real world? Because their countries have been completely devastated by warfare, often proxy warfare carried out by imperial states. Because climate change has completely devastated the regions where they live, with or without triggering devastating warfare. Because they belong to ethnic, political, and/or religious groups that are being systematically destroyed by state governments. Because colonialism and neoliberal capitalism have completely devastated the economies of the regions where they live. This is why the stakes of migration are high. 

If, as the show suggests, people just migrate for various personal reasons that really aren’t that important, then the stakes are not high, and we don’t have to feel bad about the behavior of our governments. This is a huge problem at a time when Denmark is shipping Syrian asylum-seekers back to Syria because it’s apparently fine now, Joe Biden is failing to make good on campaign promises about increasing refugee quotas, the UK is housing asylum seekers in situations that violate human rights law, migrant drownings in the Mediterranean Sea have become a regular feature, and the United States has systematically resisted fulfilling its promises to Iraqis and Afghans who risked their lives working for US forces in exchange for visas.

But, like, above and beyond the specific political issue of migration: what is the Flag Smasher ideology? “One world, one people.” I accept that there might be some viewers (mostly those with no knowledge or experience of immigration) who oppose this on principle, but it seems pretty obviously... good. So the bad part is... that they’re fighting for it? (According to people in my notes, this is Bad.) It’s possible to read this as another example of what the MacQuarrie article discusses: personal violence good, ideological violence bad. However, once again we have an example of an ideology that is not ideological, an ideology that is a specter cleaned out of any possible substance. The nonsensical choice here (the one beside which modern liberal democratic norms are obvious) is the choice to commit violence when there is no urgency that justifies this— none of the urgency that, in fact, exists in the real world, and explains why people regularly sacrifice their lives in desperate attempts to escape their homes. 

This is a really good example of how capitalism— a force with no real agency or subject, no evil committee planning its deeds— ends up enacting a project that systematically enforces its ideology. Attempts to render narratives apolitical are themselves profoundly political, even when justified in terms of appeal to the consumer. This is one of the most dangerous aspects of media, IMHO. 

[mistchievous]

what are your top three grace ryder scenes?

God. This has been sitting in my inbox for few days now because I was having a hard time deciding how I wanted to answer it.

Did I want to exclude RyderDie scenes and focus on Grace outside of her relationship?

Did I only want positive content? Or more complicated content that meant more to me personally?

Top Three? How tf would I rank them? There's no winner! I don't have a favorite! I'm in love with everything she does! I'm simple!

Finally, I just decided to wing it and pull from all sides. So in no particular order, these are three of my favorite Grace Ryder scenes! 😌

Scene 1: Grace + Tommy when Grace gets stuck in the backseat of her car

Grace needed a lot of help following her injury, and while she accepts the help she cannot refuse and Judd's help to a degree, it grates at her more and more that she's being hindered. That she can't do things herself. That her injuries are making her weak and a burden.

She pulls out the old "The Lord helps those who help themselves" quote to justify her stubbornness to Judd when he tries to get through to her, and she dismisses her parents who are willing and want to come help her.

The interaction between her and Tommy is the final result of this pattern of behavior.

She has a food craving and instead of asking any number of people willing to pick something up for her to get it, she drags herself to the store on her own to buy that and a few other groceries. She walks around with visible difficulty (refusing to even use the walker given to her by her doctors). A stranger even offers her assistance in the store, and she refuses. She eventually gets back to her vehicle where she ends up stuck in the backseat unable to move.

She AGAIN refuses to admit to needing help when another stranger checks on her. Grace remains stuck in that car for SIX HOURS before finally calling someone for help, and that someone is Tommy.

Tommy of course comes to help her, and they have their conversation about women (particularly black women) feeling like they have to put on a strong front, but that it's actually okay to ask for help and to lean on other people.

It's an emotional scene that really showcases the strength of their friendship and allows us to understand Grace more by showing us what could be considered one of her actual flaws. That being her own stubbornness and pride which she clung to even at the expense of her own health.

We (as the audience) spend almost every episode praising Grace for having it together. For knowing what to do or figuring out what to do when she doesn’t and then handling things like a boss. For keeping herself in control emotionally. We applaud her strength constantly.

And this was a good reminder that while these can be good traits, they can stem from toxic places. And the need to keep up that front and continue to be seen as capable by those around you can easily become toxic and detrimental as well.

It’s very easy to view Grace as a character who has all the answers and always does the right thing, and this was a reminder that no one is perfect. And the societal expectations put on women that Tommy and Grace talk about in this scene had also become the expectations the audience had developed for Grace as well. The woman who handled her family, herself, her job, etc. with seemingly effortless ease.

So I live for this entire episode and this scene in particular. It gave us so much insight to her character, and honestly a lot of things were said that needed to be said.

Scene 2: “I came here to dance.”

In “Saving Grace”, we have the scene at the bar where Judd lies to Grace’s face and tells her he doesn’t love her.

She knows he’s lying. He purposely hurts them both in a misguided attempt to “free her” from their relationship, and Grace refuses to let that ruin her night.

I’ve made a post about this episode before.

But the fact that she holds it together. That she goes out and enjoys herself regardless. That she doesn’t put her life on pause over a relationship. That she doesn’t make choices on what she’s going to do or who she’s going to be based on who she has romantic feelings for or what other people in her life try to decide for her is so refreshing to see.

Scene 3: Fifty Shades of Grace

Shut up. Not everything needs to have some sort of in-depth reasoning behind it. 😂😂😂

[zeta-in-de-walls]

Analysis on Tommy’s character’s mental state as a result of the exile arc.

Hey guys, I often makes posts discussing Tommy’s character and one thing that absolutely can’t be ignored is how his character has been traumatised by his experiences during exile. So, I thought I’d discuss in depth and how it’s impacted his behaviour.

In exile Tommy usually described himself as lonely. This is somewhat true but it’s actually a little misleading if you take it at face value. It’s not really loneliness that was his main issue, that was just the easiest one to express. Indeed, people did visit, they just didn’t really help with the issues that were really plaguing him. And there were a few.

-Tommy felt powerless. He was weak and attempting to get stronger himself only lead his hard work to be wasted. Therefore, he was reliant on others for help, and was utterly unable to give them anything back for any help offered. 

He also felt trapped, he had to stay on the island so people could find him and visit him but he was not allowed to choose to send time with others himself. He was completely reliant on others deciding to visit him. (Him building not one but two bridges to make it easier for others to visit was all he could do to increase the odds of someone coming to see him.) It wasn’t just loneliness so much as it being something out of his control. 

-Tommy felt worthless. He felt like L’Manburg had just seen him as a liability and was increasingly feeling like they were better off without him. No one really cared about him. He didn’t feel like he had value anymore as a person. 

He didn’t want someone to visit him, he wanted someone to stay with him - he wanted to feel accepted, validated. That’s why he spent time making a guest tent, so people could spend the night. And was so ecstatic at Mexican Dream agreeing to live with him. 

-Tommy is a very clingy person. He’s extremely sociable and becomes attached really easily. He has a hard time letting go too. In exile he constantly missed Tubbo and obsessed over the fact that he hadn’t visited. Leaving on bad terms hurt him. He couldn’t resolve anything and instead his frustration and bitterness grew and grew. He was put into such an awful and dark mindset! Its during this that he lets himself grow attached to Dream instead, who subtly encourages him to believe Tubbo didn’t care. 

So, Tommy said he was lonely, but he was way more troubled than he let on. 

...

Dream also took advantage of Tommy and performed abusive actions that both confused and traumatised him. 

Dream forced him to drop his items, hitting him if he refused and threatening to kill him if he continued to resist. He then acted nice, protecting him, keeping him company and joking around with him.

He lent Tommy his pickaxe and trident. He helped Tommy get primes. He repeatedly blew up Tommy’s armour. He regularly destroyed any diamond tools Tommy got and talked about ‘letting’ him keep some things, like he was being generous. Dream talked about how L’Manburg was prospering with Tommy there, suggesting everyone had moved on while he was the one responsible for sabotaging Tommy’s relationships.

Dream acted like an authority figure, dressing up all his actions as reasonable and Tommy was at fault for making his actions necessary. He lied about Tubbo not caring about his compass. He promised to invite people to his party and then didn’t, letting Tommy believe they chose not to come. Dream’s actions left Tommy increasingly dependent on him, as he was both physically and emotionally very vulnerable (as Dream had induced) and Dream took advantage of it. Finally, when Tommy did a relatively minor act of rebellion, Dream blew up everything. He killed Mushroom Henry and destroyed anything else Tommy was attached to - his tent, the campsite Wilbur built, the prime log.

Now, one of Tommy’s key character flaws is that he is rather irrational. While he can be perceptive, he often gets driven by his emotions rather than logic. (Its part of why he gets attached to things so easily). Usually he doesn’t actually let his feelings control him, but the exile put him under huge emotional turmoil.

-Logically, he always knew that Dream was responsible. He never forgot anything, he was just struggling to process it.

Dream was acting like he cared and Tommy clung on to that. Even once with Techno he described his confusion at his exile and noted that he recalled all the events perfectly but was confused emotionally and basically wasn’t able to deal with his feelings on Dream at all. He knew he ought to hate Dream but wanted to trust him still. 

Thinking more on emotions is also why he took Tubbo exiling him so personally - just before Doomsday he apologised and said he understood why Tubbo did it (I think he said it was the right decision even) but at the time he was hurt and felt like Tubbo didn’t care about him. Tommy often acts in the heat of the moment but fixes things afterwards. The issue with his fight with Tubbo was that they were unable to see each other and therefore resolve things, causing it instead to fester and get worse. 

So, that’s basically what happened to him throughout exile, but how did this affect his actions? A few different ways.

-He became extremely depressed and almost ended his life. Though he ultimately chose against this, his sense of self-preservation is notably lower. He didn’t seem to be afraid at the possibility of dying during Doomsday. And he was also prepared to confront Dream again over his discs - he had nothing left to lose as far as he was concerned. Once Tommy realised that Dream didn’t want to kill him, he took full advantage of it. He walked up to Dream completely unarmoured while Dream was in full netherite and confidently ordered him around. He was not afraid of dying. And again, he threatened to kill himself if Dream didn’t return after already killing Dream twice. Tommy’s only slowly gaining back his zeal for living. 

-He became angry and lashed out. Jack visited him at one point and Tommy spleefed him into lava, killing him absolutely ruthlessly. This is not a nice anger, its a cold destructive one, a result of all his bitterness from his unjust suffering. A minute later, he can only ask, why did he do that? Sometimes, Tommy might seem meeker, but it’s just hiding pain and rage that comes out in the worst of ways.

When no one turns up to his party, Tommy destroys part of the bridge he built for people to visit as he’s angry and has no real way to lash out - it’s not logical but as Tommy expresses: if they really want to visit then they’ll have to make an effort. A few days later he builds another, not because he’s better but because he’s so desperate for company he doesn’t even care if they don’t really care as long as they show up. 

His actions while with Techno have him torturing Fundy and Connor, interrogating Ranboo and helping Techno release a wither on L’Manberg. This is not the normal Tommy. This is him releasing his bitterness and rage in a destructive way, with his twisted mindset being vaguely approved of by Technoblade (though even he thought Tommy was going too far!) 

-He grew unhealthily attached to anything that gave him any stability in his warped, messed up world. That’s why he started fixating on his music discs so hard. And why he clung to Dream so hard for a while. And why he clung so much to Technoblade, quickly growing dependent on him, desperate for any sort of care and validation.

It’s why he even agreed to help Techno destroy L’Manburg at all. He was in such a warped mindset and wanted to trust Techno even if part of him was appalled by the idea, but his anger at L’Manberg was also clouding his judgement, and he wanted to agree with Techno because Techno cared about him. It’s not Techno or Tommy’s fault but their relationship was messed up thanks to Tommy’s trauma. Tommy was so dependent on Techno and was not able to function properly alone and he was very driven by his emotions, which were in a mess. He could barely sort out his feelings on Dream, let alone L’Manburg or Tubbo. He even let himself believe that all they were doing was minor terrorism, when Techno hadn’t hid his intentions that much at all. 

-Tommy blames himself for all that occurred. When the anger faded, and he was a little less powerless, Tommy began to get back his own sense of agency, which he’d been lacking for so long. With more clarity, he realised that of course he wanted to forgive Tubbo and make amends. His experiences lead to Tommy feeling like it was up to him to apologise - and he did. 

In some respects, there’s some excellent development here - it’s amazing to see him put feelings to one side and realise that his anger and bitterness were hurting him. And he held himself responsible - that his actions, traumatised or not, didn’t justify hurting others. He had been becoming the person he didn’t want to be - and rejected it. 

But there’s some worrying signs too - his experiences left him in some ways too apologetic. His sense of self-worth is still low. He didn’t blow up the community house but at one point said he wouldn’t bother defending himself anymore as there was no point, nothing to be gained from arguing about it. He apologised to Sapnap for releasing Mars - wonderful but it was never really necessary. When interacting with the egg, he said he didn’t want to cause yet another war, having internalised the idea that he’s responsible for most conflicts. At one point he even said he blames himself for Doomsday. It’s not healthy to have such a low sense of self-worth. He no longer blames others for not caring about him - but he does blame himself. 

....

Well this has been a long post. I hope that better expresses how Tommy’s been affected from his exile. I feel like I’ve seen posts complaining about apologists using trauma to excuse his actions. Not at all! Merely to explain. You cannot discuss Tommy’s current character without discussing his trauma. Likewise, it has been treated seriously by the narrative and Tommy continues to have it affect his character. It’s ongoing. He is improving but it has had a long-lasting impact. Indeed his mental state still feels fragile enough that us fans have been very sensitive to anything that might impact him. Tommy should be handled with care, and few of the characters on the server realise this. 

[herinsectreflection]

I really love how much of Faith there is in S6, and I mean that completely seriously. She's a constant unmentioned figure, haunting the narrative. The central ideas of her character become the central ideas of the season, and for Buffy's character specifically.

Faith is such an interesting figure because despite appearing in less than thirty episodes across both shows, she’s one of the most important characters for reflecting both leads, but especially Buffy for obvious reasons. She's Angel's mentee figure, the representation of how good desire to right his own wrongs and give others a chance to do the same can reciprocally save him. And she's Buffy's dark mirro, representing who Buffy could be if she surrendered to the mercy of her circumstances. Faith’s status as Buffy’s distorted mirror image is constant throughout the show. Cordelia was Buffy’s first shadow self, but Faith owns that role, long after she stops appearing regularly.

The season opens for Buffy with her hand stretching up out of her grave, with a visual almost identical to Faith’s dream in This Year’s Girl. You could almost see Buffy’s ressurection as akin to Faith waking from her coma to find a world that has left her behind. They both wake up alone and stagger around town, finding themselves at the burned-out site of the previous season’s finale, and both their initial instincts are to destroy their bodies - Faith by disappearing into Buffy's, and Buffy by leaping off the tower again.

Throughout the season, Buffy exhibits a lot of Faith-like behaviour. A big one is using sex as a coping mechanism. Buffy instigates an unhealthy sexual relationship with Spike to stave off her depression and hide it from others. Faith uses agressive sexuality to intimidate others and keep her pain hidden (see her initially attempting to seduce the Mayor to avoid accepting his paternal affection, or instigating sex with Xander in response to his attempts at emotional connection). Both are prone to violence against their sexual partners too - Faith with Xander in the same scene and Buffy with Spike multiple times. Like vampires, the Slayers seem inclined to conflate sex and violence (I'll let the fact that they are both prone to violence against each other speak for itself). In her dream in Dead Things, Buffy mixes up seeing Katrina's corpse and having sex with Spike in a blurry whirlwind of sex and death, bringing this conflation to the forefront.

It's also worth noting that Faith is implied in many ways to be a victim of sexual abuse, and it's in this season that Buffy experiences an attempted rape. Both are caught up in that cycle of abuse, and thankfully they manage to both escape.

And then there's the suicidal ideation. Oh god, the suicidal ideation. There's a few examples of characters being self-destructive or sacrificial in a way that evokes suicide (Angel springs to mind in multiple instances), but it's only Faith and Buffy in S6 (and parts of S5 to be fair) that explicitly grapple with this. Buffy's arc in S6 is basically her grappling with suicidal ideation, and struggling to actually want to be alive. Faith attempts suicide multiple times - metaphorically in This Year's Girl and literally in Five By Five, when she attempts suicide-by-copvampire-detective. I would even argue that Graduation Day is another example of attempted suicide-by-slayer, given that she actively goads Buffy to kill her (and therefore become her), and seems almost relieved and proud when she seemingly does so.

The kicker is really Dead Things. This is such a vital episode for understanding Buffy in S6, and it is absolutely dripping with Faith parallels. It's almost a Frankenstein episode, made up of bits of other Faith-centric episodes. The central conflict is the exact same as Bad Girls, with a routine patrol (seemingly) killing an innocent bystander at the hands of a slayer. Spike has the same solution as Faith - dump the body and forget about it. He even uses the same utilitarian argument to justify it - that one lost life is meaningless, collateral damage, against the many that Buffy has saved. But it's Buffy who is in Faith's shoes, struggling with the idea that she killed someone. Ironically, her solution - to hand herself over to the police - is in fact the same solution Faith eventually comes to in Sanctuary. At this point in time, that was the last thing we saw Faith do in the Buffyverse, and now Buffy herself reaches for that same idea to try and achieve peace.

Her attempt to turn herself in can and should be read as a metaphorical suicide attempt. Her words to Dawn saying goodbye are pretty much a repeat of her words to Dawn before she jumps in The Gift (see @impalementation 's great post on this). She's been trying to recreate that feeling of exquisite peace all year, just as Faith repeatedly turns to metaphorical and literal suicide to find her own. That idea of "peace" being equated to both voluntary incarceration and suicide makes the ending to Sanctuary much darker, which makes me glad that Faith ends up taking an active role in the world by the end.

Buffy beating up Spike in the alley - himself a mirror to Buffy in many ways, and behaving identically to Faith in this episode - is lifted from Who Are You.

"Shut up! Do you think I'm afraid of you? You're nothing. Disgusting. Murderous bitch. You're nothing. You're disgusting."

- Faith Lehane, Who Are You, shouted while crying and punching someone on the floor, but obviously talking about herself.

"You don't have a soul! There is nothing good or clean in you. You are dead inside! You can't feel anything real! I could never be your girl!"

- Buffy Summers, Dead Things, shouted while crying and punching someone on the floor, but obviously talking about herself.

Both scenes come at the climax of an episode-long metaphorical suicide. Both strip away the characters' defenses and lay bare an unfiltered and messy psyche, dominated by anger and self-hatred.

So we can see that when Buffy is at her lowest, she becomes her own shadow self. Faith is in many ways a permanent part of Buffy's psyche, which comes up to the surface occasionally and has to be actively quashed (I'm thinking about her taking on parts of Faith's wardrobe along with her personality in Bad Girls, until the accident at which point she actively goes in the opposite sartorial direction). In her post-ressurection depressive haze, Buffy is simultaneously less connected to her own personhood and more emotionally volatile, so her shadow self is exposed, and that shadow self is Faith.

It gets extra interesting when you remember that Faith is The Slayer at this point. No new slayer is called when Buffy dies - nobody even suggests that one might be out there - which suggests that the sole Slayer line runs through Faith now, and Buffy is an abberation. (S7 kind of confuses the issue when it suggests that the First will have to kill Buffy last, but it makes more sense to ignore that than to ignore this). The Slayer is a core part of Buffy's identity, one that she ambivalently pulls away from and grabs on to - but technically it belongs to Faith now. In S6 Buffy loses connection to her identity, and so becomes an echo of Faith, who owns that part of her now.

Going even further - Faith only exists as The Slayer at all because of Buffy's first death. Slayers are kind of an undead like vampires in a way - they can only ever exist because someone else dies. They live because of death. Faith is the walking, talking corpse of Buffy, a reborn figure given purpose by death, for death. Buffy in S6 is experiencing her own kind of un-life, as depression so often feels like. She too feels like the walking, talking corpse of Buffy. The Slayer, Faith, and Buffy are all caught in their own purgatory, born out of death and unable to see anything but death in their near future.

It's just so much fun to pick apart this season and see how it relates to this seemingly unrelated character. Faith feels like a major presence in a season that she doesn't appear in - and I'm not sure even explicitly mentions her - solely thanks to how effective a lens she is to view the main character. Now that's effective connection of character and theme.

[ot3]

i watched red vs blue: zero with my dear friends today and i was asked to “post” my “thoughts” on the subject. Please do not click this readmore unless, for some reason, you want to read three thousand words on the subject of red vs blue: zero critical analysis. i highly doubt that’s the reason anyone is following me, but hey. 

anyway. here you have it. 

Here are my opinions on RVB0 as someone who has quite literally no nostalgia for any older RVB content. I’ve seen seasons 1-13 once and bits and pieces of it more than once here and there, but I only saw it for the first time within the past couple of months. I’ve literally never seen any other RT/AH content. I can name a few people who worked on OG Red vs. Blue but other than Mounty Oum I have NO idea who is responsible for what, really, or what anything else they’ve ever worked on is, or whether or not they’re awful people. I know even less about the people making RVB0 - All I know is that the main writer is named Torrian but I honestly don’t even know if that’s a first name, a last name, or a moniker. All this to say; nothing about my criticism is rooted in any perceived slight against the franchise or branding by the new staff members, because I don’t know or care about any of it. In fact, I’m going to try and avoid any direct comparison between RVB0 and earlier seasons of RVB as a means of critique until the very end, where I’ll look at that relationship specifically.

So here is my opinion of RVB0 as it stands right now:

1. The Writing

Everything about RVB0 feels as if it was written by a first-time writer who hasn’t learned to kill his darlings. The narrative is both simultaneously far too full, leaving very little breathing room for character interaction, and oddly sparse, with a story that lacks any meaningful takeaway, interesting ideas, or genuine emotional connection. It also feels like it’s for a very much younger audience - I don’t mean this as a negative at all. I love tv for kids. I watch more TV for kids than I do for adults, mostly, but I think it’s important to address this because a lot of the time ‘this is for kids’ is used to act like you’re not allowed to critique a narrative thoroughly. It definitely changes the way you critique it, but the critique can still be in good faith.  I watched the entirety of RVB0 only after it was finished, in one sitting, and I was giving it my full attention, essentially like it was a movie. I’m going to assume it was much better to watch in chunks, because as it stood, there was literally no time built into the narrative to process the events that had just transpired, or try and predict what events might be coming in the future. When there’s no time to think about the narrative as you’re watching it, the narrative ends up as being something that happens to the audience, not something they engage with. It’s like the difference between taking notes during a lecture or just sitting and listening. If you’re making no attempt to actively process what’s happening, it doesn’t stick in your mind well. I found myself struggling to recall the events and explanations that had immediately transpired because as soon as one thing had happened, another thing was already happening, and it was like a mental juggling act to try and figure out which information was important enough to dwell on in the time we were given to dwell on it.

Which brings me to another point - pacing. Every event in the show, whether a character moment, a plot moment, or a fight scene, felt like it was supposed to land with almost the exact same amount of emotional weight. It all felt like The Most Important Thing that had Yet Happened. And I understand that this is done as an attempt to squeeze as much as possible out of a rather short runtime, but it fundamentally fails. When everything is the most important thing happening, it all fades into static. That’s what most of 0’s narrative was to me: static. It’s only been a few hours since I watched it but I had to go step by step and type out all of the story beats I could remember and run it by my friends who are much more enthusiastic RVB fans than I am to make sure I hadn’t missed or forgotten anything. I hadn’t, apparently, but the fact that my takeaway from the show was pretty accurate and also disappointingly lackluster says a lot. Strangely enough, the most interesting thing the show alluded to - a holo echo, or whatever the term they used was - was one of the things least extrapolated upon in the show’s incredibly bulky exposition. Benefit of the doubt says that’s something they’ll explore in future seasons (are they getting more? Is that planned? I just realized I don’t actually know.)

And bulky it was! I have quite honestly never seen such flagrant disregard for the rule of “show, don’t tell.” There was not a single ounce of subtlety or implication involved in the storytelling of RVB0. Something was either told to you explicitly, or almost entirely absent from the narrative. Essentially zilch in between. We are told the dynamic the characters have with each other, and their personality pros and cons are listed for us conveniently by Carolina. The plot develops in exposition dumps. This is partially due to the series’ short runtime, but is also very much a result of how that runtime was then used by the writers. They sacrificed a massive chunk of their show for the sake of cramming in a ton of fight scenes, and if they wanted to keep all of those fight scenes, it would have been necessary to pare down their story and characters proportionally in comparison, but they didn’t do that either. They wanted to have it both ways and there simply wasn’t enough time for it. 

The story itself is… uninteresting. It plays out more like the flimsy premise of a video game quest rather than a piece of media to be meaningfully engaged with. RVB0 is I think something I would be pitched by a guy who thinks the MCU and BNHA are the best storytelling to come out of the past decade. It is nothing but tropes. And I hate having to use this as an insult! I love tropes. The worst thing about RVB0 is that nothing it does is wholly unforgivable in its own right. Hunter x Hunter, a phenomenal shonen, is notoriously filled with pages upon pages of detailed exposition and explanations of things, and I absolutely love it. Leverage, my favorite TV show of all time, is literally nothing but a five man band who has to learn to work as a team while seemingly systematically hitting a checklist of every relevant trope in the book. Pacific Rim is an incredibly straightforward good guys vs giant monsters blockbuster to show off some cool fight scenes such as a big robot cutting an alien in half with a giant sword, and it’s some of the most fun I ever have watching a movie. Something being derivative, clunky, poorly executed in some specific areas, narratively weak, or any single one of these flaws, is perfectly fine assuming it’s done with the intention and care that’s necessary to make the good parts shine more. I’ll forgive literally any crime a piece of media commits as long as it’s interesting and/or enjoyable to consume. RVB0 is not that. I’m not sure what the main point of RVB0 was supposed to be, because it seemingly succeeds at nothing. It has absolutely nothing new or innovative to justify its lack of concern for traditional storytelling conventions. Based solely on the amount of screentime things were given, I’d be inclined to say the narrative existed mostly to give flimsy pretense for the fight scenes, but that’s an entire other can of worms.

2. The Visuals + Fights

I have no qualms with things that are all style and no substance. Sometimes you just want to see pretty colors moving on the screen for a while or watch some cool bad guys and monsters or whatever get punched. RVB0 was not this either. The show fundamentally lacked a coherent aesthetic vision. Much of the show had a rather generic sci-fi feel to it with the biggest standouts to this being the very noir looking cityscape, which my friends and I all immediately joked looked like something from a batman game, or the temple, which my friends and I all immediately joked looked like a world of warcraft raid. They were obviously attempting to get variety in their environment design, which I appreciate, but they did this without having a coherent enough visual language to feel like it was all part of the same world. In general, there was also just a lack of visual clarity or strong shots. The value range in any given scene was poor, the compositions and framing were functional at best, and the character animation was unpleasantly exaggerated. It just doesn’t really look that good beyond fancy rendering techniques.

The fight scenes are their entire own beast. Since ‘FIGHT SCENE’ is the largest single category of scenes in the show, they definitely feel worth looking at with a genuine critical eye. Or, at least, I’d like to, but honestly half the time I found myself almost unable to look at them. The camera is rarely still long enough to really enjoy what you’re watching - tracking the motion of the character AND the camera at such constant breakneck high speeds left little time to appreciate any nuances that might have been present in the choreography or character animation. I tried, believe me, I really did, but the fight scenes leave one with the same sort of dizzy convoluted spectacle as a Michael Bay transformers movie. They also really lacked the impact fight scenes are supposed to have.

It’s hard to have a good, memorable fight scene without it doing one of three things: 1. Showing off innovative or creative fighting styles and choreography 2. Making use of the fight’s setting or environment in an engaging and visually interesting way or 3. Further exploring a character’s personality or actions by the way they fight. It’s also hard to do one of these things on its own without at least touching a bit on the other two. For the most part, I find RVB0’s fight scenes fail to do this. Other than rather surface level insubstantial factors, there was little to visually distinguish any of RVB0’s fight scenes from each other. Not only did I find a lot of them difficult to watch and unappealing, I found them all difficult to watch and unappealing in an almost identical way. They felt incredibly interchangeable and very generic. If you could take a fight scene and change the location it was set and also change which characters were participating and have very little change, it’s probably not a good fight scene. 

I think “generic” is really just the defining word of RVB0 and I think that’s also why it falls short in the humor department  as well.

3. The Comedy

Funny shit is hard to write and humor is also incredibly subjective but I definitely got almost no laughs out of RVB0. I think a total of three. By far the best joke was Carolina having a cast on top of her armor, which, I must stress, is an incredibly funny gag and I love it. But overall I think the humor fell short because it felt like it was tacked on more than a natural and intentional part of this world and these characters. A lot of the jokes felt like they were just thrown in wherever they’d fit, without any build up to punchlines and with little regard for what sort of joke each character would make. Like, there was some, obviously Raymond’s sense of humor had the most character to it, but the character-oriented humor still felt very weak. When focusing on character-driven humor, there’s a LOT you can establish about characters based on what sort of jokes they choose to make, who they’re picking as the punchlines of these jokes, and who their in-universe audience for the jokes is. In RVB0, the jokes all felt very immersion-breaking and self aware, directed wholly towards the audience rather than occurring as a natural result of interplay between the characters. This is partially due to how lackluster the character writing was overall, and the previously stated tight timing, but also definitely due to a lack of a real understanding about what makes a joke land. 

A rule of thumb I personally hold for comedy is that, when push comes to shove, more specific is always going to be more funny. The example I gave when trying to explain this was this:

saying two characters had awkward sex in a movie theater: funny

saying two characters had an awkward handjob in a cinemark: even funnier

saying two characters spent 54 minutes of 11:14's 1:26 runtime trying out some uncomfortably-angled hand stuff in the back of a dilapidated cinemark that lost funding halfway through retrofitting into a dinner theater: the funniest

The more specific a joke is, the more it relies on an in-depth understanding of the characters and world you’re dealing with and the more ‘realistic’ it feels within the context of your media. Especially with this kind of humor. When you’re joking with your friends, you don’t go for stock-humor that could be pulled out of a joke book, you go for the specific. You aim for the weak spots. If a set of jokes could be blindly transplanted into another world, onto another cast of characters, then it’s far too generic to be truly funny or memorable. I don’t think there’s a single joke in RVB0 where the humor of it hinged upon the characters or the setting.

Then there’s the issue of situational comedy and physical comedy. This is really where the humor being ‘tacked on’ shows the most. Once again, part of what makes actually solid comedy land properly is it feeling like a natural result of the world you have established. Real life is absurd and comical situations can be found even in the midst of some pretty grim context, and that’s why black comedy is successful, and why comedy shows are allowed to dip into heavier subject matter from time to time, or why dramas often search for levity in humor. It’s a natural part of being human to find humor in almost any situation. The key thing, though, once again, is finding it in the situation. Many of RVB0’s attempts at humor, once again, feel like they would be the exact same jokes when stripped from their context, and that’s almost never good. A pretty fundamental concept in both storytelling in general but particularly comedy writing is ‘setup and payoff’. No joke in RVB0 is a reward for a seemingly innocuous event in an earlier scene or for an overlooked piece of environmental design. The jokes pop in when there’s time for them in between all the exposition and fighting, and are gone as soon as they’re done. There’s no long term, underlying comedic throughline to give any sense of coherence or intent to the sense of humor the show is trying to establish. Every joke is an isolated one-off quip or one-liner, and it fails to engage the audience in a meaningful way.

All together, each individual component of RVB0 feels like it was conjured up independently, without any concern to how it interacted with the larger product they were creating. And I think this is really where it all falls apart. RVB0 feels criminally generic in a way reminiscent of mass-market media which at least has the luxury of attributing these flaws, this complete and total watering down of anything unique, to heavy oversight and large teams with competing visions. But I don’t think that’s the case for RVB0. I don’t know much about what the pipeline is like for this show, but I feel like the fundamental problem it suffers from is a lack of heart.

In comparison to Red vs. Blue

Let's face it. This is a terrible successor to Red vs. Blue. I wouldn’t care if NONE of the old characters were in it - that’s not my problem. I haven’t seen past season 13 because from what I heard the show already jumped the shark a bit and then some. That’s not what makes it a poor follow up. What makes it a bad successor is that it fundamentally lacks any of the aspects of the OG RVB that made it unique or appealing at all. I find myself wondering what Torrian is trying to say with RVB0 and quite literally the only answer I find myself falling back onto is that he isn’t trying to say anything at all. Regardless of what you feel about the original RVB, it undeniably had things to say. The opening “why are we here” speech does an excellent job at establishing that this is a show intended to poke fun at the misery of bureaucracy and subservience to nonsensical systems, not just in the context of military life, but in a very broad-strokes way almost any middle-class worker can relate to. At the end of the day, fiction is at its best when it resonates with some aspect of its audience’s life. I know instantly which parts of the original Red vs Blue I’m supposed to relate to. I can’t say anything even close to that about 0.

RVB is an absurdist parody that heavily satirizes aspects of the military and life as a low-on-the-food-chain worker in general that almost it’s entire target audience will be familiar with. The most significant draw of the show to me was how the dialogue felt like listening to my friends bicker with each other in our group chats. It required no effort for me to connect with and although the narrative never outright looked to the camera and explained ‘we are critiquing the military’s stupid red tape and self-fullfilling eternal conflict’ they didn’t need to, because the writing trusted itself and its audience enough to believe this could be conveyed. It is, in a way, the complete antithesis to the badass superhero macho military man protagonist that we all know so well. RVB was saying something, and it was saying it in a rather novel format.

Nothing about RVB0 is novel. Nothing about RVB0 says anything. Nothing about it compels me to relate to any of these characters or their situations. RVB0 doesn’t feel like absurdism, or satire. RVB0 feels like it is, completely uncritically, the exact media that RVB itself was riffing off of. Both RVB0 and RVB when you watch them give you the feeling that what you’re seeing here is kids on a playground larping with toy soldiers. It’s all ridiculous and over the top cliche stupid garbage where each side is trying to one-up the other. The critical difference is, in RVB, we’re supposed to look at this and laugh at how ridiculous this is. In RVB0 we’re supposed to unironically think this is all pretty badass. 

The PFL arc of the original RVB existed to show us that setting up an elite team of supersoldiers with special powers was something done in bad faith, with poor outcomes, that left everyone involved either cruel, damaged, or dead. It was a bad thing. And what we’re seeing in RVB0 is the same premise, except, this time it’s good. We’re supposed to root for this format. RVB0 feels much more like a demo reel, cutscenes from a video game that doesn’t exist, or a shonen anime fanboy’s journal scribbling than it feels like a piece of media with any objective value in any area.  In every area that RVB was anti-establishment, RVB0 is pure undiluted establishment through and through.  

[rnelodyy]

C!Dream, the status quo, and why conflict is okay sometimes.

In this fandom, there is a lot of talk about conflict, who causes it, who avoids it, who is to blame for it, et cetera. An argument often heard from c!Dream apologists to justify his abysmal treatment of L’Manburg in general and c!Tommy in specific is “He was just trying to stop people causing conflict! He was protecting the server by stopping these conflict-causing maniacs!”

And it’s not hard to see where they get this idea from, because c!Dream repeats this sentiment a lot, from his “happy family” speech, to the speech during the final disc war about how c!Tommy causes constant conflict, to the fact that he always portrays himself as a reasonable authority figure trying to calm down these feral creatures always fighting with one another (and we’ll get to that idea…).

My reasoning for explaining how c!Dream’s worldview is deeply flawed may be a bit controversial, so I decided to write this essay to explore the following idea:

Sometimes, conflict is good actually.

(all /dsmp /rp, names refer to characters, not content creators)

Conflict, in itself, is morally neutral. It’s the context surrounding the conflict that allows us to ascribe morality to it. This fact makes this topic a LOT harder to discuss, because morality is subjective. What I’m writing here is all my own opinion, you may agree or disagree on some points, I just ask that you read it through and please don’t start shit over this.

Anyway, the context. It’s dependent on a number of factors.

Justification. Why was the conflict started?

Intent. What is the desired outcome for either party?

Proportionality. If the conflict is started out of revenge or punishment, is it proportionate to the wrong committed?

Power Dynamic. Is the person on the receiving end more, less, or equally as powerful as the person starting the conflict?

For example, let’s compare the L’Manburg War for Independence with the intervention during the Final Disc War.

Justification:

Dream declared war on L’Manburg because he saw them as traitors, and the land they occupied as rightfully his. Therefore, them making a country of their own where his rules didn’t apply was a violation of the status quo he wanted to uphold.

Punz and the others intervened because they didn’t want Dream to kill Tommy and/or Tubbo, and were tired of his constant meddling in their affairs.

Intent:

Dream’s intent was to attack L’Manburg until they surrendered, no matter how much hurt he’d cause or how many lives he’d take.

Punz and the other’s intent was to stop Dream from killing Tommy and Tubbo, and stop whatever plan he had to keep the server under control.

Proportionality:

L’Manburg declared independence in response to brutal violence as retribution for clumsy attempts at crime, on land nobody except Wilbur was using, were explicitly pacifistic and invited Dream to make an embassy in their land to discuss trade. Dream responded by declaring war, destroying their land, luring them into a trap and killing them, and continuing to beat them down until they surrendered.

Punz and the others intervened after Dream dragged two teenagers out into the wilderness to fight him, with little chance of them ever returning. This was after months of Dream’s meddling in conflicts he had nothing to do with, trying to control people’s actions, ripping Tommy away from his home and abusing him in secret and, in the end, destroying the place most synonymous with freedom from his rule. They intervened by getting Tommy and Tubbo to safety, letting Tommy (the kid who arguably suffered the most at Dream’s hands) take his items and beat him to death twice, then locking him up in prison.

Power Dynamic:

L’Manburg was significantly less powerful than Dream and his goons, with less skilled fighters and heavily inferior gear. They held their position fairly okay at the start, but after the Final Control Room, they were basically defenseless against Dream’s assault.

Dream had always had unprecedented power on the server. He’s leveled entire countries, crowns and dethrones kings when he feels like it, overruled the decision of a court of law, and in the end, had Tommy and Tubbo completely at his mercy before the intervention. Even beating Dream was seen as such an insurmountable task that it took fourteen people (excluding Clingyduo) to take him down.

The thing about conflict, even violent conflict, is that it’s not always negative. If your sister is being abused by her boyfriend and refuses to report it out of fear, you’re gonna be hard-pressed to find someone unable to sympathize with you if you go over to his house and break his nose.

What is a defining feature of conflict, is that it disrupts the status quo.

That’s not to say that some characters are always disruptors and others always preservers of the status quo. For example, during the Disc War, Tommy is the one trying to preserve and Dream the one trying to disrupt (the status quo being: Tommy owns the discs), and during the L’Manburg War for Independence, Tommy and Wilbur are disrupting while Dream is preserving (the status quo being: Dream has absolute power and the entire server needs to follow his rules).

It’s ALSO not to say that this disruption is always bad, because sometimes, the status quo fucking sucks, and throwing it on its head is the right thing to do. Overthrowing Schlatt is seen by everyone on the SMP and pretty much every fan as morally correct, as while Schlatt being president was the status quo, it meant he was ruling as a dictator, exiling his political opponents, imprisoning and heavily taxing dissenters, being verbally and physically abusive to his cabinet members, and forcing a guest at his festival to execute a sixteen year-old boy for spying for the political opponent he exiled.

Conflict being a genuinely good force of societal change isn’t usually brought up in the fandom though, at least not consciously. A lot of people, both on the server and IRL, see conflict only as a source of hurt and pain, and try to prevent or avoid it as much as possible.

And here’s where Dream differs from someone like Ranboo. Because while both Dream and Ranboo operate on the assumption that all conflict is bad all the time, Ranboo shows this by becoming conflict-avoidant to the extreme, to the point where he refuses to pick sides in pretty much any conflict, no matter how obviously good or evil one side is. Meanwhile, Dream shows this by becoming controlling to the extreme. Mitigating conflict isn’t enough, he needs to control everything to prevent all conflict ever.

In Ranboo’s case, this is less due to ideology and more due to personality. Ranboo is a deeply anxious person, and hates being in the middle of fights. He’s also… not very self-critical? He has issues with self-worth, but he very rarely takes a look in the mirror to inspect what it actually is he believes and says, making him very gullible and convinced of his own righteousness. But while that’s a VERY interesting character trait, Ranboo’s conflict-avoidance doesn’t make him a very good character to examine in the context of conflict and what it means.

So let’s look at Dream. Because, despite claiming to want to stop conflict, Dream CONSTANTLY starts conflicts or escalates existing ones. The L’Manburg War for Independence could’ve been entirely avoided if Dream hadn’t lashed out so heavily at a nation of pacifists who made their own area to avoid violence from authorities. As I explored in my George Vod Analysis, the griefing of George’s house would’ve been a lighthearted dispute between two people if Dream hadn’t taken over the entire thing and turned it into one of the biggest diplomatic crises in the server’s history. Mexican L’Manburg hadn’t even existed for an hour before Dream came by to kill its residents and destroy its land.

So why is Dream so focused on stopping conflict, despite constantly starting it himself? Why is THAT his hill to die on?

Simple. Dream wants to prevent disruptions to the status quo. That status quo being “Dream is the one in power and everyone has to listen to him.”

But you can’t say that out loud. If you say “everyone needs to listen to me otherwise it’s not fair”, you sound like a whiny five year-old at best, and a tyrant at worst. So, instead of saying that, Dream says “I just want to prevent conflict, keep the server peaceful.”

Remember what I said about one party being the disruptor and another being the preserver? Well, Dream’s status in the early days of the server is almost always preserver of the status quo. The only times he’s the disruptor is if disrupting that status quo serves to strengthen the status quo of him being in power. For example: Stealing Tommy’s discs is a disruption of the “Tommy’s discs are his and his alone” status quo, but strengthens the “Dream is the most powerful dude on the server” status quo, because the discs give him power over Tommy.

By fighting L’Manburg, he was trying to preserve the status quo, because having a government on the server meant he no longer had absolute power. Hell, REALLY early on, he decided to kill George and burn all his stuff because George had full diamond while everyone else was still running around in iron armor.

However, after L’Manburg’s independence, Dream’s focus shifted. Instead of preserving the status quo, he’d disrupt it in order to return to the status quo as HE wanted it, with no nations, and himself at the top.

But again, that wouldn’t look good. Making yourself the undisputed ruler of the entire server is not good for optics, so instead, Dream hides behind the excuse that he’s just trying to stop conflict, or seeking retribution for slights against his nation.

By this point, Tommy, the only person who CONSTANTLY refuses to bow to his demands, becomes his scapegoat. Tommy is loud, enjoys chaos and getting on people’s nerves, and causes, admittedly, a LOT of conflict. Lighthearted, non-serious conflict with very little actual consequences, but conflict nonetheless. It’s not hard for him to start smearing Tommy’s name, painting him as this feral child at fault for every conflict ever, mostly because a lot of people already believed something like that to be true.

The idea that Tommy is uniquely destructive or chaotic is complete bullshit. Tommy is definitely on the more chaotic side, but he’s not that much more chaotic or destructive than your average server member, he’s just really loud and annoying about it, which makes the things he DOES do stick out more. But Dream, especially during the Exile Conflict, continuously pushed the idea that Tommy is the only one creating conflict on the server, that Tommy is responsible for all conflict ever, and that without Tommy, everyone would be at peace.

And at some point… Dream started believing this himself.

His speech during the Final Disc War illustrates this perfectly. He tells Tommy that ever since he joined, there’s been nothing but war and terrorism and conflict, and that those originated from the attachments Tommy brought to the server. That, by cutting off his own attachments, exploiting everyone else’s, and getting rid of Tommy, he could restore the old status quo, before L’Manburg, before Tommy, when everything was peaceful and no conflict existed. Except, Tommy is too fun to fuck with, so instead of killing him, Dream was going to lock Tommy up in Pandora’s Vault, probably for the rest of his life, to continue breaking him.

This is a prime example of Dream falling for his own bullshit.

First of all, Tommy didn’t cause all those wars, he was actually on the receiving end of most of them. A vast majority of the wars and terrorism Tommy got caught up in were actually started by Dream, or Dream was actively helping the guy who started it.

Second, Tommy didn’t bring the concept of attachment to the server. He gets very attached to things, true, but attachment is a very basic part of the human condition. Even Dream, the guy openly shunning all attachment, isn't immune to it, in the end, he’s attached to the server as a whole, and Tommy, who he gave almost biblical importance in his narrative. Like Tommy said, if you have no attachment to things, why does anything matter at all?

Third, getting rid of Tommy and controlling the entire server with their attachments… that wouldn’t have restored the status quo, because the status quo exactly as Dream envisioned it never existed. He’s not chasing a past that was ruined by Tommy, he’s chasing an idealized fairytale version of the past where everyone was friends and frolicked around in the fields and there was never any conflict, before Tommy came along and ruined everything. Before Tommy joined, there was a SHIT ton of conflict, from minor disputes over theft, to the above-mentioned incident where Dream destroyed George’s stuff, to the lemon tree conflicts that wound up being taken to court!

Except, even this idea of Dream wanting to restore an idealized, made-up past is only partially true. What Dream is looking to return to and uphold is a world where he was the only authority and nobody questioned him. The status quo he wants to return to, no matter how much he denies it, is the one where everyone was at his mercy and he could do whatever he wanted without impunity. However, because he’s convinced himself that conflict is the issue, not disobedience, even if his plan succeeded, he’d have to keep the entire server in a chokehold to get them to follow his ideal plan.

Because conflict is inevitable. Anywhere where there’s two or more people sharing a space, you’re going to run into conflict at some point. People will have disagreements, they will fight, they will have miscommunications, they will have a bad day or accident and antagonize someone else.

Resolving these issues through conflict, whether it’s verbal, physical or legal, will result in a healthier community in the long run, because people’s pent-up frustrations will get an outlet, and people will try to hash out compromises or accommodations based on the reactions they get. It’s not always the ideal solution, but it’s better than just sitting everyone down, telling them to play nice, and smacking them over the back of the head as soon as they start complaining.

But conflict threatens the status quo. And as Dream involves himself in more and more conflict, they increasingly start threatening HIS status quo. So in order to maintain his status quo, conflict needs to be stomped out as soon as it crops up, no matter how minor it is.

So, now to paint a timeline through this lens.

Dream started off as the ultimate power on the server, able to do whatever he wanted without consequence. Tommy joined and threatened that status quo, but he was just one guy, so keeping him away and occupied wasn’t too hard. It was fun, even.

Then L’Manburg came, and posed the first substantial threat to Dream’s rule. Dream tried crushing this rebellion before it had a chance to take root, but in the end, Tommy traded his discs (the things Dream was using to control him) for L’Manburg’s independence. The status quo changed, L’Manburg was here to stay.

However, L’Manburg still posed a threat to Dream’s rule, so manipulating events to destroy it became Dream’s next priority. He supported Schlatt during the election in the hope he’d destabilize the nation, then sided with Pogtopia in secret to help overthrow the government, then helped Wilbur with the TNT to blow L’Manburg sky high, then betrayed Pogtopia for Schlatt’s side for the revival book. When Pogtopia won, Dream was egging Techno on through whispers to try to get him to go ape shit, so with Techno’s withers and Wilbur’s TNT, L’Manburg was gone, and the old status quo had been restored.

Except it hadn’t been. L’Manburg was rebuilt, with Tubbo at the helm this time, and a new status quo was put in place, with L’Manburg still there and still a threat. However, with Wilbur’s death, Tommy was left almost completely unprotected, and Dream took his chance to get Tommy thrown out of the country, hoping to get his biggest threat out of the way, as well as being able to sink his claws into the L’Manburg Cabinet.

Dream isolated Tommy in exile and tried to break him to the point where he wouldn’t put up any resistance. During this time, he also commissioned the prison, which he claimed to only be for the most dangerous members of the server, but is a pretty transparent attempt to enforce his rule by making a place where he can stick anyone who disobeys him. The server is slipping more and more out of his control, with more factions popping up and more people outright defying him, so like any dictator, he takes harsher and harsher measures to stay on top.

Tommy escapes exile, and while Dream is keeping tabs on him, he can’t directly control him anymore. So, to prevent Tommy from returning to L’Manburg and stopping his plans at disrupting the status quo, he blows up the community house, frames Tommy for it, and goes to Tubbo to demand Tommy’s disc, the only reason destroying L’Manburg was disadvantageous for him. Tommy jumps in to defend himself and takes L’Manburg’s side, but in the end, Dream takes both the discs, then destroys L’Manburg with Techno.

By this point, the status quo Dream wanted to craft is almost complete. L’Manburg is gone, there are no other major factions threatening his rule, and he’s pretty much set a precedent for what happens to dissenters. All he needs to do now is get rid of Tommy.

Except he can’t kill him. Over time, Dream has become obsessed with Tommy, to the point where he’s started seeing Tommy as the lynchpin of the server that everyone else gravitates around. Tommy is almost a living MacGuffin: he brings chaos and attachment which gives him power, but in the right hands, that power can be harnessed to create order.

(This is absolute nonsense of course, Tommy is just A Guy, his presence itself doesn’t create chaos, and controlling him doesn’t mean controlling the entire server because a lot of people just plain don’t give a shit.)

So instead of killing him, Dream tries to put him in prison. He even outright says that he wants to finish what he started in exile, this time with even tighter control and no possibility for escape.

He goes to kill Tubbo for multiple reasons: Tubbo is no longer useful to him, Tubbo can be used as leverage to keep Tommy compliant in prison (the possibility to revive someone’s best friend is a pretty valuable bargaining chip), and Tubbo would absolutely raise hell if Dream threw his best friend in jail for no reason.

If Dream had gotten his way, he’d be able to blackmail everyone on the server into compliance. Tommy, his scapegoat, would’ve been in prison, so now without a scapegoat, he could’ve probably gone one of two ways.

He could’ve created a new scapegoat to blame all new conflict on. Quackity would’ve been a good candidate, he’s VEHEMENTLY anti-Dream, and would’ve had no qualms about starting shit with him. Whether it was with El Rapids or with Las Nevadas, Quackity would’ve been the biggest anti-Dream voice in Tommy’s absence. So c!Dream would keep Quackity around, blaming him for everything that goes wrong… Until Quackity would get too uppity and either gets murdered or put in jail with Tommy, and the cycle repeats until either people rise up, or everyone who isn’t completely subservient is in prison.

Or, he could’ve cracked down EVEN HARDER on conflict. Anyone creating a new nation gets stomped into the dirt, anyone fighting over resources gets murdered, anyone squabbling over griefed property gets thrown in prison for weeks at a time, all the while their property and pets that they care about more than anything else get dangled in front of their noses. Anyone who’s ever read any more than five pages about the dynamics of dictatorships can see that this kind of repression is basically ASKING for revolution, especially since Dream has shunned all friendships at this point and his only ally is only there because Dream pays him.

(this is all speculation, we don’t know what would’ve actually happened, dont yell at me)

The status quo Dream is trying to return to never existed, and the one he creates in the process isn’t sustainable. Stopping every conflict ever is completely unsustainable and detrimental to the larger community, which Dream knows, because he uses conflict CONSTANTLY to get his way, while still presenting himself as a peacekeeper. What he’s really against is disruptions of the status quo, because the status quo allows him to do whatever he wants and control the server as much as he wants.

Conflict isn’t inherently bad. Some conflicts are harmless, some are necessary disruptions of the status quo. Conflict itself is morally neutral, and trying to prevent all conflict ever leads into some… iffy territory. Remember when Ranboo yelled at the L’Manburgians for participating in conflict the day before Doomsday?

Anyway. Please examine situations with more nuance than “conflict bad”, it’ll make for much better analysis. Trust me. /nm

[x-reader-fanfics]

Heyyyy :) I saw your last post w dataxreader, and I was wondering if you’d do another? I LOVED it 😍 maybe one where reader and data aren’t in a relationship yet, but he gets super jealous when someone hits on reader, and then mutual feelings come to light? Eeeek thank you, and if u don’t wanna do this one right away I understand cause u just did one, but thank u anyway, and I love your writing ♥️

🖤 Malfunction 💛

Summary: When a new Ensign takes a romantic interest in you, a new light begins to shine on the seemingly simple relationship between you and your closest friend Data.

Requests are open!

~x~

Data had always preferred working with you.

You understood the nuances of his coding and his odd personality in ways no other officer ever had. Where most would have been confused and perhaps even discomforted by his unusual behavior, you had always found it fascinating, even going so far as telling him it was charming.

“I like hearing things from your perspective. You say such wonderful things, Data.” You had laughed, bumping his elbow with your own as you and him worked for hours side by side.

You were his partner, the completing half of his equation. No one else would get the question right. He needed you, and you needed him.

“Good morning, Data.” You smiled warmly, sliding into his side as you began your shifts together as you always had, greeting him the same way you always had before, kind and soft.

“Good morning, (F/N).” He welcomed you back, cordial and quiet.

Mornings were the moments you always shared together, the small smiles and quick touches which insinuated more but never dared to be recognized aloud.

“I barely slept last night.” You sighed deeply, gently resting your head against his shoulder as your eyes fluttered shut. You reminded him of the Renaissance angels he had often seen in ancient Earth paintings. He should do a painting of you.

“Perhaps a visit to Dr. Crusher would be beneficial.” Data commented idly, refusing to move even slightly, hoping it might persuade you to keep your head buried in the crook of his neck for even a millisecond longer.

Touching you was right. Being with you was right. It was unexplainable, but it was akin to answering a complicated question correctly, or finishing a long project. It was what he had been made to do.

“Hey beautiful.” An unknown voice interrupted Data’s rampant thoughts, causing his golden eyes to flicker toward this intruder into you and his peaceful morning.

“Oh. Hey, Brad.” You slightly sighed, bowing your head politely at him before returning to your work.

“A couple of friends and I are having a party tonight at Ten Forward. I’d love for you to be there.” He grinned, his smile all teeth and his eyes shimmering a bit too brightly.

“A party in Ten Forward. I had not heard of this before now.” Data easily inserted himself into the conversation, cocking his head as he stared questioningly at the Ensign.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Brad rubbed his neck awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable around the android. “There’ll be girls there too. If you’re even into that sort of thing…”

Data missed your eyes shooting towards his, a hopeful but anxious look dancing across your face. You had wanted to admit your feelings to your friend for months now, but your anxieties about his own feelings had always held you back. How could he possibly be interested in other people in such a way? He didn’t even have emotions.

“Tell your friends I will be there.” He smiled, over-animatedly winking as he returned to his work, a small but proud smile on his face. He needed to watch over you and make sure this Brad didn’t try anything which might make you uncomfortable. You were his partner to care for, he nodded satisfactorily within his head, as if needing to justify his abnormal behavior to himself.

You could feel your heart shatter. Data wanted to go to Brad’s stupid party? To pick up girls? You were planning on simply turning the man down and having a quiet night in, but now that Data was going…

“Well you can count me in too.” You had to force yourself to smile, fighting the urge to gag at the way Brad licked his lips and winked at your response. He sauntered away like the cat who had caught the canary, your hands itching to strangle him as you twisted back to your work station, a cheesy smile still plastered to your face.

“Are you interested in Brad sexually?” Data asked with a pleasant smile.

Your mouth fell open, your breath flooding out of you as a wild blush stained your cheeks, hot and embarrassing. You didn’t know what to say, you couldn’t even breathe!

“W-Why’s any of that your business!” You half-shouted, darting away before he could pry any deeper.

You couldn’t handle it if Data found out you were in love with him.

Ah. Data mused, each and every one of his circuits freezing on one overly-simple thought. It would appear you loved him.

~x~

You hadn’t spoken to Data all day. You were too ashamed to even consider facing him. Running away in the middle of your shift because of your personal feelings was not something a professional Starfleet officer did.

“If I may be so bold,” A familiar voice began, soft and warm in its cantor, “You are positively ravishing this evening.”

Data stood before you, an out-of-character smirk striking daringly across his face as he took your hand in his, lightly grazing his lips against your knuckles.

“Data!” You gasped, barely able to keep yourself from becoming a melted mess.

“What are we doing talking over here when we could be dancing over there?” He smirked, grabbing your waist as he pulled you by the hand towards the dance floor, a grace to his every step.

“What happened to you Data?” You asked, practically breathless.

“I downloaded some new personalities appropriate for such an event.” He dipped you low, brushing his nose against yours as he started deeply into your eyes. “Are you enjoying me?”

You couldn’t help but laugh then, carefree and dripping with affection.

You loved this man.

“Yes, Data. I always enjoy you.” You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck right in the middle of the dance floor.

Data felt accomplished. Everything was as it should be. You were always meant to be with him, and no one else. It was just what made sense.

You were his closest friend.

“Data, there’s something I’ve always wanted to tell you, but I’ve never really been able to.” You grasped his hand tighter in yours, unable to remove your eyes from the floor.

“What is it?” He asked, patient and quiet.

“Pardon to interrupt, but I couldn’t let you keep this beauty all to yourself for the whole night.” Brad smiled confidently, bending his face closer to yours as he attempted to slide between you and Data.

Data refused to budge, pulling you closer against his body. He barely stopped himself from shoving the Ensign across the room.

What was going through his systems? The more Brad talked to you the more Data wanted to never see his face again. The closer Brad got to you the closer Data needed to be to you instead, as if to reassure himself of something.

Any smiles you afforded Brad were meant to be his. He didn’t want you to look at anyone but him.

But such thoughts could only be defined as possessiveness. Something Data knew was inappropriate for friendships.

He released you, giving you one last glance before quickly leaving Ten Forward. He couldn’t bear to see his hands on you, to see the love which would pour out of your eyes for the handsome human, something Data could never compare to.

People did not fall in love with androids.

Even as his system screamed at him to correct things, to take you in his arms and kick Brad halfway back to Earth, he refused to listen. With some simple rewiring he could set his head back on straight.

You were his friend. Somewhere along the way his pathways must have set the wrong link down, convincing himself you might be something more.

His feelings for you were nothing more than a malfunction.

You watched as Data stormed away, confused and hurt by his behavior. One moment he looked ready to clock Brad and the next he was almost throwing you at him.

Did he think you wanted the slime bag?

“He’s never not said goodbye to me.” You muttered almost to yourself, staring after your best friend.

“Maybe he just forgot to.” Brad joked, grabbing you by the hips. “Let’s stop talking about that android and start talking about us.”

You scoffed at him, harshly shoving him away as you ran after Data. You were going to tell him no matter what it took, everyone else on this ship be damned.

You eventually found him in Keiko O’Brien’s garden, his face almost forlorn as he gently caressed an orchid in full bloom.

“Data?” You asked quietly, not wishing to startle him even though you knew that was impossible.

He turned his head to yours, almost in disbelief. “Where is Brad?”

“I don’t know, he’s nobody I’m concerned about.” You stated clearly, stepping towards him. He was so tall, the way he gazed down upon you with such genuine confusion causing you to smother a giggle.

“I do not understand, but it is not a topic I wish to hear more about.” He admitted, returning to his flower.

“And why is that?” You asked hopefully, bunching your dress between your fingers.

He glanced back at you, face blank as he simply contemplated himself, the color of your hair and the look on your face enough to push him over the edge.

“Because I am malfunctioning.” He said simply, stock still as he waited for your response.

You took his hand in your own, holding it as gently as a bird as you squeezed it to your chest. “What if I told you I was malfunctioning too?”

His brows furrowed across his face. “Then we must see Dr. Crusher at once!”

Your jaw dropped, disbelief to the point of amusement dancing across your face as you watched the worry on his face slowly seep into bewilderment.

“I’m not talking about my health, Data.” You laughed, sliding your fingers against his scalp as you pressed your body flush to his. “I’m telling you I’m in love with you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Before you could react he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, pressing his lips against yours hard enough to bruise. He wanted you so badly in that moment he had forgotten to restrain himself, pressing against you fervently as he began to kiss the corner of your mouth, sucking and biting his way to your neck.

He couldn’t believe you would say such a thing to him, that you would allow him to do this. It was such a thrilling and new interaction he couldn’t get enough of it.

Without hesitation he pulled your flesh between his teeth, proudly marking you as his as he bruised your neck.

“Data…” You moaned, unable to do anything but limply hold onto him, knowing he would never let you fall.

“My (Y/N).” He whispered happily against your hickey, giving it a quick kiss, before standing back up properly, still refusing to release you from his hold.

Your whole body felt like jelly. Just from a few kisses Data had swooned you off your feet.

“You are so handsome.” You sighed, not knowing anything else to say but exactly what had been on your mind since you had first met the android.

“And you are so beautiful.” He murmured back gently, knowing he would spend the rest of his life saying those words.

[imhaitusncarnate]

I have very mixed feelings on that aot ending

Ok so the politics of Attack on Titan have been discussed by a lot of people, some of whom have a very surface- level understanding of the story. I would like to start by giving my disclaimer that Attack on Tiatan ABSOLUTELY isn’t fascist, its anti racism, anti bigotry and anti discrimination themes are extremely apparent in it’s examination of the Eldians inside Marley, and fascist views held by characters such as Gabi are explicitly condemned in the text and made clear to be misguided and false. 

I would now like to draw everyone’s attention to the openings of seasons 1 and 2. 

Images like these combined with lyrics like these:

You pigs who sneer at our will to step over corpses and march onwards Enjoy the peace of livestock false prosperity "freedom" of the dying wolves that hunger

We dedicate and sacrifice our hearts

And also the use of german lyrics:

Sie sind das Essen und Wir sind die Jaeger! (they are the food and we are the hunters)

O, mein Freund! Jetzt hier ist ein Sieg. Dies ist der erste Glorie. O, mein Freund! Feiern wir diesen Sieg, für den nächsten Kampf!

(O, my friend! Now, here is a victory. This is the first glory. O, my friend! Let us celebrate this victory for the next battle!)

This is the stuff that lead me to believe that this is a deliberate use of fascist imagery. If the show just wanted to go for a militaristic vibe for the aesthetic of it, references this explicit to fascist propaganda and the use of German lyrics was not necessary. Also, lines like this:

And plenty of evidence that things were not what they seemed it the world of aot and that the overly simplistic view of good vs evil (humans vs the titans) was incorrect led me to believe that Attack on Titan was a deliberate deconstruction. That it was putting the audience into the mindset of the fascists to pull the rug from under their feet later. And I was right. Sort of.

As the story progresses, the world becomes a more and more complex political landscape and we are led to believe that this black and white mentality is wrong. We are also informed that the people who can transform into titans, the Eldians, are an opressed minority, explicitly paralleled to the Jews during nazi Germany, from their living in internment camps, to them being called devils, to their armbands, to a large number of them (our heroes) being confined in an island with walls circling them, which is revealed by Isayama to be Madagascar. The island that the nazis originally meant to confine the Jewish population in before arriving at the conclusion that that would be too costly, and that genocide was preferable. 

This is the first of the story’s mixed metaphors. While the show’s heart is in the right place, being sympathetic to the Eldians and showing their plight under marleyan opression and persecution, there is one problem. The reason for the opression of the Eldians is because the world is afraid of their power, as they are a race with the ability to transform into titans. There is, therefore, a tangible, justification for their internment. The Jews were not in any conceivable way a danger to anyone, they were simply scapegoated for the complex socioeconomic problems of Germany in the time period. Also, if we take a look at those openings again, we observe that the Eldians (our main characters) who wish to free themselves from their shackles are framed as fascists. So... what is that saying?

 The idea, as I see it, is that the story is condemning fanaticism in general, as a biproduct of a militaristic black and white worldview. The monstrous titans that our (framed as fascist) heroes fight against are revealed to be human, just like them.

The same is the case for the Eldian “devils” that the Marleyans fight against. Gabi, the character who is most fanatically against Eldians (despite being an Eldian herself) is comfronted with the humanity of the people she hates once she gets to know them.

Again, Isayama’s heart is on the right place here, trying to condemn bigotry, however the explicit referencing of history is the imagery is kind of misplaced, for the reasons I previously mentioned. Now let’s have a look at Eren Yeager.

Eren starts the story as a kind of messed up kid. He kills the human traffickers who kidnapped Mikasa while screaming:

I mean, in this case he is certainly justified, but his rage and anger are definitely not normal for a child his age.

This is Eren. He can’t stand injustice when he sees it. And injustice is what happens to him when the titans attack. His already fiery attitude and mindset is what leads him to this declaration of revenge:

That side of Eren is visible throughout the story and it’s foreshadowing for what he will later become

Eren, however, is a natural product of his environment. Ravaged by socioconomic inequality, with the rich living in the centre of the walls and the poor living in the outskirts, constantly under the threat of the titans and unable to obtain any kind of freedom, Eren’s philosophy of the need to be strong to overcome one’s enemies makes sense. The mantra “the strong prey on the weak”, that he ends up teaching Mikasa (another allusion to fascist ideology) is a biproduct of the world he lives in. He does not know of the political intricasies outside the walls. All he knows is he must kill the titans.

Eren’s titan is described as the “manifestation of humanity’s rage. It is huge and monstrous, and could be seen as a metaphor for vengeful hatred in general. Keep that in mind, it’s relevant for the ending.

This manufactured and false black and white worldview shapes him as a character, and it’s what eventually, after the arrival at the much desired ocean, leads him to this:

“Will we finally be free?”

In the continuation of the story, Eren falls toward the dark side more and more, to the point of committing atrocities and war crimes that are explicitly framed as being similar to what he suffered as a child (see his actions in Liberio). He even acknowledges that, telling Reiner, the person who committed said war crimes against him, that he essentially has no hard feelings and understands that the two of them are similar, doing what “needs to be done”. The character of Gabi, who, after what happens in Liberio, becomes obsessed with revenge against the Eldian “devils” is meant to be a foil for Eren, and his obsession with killing the titans after what happened to him. 

Extremely interesting is the way in which certain ideas and images are flipped in the later seasons. Namely, in season 4, we see a character who idolizes Mikasa and supports Eren’s plans in a scene where she spouts the same mantra of “the strong prey on the weak” and says that Mikasa saving her is what showed her that only with strength she can defeat her enemies. Mikasa tells her to shut up, and she proceeds to do the salute, that has been so glamorized by the show’s openings thus far. Now, it is done by a person from a military faction with a fanatic worldview. The direction doesn’t glamorize it at all. It is a nuanced, almost masterful deconstruction. 

Levi, who has always looked for reasons for why his comrades had t die, justifying their heroism and convincing himself that their deaths were not pointless, ends up here:

At this point, I was in love with Attack on Titan. From here, it only figures that Eren ends up attempting a genocide of the people outside the walls. He has essentally become what he hated the most, and he’s a natural result of the world that created him. Despite his noble intentions, he has turned into a monster. Mikasa, the prerson who loved him the most, completes her character arc by killing him, thus rejecting her blind devotion to him and being free, while at the same time continuing to love the person he once was. It’s a sad and tragic ending, painting Eren as a tragic character and making a pretty strong political point, despite having a few mixed metaphors.

And then, chapter 139 came out...

And Eren apparently pulled a Lelouch. This is a “I purposfully turned myself into a monster to save the world and make my friends into heroes for killing me” kind of thing. It is important to state that the manga makes it clear that Eren would have trampled the world even if they didn’t stop him, because of his urge to be free. However, that urge, that fighting spirit, end up being a good thing. The death of our heroes in battle apparently wasn’t pointless after all. They say goodbye with a salute

The Yeagerists, who were previously framed as fanatics, end up in charge of the government

It is important to state that the real event, the catalyst of the ending, is that killing Eren, who has turned himself literally into the manifestation of humanity’s rage (which has now, through the intricacies of the story, taken the political meaning of hatred and intergenerational trauma), eliminates the power of the titans. The titans are no more. This, in of itself, is good, and in keeping with the spirit of the political commentary thus far. However, the war, is still not over, and Eren’s mantra ends up being correct

So the only way for the war to end is one of the races to be wiped out? 

Also, despite Eren’s genocide being wrong, it is, in the end, justified, as a necessary evil by the story. An Ozymandias kind of moment in which the ends justify the means, but Eren himself has to die, because his crime was too great for him not to suffer punishment. Essentially, this chapter undoes all of the insightful commentary the story had made so far, by proving the ideology of its main character right. Story- wise this isn’t a bad ending, but if we take into account the political references the series has made, and its desire to explicitly tie itself with such imagery makes the ending leave a really bad taste in my mouth. What it essentally says, is that, yes, bigotry and racism are bad, yes, blind hatred is bad, but the general idea of might makes right and the impossibility of reconciliation are true. Armin, who has, throughuout the story, been Eren’s opposite, in terms of looking for peaceful solutions to conflict is rendered meaningless in the end, because him alongside with the other characters were all playing into Eren’s plans. The hearts of our main characters as recruits were in the right place, their fighting spirit admirable, and the overall worldview we are presented with in the beginning of the story remains more or less unchallenged. 

So where does that leave this imagery?

The conclusion is that one must think very carefully before including allegory in their work. I am not accusing Isayama for fascism, and I appreciate the efforts at deconstructing it throughout the story. However, in the end he did an oops I accidentally justified the mentality I was trying to condemn. I still like Attack on Titan, I believe it has artistic value and is overall a pretty good anime, I even agree with its politics to an extent. However, it is very important to critically examine the things we like, and see where they may have gone south. And this ending is that for me.

[btsmosphere]

Deep Rooted | KSJ

~summary: when a group of strangers washes up in your village, your trepidation is justified. Surrounded by forest here, no one goes in and no one goes out. How will you fare when you take in the new arrivals? ~pairing: seokjin x reader (gn) ~word count: 6.9k ~fantasy au, strangers to lovers, angst, fluff ~rating: pg15 ~warnings: weapons, monsters, blood, injury, past character death, major character death (sort of)

~a/n: I wrote this fic to wish a wonderful happy birthday to the amazing @aroseforyoongi​ !!! thank you so much for being the most wonderful mom to @thebtswritersclub​ and for all the fun times we have had! I wish you the best of birthdays, even if this fic is sort of revenge for breaking my heart so many times with your writing. also I definitely didn’t get the wrong date for your birthday and bash this out in a day... nooo (I did absolutely do this so please ignore any errors, I have not proofread)

The sound of yelling accompanied the thunder of your feet down the stairs.

It wasn’t often that such a commotion was heard in your sleepy town, but what you had seen a moment ago from your window had you running immediately.

“Stay back!”

“Please, he’s wounded-“

“We mean no harm!”

“I’m sure you don’t sonny, now get away or I’ll shoot you! I’ll do it!”

Throwing open your front door, you raced towards the voices, alarmed at the rising volume. Rounding the corner as fast as you could, you spilled out into the square, a small group of people you didn’t recognise crowded by the old gate. Long since abandoned, it was swamped in ivy, tendrils of which blew into their faces as three townsfolk pushed them back.

Your eyes widened on seeing Cribbons, the eldest man in the village, brandishing a rusting pistol at the strangers.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” one of the strangers stepped forwards, the warning in his voice as clear as his hand began unsheathing a sword from his belt.

Gasping, you dashed across the remaining distance between you and the group.

“What’s going on?” you exclaimed, coming to a stop directly between the two parties.

Eyeing the new people, you saw them do the same, wary of you. But before either of you could speak, Cribbons was talking.

“They came in from the forest!”

Looking between both parties, you could only gape.

“They- that’s not possible,” you shook your head.

“It’s true, we all saw it!” Cribbons snarled, “we’re just trying to send them back where they came from.”

Frown deepening, you cast your eyes over the group that had appeared, apparently from Midbleak forest. Now you were closer, you could see one of them was seated, slumping against the crumbling gatepost. Their hands clutched at their leg, which you were shocked to see bleeding profusely.

Another stranger was supporting them, and now looked around at you.

Drawing in a breath, you found yourself unable to look away from the man, his large eyes beseeching you. Strikingly handsome, he rose to his feet to address you with a small bow.

“Please,” he spoke, “we are all in need of rest. And somewhere for my friend to heal. We mean you and your town no harm.”

Silence reigned and you realised each person was awaiting and answer from you. As the town’s apothecary, you technically had some level of authority, but it was never usually necessary to gather respect given the (usually) peaceful nature of your dwelling.

For now, though, you were grateful for your position, and turned to the new arrivals.

“I apologise for the behaviour of the townspeople,” you began with a sideways glance at Cribbons, “and welcome you to Midbleak. We are not… accustomed to having visitors. But I can make space for you, if you follow me.”

Bowing again, the man thanked you. Quickly turning to aid his friend who still leaned heavily against him, your eyes never strayed from his form until another of the party blocked your view.

“Thank you for your kindness,” he smiled, dimples showing.

“Don’t mention it,” you returned the smile, “we best get moving.”

A crowd had gathered, unsurprising given that nothing of note ever happened here. Ushering the newcomers away, you did your best to shield them from the staring eyes looking on from every window.

Once inside, you allowed the group to settle in your front room. There were seven of them, meaning most had to seat themselves at various places on the floor or your windowsills, in any space not occupied by your herbs or potions. Since you lived alone, you had never prepared for this much company.

The injured man, introduced to you as Taehyung, was granted the entire settee. Disappearing to your supply larder, you tried not to think of the bloodstains you would have to wash off later.

Returning with bandages and ointment, you realised you hadn’t offered them anything to eat or drink. It had been such a long time since you had entertained others that the manners your brother always taught you had almost slipped your mind.

“I’m so sorry,” you garbled, depositing your armful of supplies beside the settee, “would any of you like tea? Or, um, I’m sure I could find something to eat-“

“You’ve done enough,” a hand rested on your shoulder, bringing your attention to the man who spoke to you earlier. “Allow me to make some tea, if you have it, but our Taehyungie needs you most right now.”

“Of course,” you hastily agreed, and set to work.

Directing the man to your stove, you made quick work of patching up Taehyung. It wasn’t often you had to deal with ailments more severe than a sprained muscle, but wounds like this were something you could never forget.

Before you knew it, a warm mug was being pressed into your hands. Taehyung had fallen asleep, but on looking around, you found all the others gratefully drinking as well.

“Thank you…” you trailed off.

“Seokjin,” he prompted, “Kim Seokjin.”

“Thank you, Seokjin,” you smiled as he settled beside you, “my name’s Y/N, by the way.”

“This tea is great,” another spoke.

Thanking him, you explained that you grew all your ingredients yourself.

“Do you… do you think we might be able to take some with us?”

The man who spoke was the same who threatened to draw his sword in the square, and you frowned.

“Jungkook,” Seokjin scolded from beside you, “we’ll buy it off them at a fair price, given what they’ve done for us.”

“S-sorry,” you interjected, “but what to you mean ‘to take with you’? You’re not… going somewhere?”

“We’ll stay here for as long as we need to rest and for Tae to heal,” the dimpled man told you, “but then we will be leaving.”

You stared in horror.

“…leaving?”

“Yes, you see, we were on our way across the forest when we got delayed,” Seokjin explained, “we got lost and ended up here. So as soon as we can, we’ll try to find our original path.”

“But-but,” you spluttered, “no one leaves here! You can’t!”

“We have to,” Jungkook’s voice was terse.

“No one goes into the forest,” you matched his tone, a warning.

“Calm down, Kook,” the boy beside him held up a hand, then turned to you with a tilt of his head. “Why does no one go into the forest?”

“No one ever comes back.”

“We managed to get in, didn’t we?” one of the others argued.

“And that’s exactly why the people here are afraid of you,” you countered, “but it’s not like you came out unscathed.”

Mulling over your words, you saw defeat paint his features. The dimpled man spoke instead.

“We might be able to help.”

“Help?” you raised your eyebrows.

“Yes. I’m Kim Namjoon, and my party have had many successes against beasts, demons, and all sorts. I’m sure we can figure out what has happened to your town, and free you.”

In your cup, the liquid rippled slightly as your hands trembled around it. Slowly, you began to shake your head, the motion soon becoming vehement.

“No.” you said firmly, “you don’t understand-“

Your feet were already beneath you, taking you further from this group of delusional adventurers. In the doorway, you stopped, eyeing them fearfully for a second.

“No one goes into the woods.”

You turned on your heel, feet pounding up the stairs until your bedroom door slammed behind you.

Forcing yourself to lower your hands from where they raked over your scalp, you ceased your pacing. As you stood, sucking in deep breaths in some futile attempt to calm yourself, your eyes finally came to rest on your nightstand.

Your steps forward were softer now. You weren’t conscious of the sad smile that slipped onto your lips as your fingers came to caress the small vase of flowers that always stood there. Their petals were soft against the pads of your fingertips, but still firm with life.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat.

Letting your hand fall, you sunk onto your bed. Perhaps you should try to think of a way to tell the party downstairs to forget their death wish, or to get out.

Then again, why should you care if they want to go and get themselves killed? They only just turned up, and you had no obligation to them.

A gentle rap at the door lulled you from your reverie. Turning, you called for whoever-it-was to enter. You weren’t sure who you could expect, but of all the group, it was a relief to see that Jin was on the other side of the door.

Pushing it open cautiously, he only trod a couple of steps into the room. His eyes fixed on you where you sat with your back to him, not bothering to get up and instead only glancing over your shoulder.

Briefly smiling, he bobbed his head in a bow before speaking.

“Are you alright?”

Hi voice was as soft as his words, taking you somewhat by surprise.

“Where are the others?” you deflected.

“Most of them have gone to get supplies from the town. Taehyung’s still sleeping. I came to check if you were okay,” he pressed.

“Yes. Thank you,” you turned your eyes back to the floor in front of you, “I-I just- a lot has happened – you lot turn up, and now there’s talk of the… the woods…”

“I understand.” You heard the creaking of your floorboards, soon feeling the bed dip beside you, the warmth of his body very close. “Or at least, I can try to. I don’t mean to worry you… if you want us to leave, I’ll get the others to comply.”

“I appreciate it,” you sighed, then throwing your hands out in frustration, “but your friend still isn’t well. Where else can your group of idiots go if not into the death-trap outside the gates?”

Laughter beside you made you look around. His laugh wasn’t elegant, but it was full of joy and left it impossible for you not to chuckle with him.

When he calmed down, he looked back at you. The proximity startled you; even with splotches of red on his face post-laughter, you were struck again by his beauty. Light creases still resided by his brilliant eyes as he held your gaze.

“I won’t argue with that description of us,” he smirked, “but I really think we can help. I know whatever is out there must be scary, if it’s stopped anyone leaving this place. But we only want to help you. Is there nothing you miss from the outside?”

Unconsciously, your eyes slid to the flowers standing proud on your dresser.

“I don’t even remember what lies beyond the woods,” you confessed.

“Then wouldn’t you like to see?”

A look back showed Jin still staring at you with hopeful eyes that cracked your heart a little bit.

“We shouldn’t hope like this,” you smiled apologetically, “it’s just too risky.”

Dropping it for now, he grimaced slightly. Your heart ached even at the small sign of hurt on his face. Before you could say anything, however, he was swiftly moving on.

“But we can stay with you?”

“Yes,” you agreed, “I don’t have too much space, but you can fit three of four in here, and the others should be alright downstairs.”

“We’re much obliged,” he smiled, and you couldn’t get enough of the happy creases forming by his eyes. “But what about you? I wouldn’t like to deprive you of a place to sleep.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, “there’s one more room I can use.”

Jin was the perfect gentleman, helping you set out the space before returning downstairs. Without even asking, he was preparing tea, insisting it was the least he could do. And as the others returned with jokes on their lips and hands full of things they had bought, you saw the way he laughed with them like they were brothers.

You found you didn’t mind having them there so much, after all. Even when they grumbled or snapped, it was never long before they fell back into familiar banter, and it was like having a family again.

For a few days, a sort of routine was established. Namjoon always hoped to gather ‘information’ on whatever evil was surrounding your town. Some went with him, others went to the gate.

Taehyung was soon well again, although you weren’t sure if that was a good thing. His regaining health was proving injurious to you, given the stress he caused. If he was still struck down, Jin wouldn’t have to fret over him so many times as he wandered stubbornly into the woods, always to become lost and end up back in the town.

But you couldn’t deny that life was certainly more lively.

One constant, however, was Seokjin. He went out the least, electing to stay and help you. It became something you looked forward to: the house emptying of others so you could drink tea and talk, or take him on small tours around your favourite parts of town.

It was pleasing to see the villagers become a little more accustomed to the new additions, too.

“You look so happy these days,” the baker told you as Jin picked out his favourite bread somewhere behind you.

At the time, you merely blushed as you thanked your friend, but on the short journey home, you realised it was true. Jin was rambling on about the time Jungkook had taken an axe to a waterfall that annoyed him once, another story of outside the woods to bring a grin to your face.

Pushing open the door for you back home, Jin held it open for you to go first. But just as you crossed the threshold, words met your ears that took your smile away in an instant.

“We’re thinking of going tomorrow.”

Whirling around, you stared in disbelief. Jin shuffled his feet, reluctant to meet your eye.

“You’re still thinking about going into those woods?” you exclaimed, incredulous.

“Yes…” he cocked his head, looking away, “we have to keep moving.”

Torn between stepping towards him or backing away, you stayed rooted to your spot.

“But… don’t you like it here? Are you not happy?”

When he looked up, his big eyes stole the breath from you. Behind a watery coating that welled up there, he looked so wounded. But, pressing his lips together, a corner dared to lift into a hopeful smile.

“…come with us?”

You inhaled sharply.

“No,” you shook your head firmly, “can’t you just stay here?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he pleaded, “but if the others are going, so am I. They’re my brothers.”

“You’ll never make it out alive!” you raised your voice, breathing heavily. But all that was betrayed by the way your voice overflowed and cracked, tears springing to your eyes that you blinked away.

“Don’t be like this, please,” he was calmer, stepping forwards and reaching out a hand…

It drew towards you and you so desperately wanted to take it, to fling yourself into his arms and feel him safe around you- but he was still leaving. You couldn’t change his mind. And if he was leaving you couldn’t allow him to take your heart with him.

You shied back, flinching from his hand. In turn, Jin froze, staring at you with such pain in his eyes that you couldn’t bear to look – and so you didn’t.

Turning away, you fled up the stairs.

“Y/N!” he called from behind you.

Hurriedly depositing the bags on your table, he dashed to follow you, reaching the room you had been sleeping in just as the door swung shut in his face. He had never been in there, but didn’t think twice about pushing the door open to get to you.

Calling your name again, he could barely blink before your teary face was in view, close as you tried to push the door closed again.

“Leave!” you begged, trying to inject as much venom into your wavering voice as you could.

“Y/N, please, I don’t want to go like this-“ Jin struggled to say, to make himself heard as you pushed the door back, “I want you to come with me! I don’t want to leave you behind, goddammit, because I don’t want to be without you! I love you!”

Ceasing in your every move as his words sunk in, your trembling frame pressed against the door. Closing your eyes, your face screwed up as juddery breaths left you. You could practically feel your heart shattering while he waited in silence for any response.

“Get out,” your voice was low, not daring to be louder.

Through the small crack remaining between the door and its frame, Jin watched you but didn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, “I shouldn’t- if you don’t feel the same-“

Casting your eyes heavenwards, you tried to form words, anything that would explain to him what was running through your head.

“No, Jin-“ you interjected, “I do! I do feel the same, I-I… that’s why I would rather you go.”

“But, Y/N,” he frowned, “if you love me, then let’s go! We can see the world together, we can do all the things I’ve been telling you about.”

“No,” you finally found your voice firmer, “because I l- because of how I feel, I don’t want to see you go into those woods. I don’t want to lose you.”

A beat as he sighed.

“I have to go… these boys are my brothers. Do you know how it feels, to have a family? Whether by blood or not, that is important. Can’t you understand that?”

For the first time, you finally raised your eyes to meet his, exhaling shakily.

“I know what it feels like to have a family…” your voice was quiet as you tried to spit the words out, “and so I know how it feels when that is all lost. If you go into that forest, you’ll watch them die. If you love them as much as you say, you wouldn’t let them go there.”

“Because I love them, that’s why I have to go with them,” he insisted, “I’ll be beside them and I won’t let them die. If anything comes for them, I’ll be in its way.”

“So your mind is made up,” you whispered with a small nod, “then why are you still here?”

After a brief pause, you felt a small push against the door instead of a response.

“Won’t you let me in?” he asked softly.

Resolve crumbling, you finally stepped back. As the door fell open without resistance, you sucked in a breath and held it, watching as he finally laid eyes on the space.

Around him, he could barely see the walls through the greenery erupting at every corner. But these couldn’t be plants for your apothecary – he would recognise those. No, these looked to be just for decoration.

Dotted around the foliage, from the leafy stems at the sides to the smaller pots lining every surface, were flowers of all kinds. Just like the ones in the vase in your room, that had never moved even now that four boys were sleeping there.

While his head turned this way and that, taking in the multitude of plants, his mouth formed words never spoken, unsure what to say. In the end, he settled for-

“What is this?”

Finally meeting your eyes, he awaited your explanation.

“This… was my brother’s room,” you spread your arms out, indicating the space as you continued, voice flat and dejected, “he loved flowers. He would always bring some back to me when he went out to the forest… He was one of the people who tried to defend the forest. Since people started going missing, all the men of the town joined together to try and defeat whatever foe was troubling us…

“But then the same thing happened to them. He was so eager to protect us, have an adventure… and so confident. And of course, he was my older brother, so I believed him. On the day he left, he gave me that vase of flowers, and told me to wait for him at dinner. Only, they never returned. A handful made it back, terrified and telling about how they fought but were defeated, and they had no choice but to run. No one dared collect the bodies, or…”

Your breathing shuddered, throat constricting as you spoke, but only now did a sob cut you off.

Instantly beside you, Jin’s arms circled you without hesitation, pulling you to his chest. You couldn’t resist if you tried, falling into them as you collected yourself.

“Shh, I’m so sorry,” he was muttering into your hair, pressing small kisses there between his comfort, “I’m sorry, I’m here, it’s okay.”

Bringing your arms around his middle in return, you held him fiercely.

At last, when you were able to draw a breath, you pulled your face away to look him in the eye.

“Come with me,” you said. Before he could question, you were grabbing his hand, leading him resolutely to the back corner of the room. As you got closer, however, it became clear it went further then he could initially see.

“This,” you sniffed, still wiping at your eyes, “is my teleportation circle. You can come here anytime-“

Dropping his hand, you walked forwards, crouching to wipe dust from the surface so the sigils around the edge could be clearly read.

“-I haven’t used it in some time. It doesn’t function between here and outside the woods, so I’m not sure if it will even help…”

Trailing off, you turned to find him watching you fondly.

“You have to be safe,” you said.

“I will be.”

Despite the darkness around you, your eyes were wide open. You should be asleep, you knew that much, but they certainly weren’t considering closing any time soon.

Jin may have told you to take care as his friends waited at the door, leaving you with one last (and your first) kiss.

It was partly that moment keeping you up; if you closed your eyes, maybe the night wouldn’t disappear from your grasp and wake you up further in time from Jin and his perfect smile, with your memory of his pillowy lips moulding to yours just right fading. No, you wanted this to live in your head for as long as you could, dedicating the still of night to replaying the moment, wishing for it not to just be in your head anymore.

Jin promised he would be alright. He promised to come back, but your little faith had not backed off. It was too late for you to save your poor heart, however, and that was mostly why you had yet to fall into the clutches of slumber.

Somewhere out there in the woods right now, Jin was probably lost, possibly fighting.

Tossing your body over, you looked out into the room, rows of plants and flowers barely discernible in the pitch black. You had remained in your brother’s old room, unable to face the emptiness of your own which was so recently filled with life.

But though you refused to let yourself cling to any stupid, childish hope, there was clearly still a child within you as your thoughts flitted unbidden to Jin’s face, the way he would smile when he saw you again.

Your sleep-deprived mind could only fight off that child for so long.

That child, that had believed your brother’s bold confidence. That had dreamed of fighting too. You had wailed and complained that day, wanting to go with him, inspired with the same flame as him to fight for your town.

But that fire was snuffed out with him.

Still staring ahead, only the empty room greeted you. The house was too quiet. Over the past week or so, the boys had been courteous and tried to be silent at night, but at the very least there was always some giggling, some whispers or floorboards creaking as they probably snuck out to pilfer some snacks.

At least you had known you were not alone.

But you had been by yourself for so long, why did it taste so bitter now?

Just as you were longing for some activity in your barren house, a sound startled you. Jerking upright immediately, you were instantly aware how close the sound was, a sort of whooshing that is soon joined by a flaring light.

Scrambling from beneath your covers, you threw your hands up to shield your eyes that have been in darkness for some hours.

“Y/N?”

The call echoed through the entire house, even though you were in the same room. You were sure you must be dreaming. That’s Jin’s voice.

Dropping your arms, your eyes searched the space in a second.

Sure enough, there he is.

Your mouth hung open, a gasping mix between a sob and a laugh escaping as he rushed over to you from your teleportation circle in the corner.

“Jin?” you dared to smile as he approached.

But then you saw his face.

“Do you have healing potions?” he asked, voice raw with desperation, “we need medicine, a-and bandages, and anything you have-“

Nodding, you instantly complied, not needing to question his motive. Grasping his hand (and oh god it’s real and he’s still alive and with you-) you dashed down the stairwell, hurrying to gather supplies with him hot on your tail.

“What’s going on?” you panted as you raced back up the stairs, arms full, “what did you find?”

Kicking the door open none too gently, Jin spared you a glance.

“It’s a beholder. It’s clearly been ravaging your forest for a long time now, and it’s powerful. I’m sure that’s what’s blocking any magical connection with the outside, too.”

You had read about beholders somewhere before. Magical monsters with too many eyes, destroying all but the most powerful in its path. That was surely not something the party would dare to face.

“So you’re coming back?”

“No,” he stopped, right outside your circle, to look at you, “we got away, but most of us are hurt. Now we know what it is, if we track it down again, we can put a stop to this.”

How a grin adorned his face, you had no idea. His friends were in the middle of danger, on the verge of death, and he still had hope.

“That’s…”

You didn’t know what it was.

Your town, free? It was beyond your imagination. Of course it was what you all dreamed of, but never dared to believe could come true.

Taking a deep breath, your eyes travelled from the man in front of you to the flowers surrounding you here.

You stood a little taller.

“I’ll come with you.”

Jin’s eyes bulged, freezing as he stepped into the circle.

“What?”

“I said I’ll come with you,” you repeated, stepping right in after him, “it’s time to stand up for my village.”

A full-watt grin broke onto his face then, and if it wasn’t for the supplies filling his arms, he would have swept you into them. Instead, he settled for surging forwards, lips pressing eagerly into yours.

Eyes sliding closed, your heart took off in somersaults as the moment you had never thought you would see again repeated, his soft lips calming any nerves with the fire it lit up in you. Too soon, he was pulling back, and you chased after him for one last peck.

Giddy smiles on your faces despite the minefield you were heading into, you broke apart at last.

Around you, the circle burst into life. Shooting from the floor, light cut through your vision, soon engulfing you as the distantly familiar feeling of the world shifting around you took over your being.

Once it settled again, light retracting back into the earth at your feet, the world was dark once more. This time, though, the darkness was more encompassing, thick tree trunks standing between the forest floor and the moon, uncompromising.

A smaller light emerged, blinking into life above your head.

Looking around, you caught the tail end of Jin muttering another incantation, before he and the light were moving forwards into the forest.

Treading in his wake, your head never stayed still, searching the darkness around you constantly as you wove through the trees. Every time Jin disappeared behind one, you would scurry to keep up, heart accelerating in your chest as the darkness encroached again.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before you reached another light between the trees, hovering above the familiar group of men.

Jin was already on the ground, tending to Jimin, so you followed his lead and headed for Jungkook. On your way, you handed some bottles to Yoongi, kneeling beside Namjoon. All of them looked worn-out, slumped against the coarse bark with bruises blooming on exposed skin.

Jungkook was unusually quiet, eyelids drooping as you crouched beside him. A gash was bleeding along his collarbone. Dabbing at it, you shook him gently, instructing him to down one of your potions as soon as he seemed alert enough.

It seemed to revive him somewhat, although this had the unfortunate effect that he was more alert to the pain as you patched him up.

But you were experienced, and it was quick work. Soon enough you were also sitting back, looking around the party. They seemed a little more at ease now. You were happy you were able to help them. Even from such a short time around these men, you had grown attached, and now you were sure they could be a family, just as Jin had told you.

“We’ll take a few hours,” Namjoon was telling everyone, “then we’ll go and hunt for that thing again. This time we’ll be more prepared.”

Agreeing, everyone began to settle down. Making his way over to you, Jin eased himself to the floor too, making your heart soar as he tucked himself behind you, arms circling you from behind.

Closing his eyes peacefully, he tucked his chin over your shoulder, muttering against your neck.

“I’m glad you came. You’re so brave.”

“Oh, shush,” you sank back into his arms.

Barely a moment later, though, and he was stiffening, sitting upright behind you. His arms dropped from their place, head lifting away from you.

“Hey,” you groaned from the loss of comfort, only to be hushed.

“No, really, shush,” he hissed at your affronted look, eyes already far away, scanning the trees.

Turning your attention to the forest yourself, you heard what must have frightened him. Not too far away, a splintering ricocheted through the trees.

“Hey, guys,” Jin’s voice carried through the secluded space easily, but just as a few heads perked up, the cracking sound swelled in a deafening crescendo, culminating in a resounding thud.

Jin was on his feet, and he wasn’t the only one.

“It’s here,” Namjoon’s voice was bracing.

Rising to stand as well, your eyes traced the path of a light sent up by Jimin. Ascending through the trees, blinking as it crossed branches, eventually a silhouette made itself known.

That was certainly no tree.

Another cacophony announced the falling of a second tree as the shape advanced further into the pool of light, seizing the breath in your lungs. The creature didn’t even touch the ground, hovering instead as it bulldozered any tree standing in its path.

Scattering, you followed Jin through the trees to avoid its advance, but you could never escape its gaze. Worse than anything you could imagine just reading about this monster, it had eyes protruding from its sickening mass of a body, which also held a grotesquely large eye above a gaping mouth of fangs.

“We discussed a plan,” Jin hissed in your ear as he positioned himself in front of you, hands already balling in front of him, a light forming within as he prepared to attack, “we’ll hit it long enough for Jungkook and Taehyung to get close. They’re the best warriors, and they can chop off some of the eyes. It gets weak quickly, so we just have to stay alive and buy as much time as we can.”

Nodding quickly, you also readied a spell.

The first beam of light shot through the night from between trees somewhere on the beast’s other side. It spun, furious roar gargling from its belly, but Jin had already shot from beside you.

Reeling from the fire that struck it, the awful mass of eyes flailed, and another cry was drawn just after you caught sight of a shadow below the beast, a glint of metal slicing through the air.

“Nice,” Jin muttered, darting behind the trunk of a tree.

For once, you didn’t follow. Stepping resolutely into the space, face set, you raised your hands, light firing from your palms in bursts. It had been a while since you practised magic this way, but you had no time to doubt yourself before the creature was bellowing again, turning your way-

Ducking behind a tree, your eyes met Seokjin’s where he stood pressed against the next one.

You couldn’t help the grin bursting onto your face, mirrored by his own.

Behind you, the night lit up with flashes that bathed the trees around you, illuminating the deep blackness. A shadow with too many limbs writhed among the branches, mingled with loud and angry roars.

The monster began to retreat.

Already missing several eyes, thick blood sliding down its body, it sent out a blast of its own. Above you, the tree branches ignited, crashing down in flames just as your feet raced away, jumping over thick tree roots.

“Let’s get on the other side of it,” Jin urged, an arm finding its way around your back as you darted together through the undergrowth.

Still running, he sent another bolt flying towards the beast, knocking it into a large tree which creaked, slowly beginning to topple to the forest floor.

In panic, your eyes searched the ground around it as your feet came to a stop in what had become a clearing due to the fallen trees. The others seemed unscathed from this distance, all of them racing to join you, surrounding the monster.

Before the beast could act, you were firing again. Barely hitting as you caught your breath from your previous sprint, you caught it nonetheless, giving enough space for Taehyung to lunge forwards again, taking a leap and succeeding in hacking off an eye.

Wincing, you flinched back from the appendage as it crashed to the ground, but a whoosh of magic was already being fired again, fight still not ceasing.

As it weakened, though, the monster was becoming more enraged. Growling, it lashed out, colossal teeth gnashing towards the fighter who had just robbed it of an eye. Tripping over a gnarled root, Taehyung was inches from the clash of the beast’s teeth as he fell, but soon the thing was spinning again.

With horror, you found the target it had selected next. Apparently Jungkook had seen a way in when the creature was diverted, but as his sword raised, the eye in question swivelled to focus directly on him.

Eyes widening, you saw the beast rear back in slow-motion, preparing its attack but your feet were glued to the ground, rendering you helpless as the split second played out like an hour in front of you, magic sparking and fizzling through the air towards the youngest-

“Jungkook!”

It wasn’t until the cry met your ears that you realised Jin had left your side, speeding across the clearing.

Then time hit you like a train, every moment rushing by in a blink as you cried Jin’s name, raising your hand on instinct, summoning your magic without a thought.

Nothing happened.

Blinking in surprise, you looked at your hand, feeling the magic flow towards it and… stop.

A faint glow surrounded you, emanating from the beast’s eye, holding you still, keeping your magic captive within you as you watched Jin jump at his younger brother-

The bolt of magic sliced through the air. Jin was in front of Jungkook. The blow cut the darkness, driving straight into his chest, both men flung backwards from the impact.

Movement.

You saw it as the glow finally released you, too late. Stumbling forwards, your feet had to remind themselves how to move but then they were overtaking each other in haste until you crashed to your knees at Jin’s side.

The movement had been Jungkook.

He fought his way from underneath Jin, who merely flopped to the side.

“Jin!” your voice came out an unstable cry, alien to your ears. Jungkook beside you was frozen, watching as you tugged his friend, his brother over onto his back, only to be met with an unseeing face.

No response.

Shaking him, desperate, raw pleas falling over and over from your lips, you already knew it was too late. The blazing lights still flashing through the night only lit up paling skin, your hands as they searched his neck for the steady pulse of life that it never found.

Tears burned down your cheeks long before you were even aware of them.

And then they were soaking, breath refusing to enter your lungs as you gasped, hands now surrounding you, the night still. That cool light Jimin cast earlier was the only thing hanging over the scene as the boys gathered round.

Taehyung sheathed his bloody sword, the giant forgotten where it lay on the ground somewhere behind you.

All you could see was Jin’s face. He did what he said he would do: get in the way of that monster and his brothers.

The boys held each other. They even held you, although it was not the same. Just a hand on your shoulder, a pat on your back.

You could go with them.

You went back to your town.

The house was empty again, and your kitchen began to fill with tea, just as the room upstairs stacked with plants. You made Jin’s favourite mixtures, and they sold well.

You never drank them.

Your house was still again. The darkness was never alive. You were alone.

And no matter how hard you wished, you would never conjure the feeling of his lips on yours. He would never turn up just as you needed him.

The circle in your brother’s room gathered dust again.

People flooded from the village, his name on their lips, their saviour.

You would walk to the gates often. Sometimes you strayed into the woods. You cared for the fire he had reignited within you, wanting to keep him with you in some way.

But the baker didn’t think you looked happy anymore.

You sold your potions, accepted adventurers that came more often now, but you stayed out of their way. And at night, you would be encased by a glow as you kicked and screamed with magic frozen in your veins. You never did escape it.

Seven sets of eyes blinked at you from around the table. Their mouths hung open in something akin to horror.

Your face was split in an irresistible grin.

“…you actually killed me?”

A bubble of laughter finally rose, spilling from your lips at the sight of Seokjin’s enraged expression.

“That was traumatic,” Yoongi sat back in his chair as you calmed down from your laughter.

“But I was gonna spend my life with your npc!” Jin argued, hand slapping the tabletop, “or do you not want to be with me?”

“That’s probably why she had to kill you, hyung,” Jimin hid a giggle behind his hand, “we already have enough members in this campaign.”

“Yah!” Jin spluttered, face reddening, “b-but, why kill me? And not them?”

“Rude!” you pressed a hand to your heart, pausing where you were shuffling away your pages of campaign notes. “Did you not have fun being my boyfriend, Jin?”

“Yeah, you seemed to be having great fun,” Taehyung smirked, jabbing at Jin with his elbow.

“Just say you want to date and go,” Namjoon agreed, shaking his head in exasperation.

Jin pouted, only eliciting more laughter from the group as he folded his arms.

“Shut it, you lot!” he complained.

Eventually, your friends were filing out of your house, thanking you between laughter for another good campaign and the promise to play again the same time next week. Only one lingered by your doorway.

“I can’t believe you really killed me off,” Jin spoke.

“Cut it out,” you chuckled, “I know you’ll miss being my lover terribly, but I’m sure you can manage.”

He eyed you as you kicked the living room door shut, joining him in the hall.

“Of course I will,” his lips quirked into a smug smile – unfortunately a very familiar look on your friend – “your loss.”

And with that tossed over his shoulder, he was stepping outside.

Shutting the door behind him, you listened to the sound of his engine beginning and rumbling away outside. A large breath left you.

He was right. You knew the real thing would be better, but you would take what you could get.

Your loss.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs always appreciated 💜

Again, to Eva, happy happy birthday!! In case you were interested, the prompts I was given were ‘dungeons and dragons’ (again haha) and ‘intelligent’, just like you! I love you lots and hope your day was great xx Also one last big thank you to @eternalseokjin​ for all the help with this, whether dnd related or just me ranting about the angst😅I appreciate it!

Taglist: @aianloveseven​ @preciouschimine​ @kb-bangtanenthusiast​ @ttaechwita​