#for those of you following me watching from the sidelines: it is exactly what you think it is.

[lesbianashleywilliams]

I told you...the next time you awakened, you would be busy.

[mochinomnoms]

I'm curious about the dreams Idia was having about the reader.

(reference to this)

nsfw under read-more, minors DNI!

It's quite silly, really. Idia was never one to yearn for the touch, closeness, the affections of a person. He was fine, being alone. It was better this way. He could cope with his games and shows, online groups and friends filling the void. Besides, why would he want to drag another person into the Shroud curse? It already took one person from him, Idia couldn't stand doing it to another as long as it was up to him. Plus, he wasn't exactly prime boyfriend, let alone husband material (perhaps he did that intentionally).

So, Idia wasn't all too worried when he first started becoming friends with you. You were kinda weird, but a friend to introverts like him! Somehow always a wallflower, but always involved in the chaos of overblots and school. But, you were conscientious of his need for space and privacy; Ortho must have said something to you about his eating habits, cause you started bringing food other than chips, soda, and ramen cups for him to eat, like actual meals. You also liked to entertain Ortho, who liked when you drew silly designs on his plating, which is always a plus in Idia's book. You were sweet, like his favorite ramune soda. Despite having abysmal skills in gaming (which he was all too happy to make fun of you for) he liked having you as his support, watching him on the sidelines and being a cute cheerleader. In exchange, Idia lent you an old gaming computer and bullied tutored you in a few of his favorite games so you could be his squishy healer in raids.

But, he was a bit worried when he started feeling something more than platonic things for you. Then, he was exceptionally concerned when, at the first day of spring, Idia started coughing hydrangeas, which he managed to secretly keep under wraps from Ortho for a few weeks. No, he was downright mortified when, during those few weeks, night after night, he started having dreams of you.

They started off innocent at first: you on his lap, head on his shoulder, as he played the latest RPG. You murmured words of encouragement, sleepily nuzzling your head into his. Another, he was in the board game club, where you cheered him on as he won a match against Azul in some luck-based game. Idia remembers giving Azul a smug smirk as you threw your arms around him and pressed kisses into his cheek. He even faintly remembers one where you simply sat with him in class, fingers lacing through his in comfort as he dealt with the anxiety of being out and about.

It wasn't until he was a week in when the dreams, infested with hydrangea bouquets always at the corner of his eye, that he knew he was utterly screwed beyond belief.

It started off sweet, at first. This time, you were with him at Styx, though you looked a few years older and were wearing a similar uniform to his mother. He was wearing the uniform as well, though it more closely resembled his father's. He was now Styx head, and you, his precious little wife. The domestic stuff was fine, it made his heart rate spike up so much that Ortho questioned if he had a nightmare while sleeping, but it was fine he could deal. You did look cute… as you smiled up at him… leaned up to kiss his cheek… and whisper in his ear…

“Idiaaa~ What if I crawled under your desk and sucked you off? Do you think you could stay quiet? You can, can't you? For me~”

It was fuzzy, when he tried to remember it, but Idia remembers the heat pooling in his belly. Your hands trailing down his chest down to his hips. Your lips following after and pressing soft, slow kisses down and down until—

Idia's flames grew into a burning, hot pink as his face is in his hands the following morning. He'd actually gone to bed at a reasonable time (to him anyway, 3 am was reasonable), and woke up with that in his head? How was he supposed to function? How was he supposed to look at you, talk with you, when the last memory he had was a dream of you sucking him off???

It progressively got worse from there. It was a weird mix of erotically domestic scenarios. You, waking up to him in bed before work, riding him as you cooed sweet words. Another of the two of you heavy petting, his hands groping your ass as you curled your body into his, making out in his office before Idia had to run off to a meeting, leaving you pouting and telling him to, “Hurry back to your needy little wifey~” One of you cooking him breakfast in one of his shirts, before he bent you over the kitchen counter, after which you sat on his lap and hand fed him.

The last one that really freaked him out, which led to him further isolating himself until Ortho dragged him out to the nurse, was one where he woke up to you next to him in bed. You smiled the sweetest smile to him, whispering to Idia how much you loved him, moving over to press a trail of kisses from his lips, to his neck, down his chest and abdomen. Idia was anticipating the same follow-up from his first dream, especially as your hands reached to pull his briefs down before a soft whine, followed by a cry, interrupted you.

He had no clue what to think, as you make a surprised noise, smiling at him, as the following words left your mouth: “The baby's awake, guess we'll have to continue this later, huh?” Dream Idia giggled along with you as the two of you shared a kiss, watching as you rolled off the bed to the bassinet that he was just noticing. He watched as you cooed and murmured soft words to the small, blue-flamed haired baby, reaching their tiny hands for you. But it was the next sentence that bolted him from sleep into a dry sweat:

“Say good morning! Say, 'good morning' to your baba, my darling~”

Idia let out a screech as he flailed out of bed, tangled in his sheets. He was coughing up a storm of hydrangeas when Ortho flew in, panicked and already full of concern for Idia's health. It was then Ortho started insisting that Idia visit the infirmary, much to his chargin.

At least you'd never see him like this… right?

[anchoeritic]

-ˋˏ 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄, 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀ˎˊ

— pairing: dbf!joel x afab!reader

— synopsis: a wild idea is brought up between you and joel. something that has to do with you moaning his name in front of the red blinking light of his camera.

— warnings: eighteen plus only content, smut, use of cameras (consensual), recording of intercourse, vaginal penetration, fingering, praise kink, light choking, use of ‘girl’ once, nicknames: baby, sweetheart, etc.

ALTHOUGH NO ACTION WAS BEING SPECIFIED, the click of a button was heard. The sound of his camera starting up.

Every action was now being recorded. Every breath, movement, whimper. All of it was being seen through that small lens. All of you was going to be seen.

This would never cross your mind if it wasn’t for him. You wouldn’t even consider the thought of making one. who knows what could ever happen?

You didn’t know whether or not it was better that you were exploring out of your shell, reaching out from the sidelines.

He changed your mind. That’s for sure.

As Joel stood in front of you, he couldn't help but let himself at you already. His hands tracing down every curve on you, worshipping your silhouette like no other.

Your ear lobe was touched by his warm breath as his lips travelled up and down your neck, teasing you by tracing his tongue down with them.

"Don't worry," he whispered into your jaw between his sloppy kisses, "don't gotta tense up 'round me, honey."

Relaxing your muscles, you slowly eased your way into his grasp even closer, bringing your body right up to his. 

A lace set of undergarments barely covered over you, the pastel colour and material making everything seem as clear as day. That only made it better for him.

To see what he had coming. Or, well, what he was going to come into soon enough.

As his lips explored your body, so did his hands. Touching on every square inch of your skin, loving how you were only his to pleasure, knowing you were all his.

Joel was the temptation you succumbed to, devouring each taste of the forbidden fruit: you.

God, you were nothing like he'd ever seen before. You were something different, something to incredibly out of his reach. He thought he would never find his way to you

Until he finally did.

"Look at me, darlin'," his voice came out raspy, itching with a scruff, "eyes on me."

Your eyes followed his every movement from there on, refusing to look away as his hands began to make their way down South.

"You want these off, don't you?"

It didn't take long for him to slip them off of you, throwing the lace across the room. His fingers already found themselves situated, slipping two of his thick digits between your folds.

A moan escaped from you, feeling the stretch of his fingers but they could never stand a chance against his cock.

"S'tight wrapped around my fingers already, huh?" You hear him mutter into your skin, "tell me what you want. Use those words of yours, sweetheart."

He carefully teases your clit with the pad of his thumb, and all you can do is whine while nodding.

He knew exactly how to tease you, make you melt under him. As much as you knew him and his body, he'd always know more. Every curve, crevice, any part of you was discovered. You were all his.

"Please, Joel. Make me feel good."

Your chest was rising with each breath, the whimpers that fell from your throat had Joel looking at you with even darker eyes.

Those same fingers filling up your cunt curled inside of you, stretching you out beyond. He smirked watching as your back arched off the mattress, thighs spreading wider for the camera.

"You wanna cum, don't you?" He purrs, folding his body against yours. His face is rested into the crook of your neck, biting at the exposed skin.

Humming, you nod your head to his words, holding onto his wrist.

"Have my fingers all you want," the pad of his thumb rubbed over your clit, teasing the sensitive bud of yours. "But you gotta earn it."

His fingers sat knuckles deep inside of your tight pussy, waiting for your hips to move, to grind against them. Earn it. You had to earn the bliss of your climax.

Your lips form into a pout as you finally realize that he wasn't going to give it to you as easy as he usually does. He's making you work for it, for the camera.

"You think that pout'll change my mind?" Joel sneers, mocking that little pout of yours. "Get to work, baby."

As your hips begin to rock, he licks his lips. The feeling of his fingers thrusting deeper into you, your pussy clenching around his thick digits.

God, it was heaven. The sweet taste, aroma of everything good. Your eyes fluttered shut, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as his thumb pressed harder against your clit.

"Atta girl," his words were sent straight to your cunt, making you wetter. "That's it.. doin' s'good for me, riding my fingers like such a good girl."

His praises only motivated you, pushed you further into the deep end as your hips began to stutter, itching for more friction between the two of you; especially your cunt.

His grin grew wider when your thighs started to tremble around his arm, lip quivering as you were close to your release.

"Fuck, please," you managed to cry, "wanna cum."

That was enough for him to finally take over. Joel’s fingers curling deep inside of you, one final push off the edge had you reeling before your thighs started closing around his arm.

“Feel me deep inside you, baby? Fuckin’ tell me how good you feel.”

His tongue was just as menacing as those fingers of his. His words to you were just as venomous, intoxicating.

The tiny little red button blinked behind his head while your body trembled against his, watching your every move, waiting for your orgasm to finally take its turn on you.

To record you as your mind goes drunk off of ecstasy, hoping to see something more than the blink; your climax.

Rocking your hips, your whines increased in volume. The friction was getting too hard to resist at this point.

It took you one last thrust and a loud whine to send you completely over the edge, your climax washing over your body.

“Smile at the camera, angel. Let them see that pretty fuckin’ face of yours.”

[estapa-edwards]

TUTOR - E.EDWARDS

paring: Ethan Edwards x fem! reader

word count: 4.9k

requested? no

warnings: use of y/n. slow burn!

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The University of Michigan was a place of both challenge and opportunity, especially for those who were part of its renowned hockey team. Mark Estapa, my brother, was one of the key players on the team, and his friend Ethan Edwards was right there with him. The name Ethan Edwards was not unfamiliar to me; I had heard it countless times from Mark, usually followed by tales of impressive goals and game-winning plays.

It all started one afternoon at the hockey rink. I was there watching Mark practice, as I often did, cheering him on from the sidelines. After practice, Coach Naurato approached me, his expression serious, a stark contrast to the lively demeanor he exhibited during hockey practices.

"Y/N," he began, "I've heard from Mark how smart you are. Ethan is struggling with his academics, and I think you would be a great tutor for him. Would you consider helping him out?"

The idea caught me off guard. Ethan Edwards? The very same person who had made more than one snide remark about me in class? The thought of spending extra time with him was far from appealing.

"Coach," I hesitated, "I'm not sure that's such a good idea. Ethan and I don't exactly get along."

Coach Naurato sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I understand, Y/N, but I believe you're the best person to help him. Please, just think about it."

The weight of the decision pressed on me as I left the rink. The thought of helping someone who had shown me little respect was difficult to swallow. However, the importance of the hockey team to Mark, and the trust Coach Naurato placed in me, made me reconsider.

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After a few days of internal debate, I finally decided to give it a shot. I approached Ethan after our next class together, a hesitant smile on my face.

"Ethan, Coach Naurato told me about the tutoring," I started, trying to sound as friendly as possible. "I'm willing to help you out if you're serious about improving your grades."

Ethan looked surprised, his icy blue eyes narrowing slightly. "Why would you do that? We're not exactly best friends, Y/N."

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my patience intact. "This isn't about us becoming friends, Ethan. It's about helping you stay on the team and doing right by Mark."

There was a moment of silence, tension hanging in the air. Finally, Ethan nodded reluctantly. "Alright, fine. When do we start?"

Our first tutoring session was nothing short of a disaster. Ethan's attitude was immediately confrontational, making the atmosphere tense and uncomfortable from the start. He slouched in his chair, arms crossed defiantly, as he looked at the math problems I had prepared for him.

"Are we ever going to use this in real life?" he scoffed, pushing the paper away from him as if it were contaminated.

I took a deep breath, trying to maintain my composure. "Ethan, this is basic algebra. It's not just about solving for 'x'; it's about developing problem-solving skills that are essential for understanding more complex concepts later on."

Ethan rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "Problem-solving skills? I've got plenty of those on the ice. What's the point of all this?"

I could feel my frustration growing, but I tried to stay focused on the task at hand. "The point, Ethan, is to help you improve academically so you can continue to play hockey. Coach Naurato believes in you, and so do I. But you have to be willing to put in the effort."

Ethan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms even tighter. "Well, this is a waste of time. I don't need your help."

The session ended with both of us frustrated and no real progress made. I left the classroom that day questioning whether I was the right person for the job, doubting my ability to help someone who seemed so determined to resist. Ethan, on the other hand, seemed to revel in his own stubbornness, as if proving a point by refusing to cooperate.

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One evening, Ethan and I were deep into our tutoring session. We had been working on a particularly challenging math problem for what felt like hours, both of us growing increasingly frustrated as we struggled to find the solution.

"Just think it through step by step," I encouraged, pointing to the problem on the paper in front of us. "You're almost there, Ethan."

He looked at the problem, then back at me, a look of concentration on his face. Slowly, a spark of understanding appeared in his eyes.

"I think I've got it," he said, his voice filled with excitement.

I watched as he worked through the problem, his pencil moving quickly across the paper. And then, just like that, he arrived at the correct answer.

"Yes! I did it!" Ethan exclaimed, jumping up from his chair.

Caught up in the moment, I jumped up too, and before we knew it, we were hugging each other in celebration. It was a spontaneous, genuine expression of joy and relief, and for a moment, all the tension and awkwardness between us seemed to melt away.

But as quickly as the moment had come, it was gone. We both pulled away awkwardly, realizing the unexpected intimacy of the hug.

"Uh, sorry about that," Ethan mumbled, his cheeks turning a shade of red I had never seen before.

"No, it's okay," I stammered, equally embarrassed.

Outside of our tutoring sessions, however, our relationship remained as strained as ever. Our newfound camaraderie seemed to exist only within the confines of the classroom, disappearing as soon as we stepped outside the door.

During hockey practices and games, Ethan and I were back to being at odds with each other. He would make snide remarks, and I would respond with sarcastic comments of my own. Mark tried to mediate, reminding us both of the progress we had made, but it seemed that our truce was limited to our time spent studying together.

It was frustrating, to say the least, to see Ethan revert to his old ways so easily. But I tried to focus on the positive, reminding myself of the progress we had made and the genuine friendship that was slowly developing between us.

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One Friday night, Mark convinced me to join him and the rest of the team at a frat party. I wasn’t much of a party person, but he promised it would be a good way to unwind and have some fun. Reluctantly, I agreed, not anticipating the events that would unfold.

The frat house was packed with students, the music blaring and the atmosphere electric. Despite my initial reservations, I found myself enjoying the night, laughing and dancing with Mark and his teammates. However, as the night wore on, I made the mistake of indulging a bit too much in the drinks being passed around.

By the time midnight rolled around, I was considerably more intoxicated than I had intended to be. My vision was blurry, my balance unsteady, and the room seemed to spin around me. I knew I needed to get out of there, but the idea of walking home by myself in my current state was daunting.

As I stumbled towards the exit, I felt a hand on my arm, steadying me. I looked up to find Ethan Edwards standing beside me, a concerned expression on his face.

"Y/N, are you okay?" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine concern.

"I'm fine," I slurred, trying to pull away from him. "I just need to walk home."

Ethan looked at me incredulously, clearly recognizing that I was in no condition to make it home safely on my own.

"You're not walking home like this," he said firmly. "I'll drive you."

I scoffed at his suggestion, my intoxicated mind unable to process the genuine concern in his eyes.

"I am not driving home with you, are you crazy?" I snapped, my words slurring together.

Ethan sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Look, Y/N, I know we don't get along, but I'm not going to let you walk home alone like this. It's not safe."

Despite my intoxicated state, I knew he was right. Reluctantly, I nodded, allowing him to guide me towards his car.

The car ride was quiet, the tension palpable. I stared out the window, trying to ignore the pounding headache and the nauseous feeling that threatened to overtake me. Ethan drove carefully, his eyes focused on the road ahead, seemingly determined to get me home safely.

As we pulled up to my apartment, I mustered the strength to speak, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Thank you, Ethan," I said, my words slurred but sincere. "I appreciate it."

Ethan glanced over at me, a soft smile on his face. "You're welcome, Y/N. Just... take care of yourself, okay?"

Just as I was about to reply, a sudden wave of nausea washed over me. Panic set in as I realized I was about to be sick.

"Ethan, pull over!" I yelled, my voice frantic.

Without hesitation, Ethan swerved the car to the side of the road, unlocking the doors and jumping out of the car to help. I barely had time to open the door before I was leaning out, vomiting onto the side of the road.

Ethan was right beside me, holding my hair back and rubbing my back soothingly as I emptied my stomach. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, there was a gentleness to his actions that I hadn't expected.

Once I was done, Ethan handed me a bottle of water he had in the car, and I rinsed my mouth out before spitting onto the grass.

"Are you okay?" he asked, genuine concern in his eyes.

I nodded weakly, grateful for his help despite the embarrassment of the situation.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I replied, my voice shaky. "Thank you, Ethan. I'm really sorry about this."

Ethan shook his head, dismissing my apology with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it, Y/N. Just make sure you get inside safely, okay?"

I nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted and ready to be home. "I will. Thanks again, Ethan."

As I made my way towards my apartment, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude towards Ethan. Despite our differences and the strained relationship we had, he had shown me kindness and concern in a moment of need.

As I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, taking a moment to collect myself, I realized that perhaps there was more to Ethan Edwards than met the eye. Our relationship was still complicated, but in that vulnerable moment, I couldn't help but feel a newfound respect for him.

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The next day, I woke up with a pounding headache and a sense of regret about the previous night's events. As I tried to piece together the evening, my thoughts kept drifting back to Ethan and his unexpected kindness. I found myself wondering if maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than the cocky, arrogant persona he often displayed.

Later that day, I received a text from Ethan.

Ethan: Hey, Y/N. Just wanted to check in and make sure you're feeling okay after last night. Let me know if you need anything.

I stared at the message for a moment, surprised by his thoughtfulness. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about his character.

Me: Hey Ethan, thanks for checking in. I'm feeling better, just a bit embarrassed about last night. I appreciate your help.

Ethan: No need to be embarrassed. We've all been there. Glad you're feeling better. If you ever need a ride or anything, just let me know.

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During a team dinner at a local restaurant, Ethan couldn't resist making another snide comment. The atmosphere was already buzzing with the excitement of Family Weekend, and I had been invited to join Mark and the team for the special occasion. Despite the festive mood, Ethan seemed determined to maintain our strained relationship.

"So, Y/N," he began, a sly grin on his face, "Do you tutor everyone on the team, or am I just lucky?"

I took a deep breath, trying to maintain my composure. I didn't want to cause a scene in front of Mark and the rest of the team, especially during a family event. "I tutor those who need help, Ethan. It's nothing personal."

He chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "Sure, sure," he replied, the underlying tension clear in his tone.

Frustrated and tired of his constant jabs, I pulled Ethan aside, hoping to address the issue privately.

"Ethan, can we talk?" I asked, my voice low and controlled.

He looked at me, seemingly caught off guard by my request. "Sure, what's on your mind?"

"I didn't even want to tutor you," I admitted, my frustration evident. "Coach Naurato asked me to help you because Mark mentioned how much I've helped him with his academics. I agreed because I wanted to help you stay on the team, not because I enjoy being ridiculed by you at every opportunity."

Ethan looked at me, his expression changing from surprise to hurt. "I knew Coach asked you to tutor me because of Mark," he said quietly. "But hearing you say you didn't want to... it stings, Y/N."

I sighed, realizing the impact of my words. "Ethan, it's not that I didn't want to help you improve. It's your attitude towards me that's made this so challenging. Why do you do this to me?"

Ethan looked at me, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "I don't know, Y/N," he admitted, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. "I guess it's easier to push people away than to admit that I need help."

I raised an eyebrow, surprised by his honesty. "So, you're saying all this animosity is just a defense mechanism?"

He shrugged, avoiding my gaze. "Maybe. It's just... I've always had to prove myself, I guess I'm just used to putting up walls."

I took a moment to process his words, feeling a pang of empathy. "Ethan, I get it. We all have our insecurities and ways of protecting ourselves. But that doesn't give you the right to treat me poorly."

He nodded, looking back up at me. "I know, Y/N. I'm sorry. I'll try to do better."

I looked at him, searching his eyes for any sign of sincerity. "Alright, Ethan. I'll give you another chance. But you need to show me that you're serious about changing. And it can't just be in private, Ethan. You need to treat me with respect in front of other people too."

He nodded, determination in his eyes. "I promise, Y/N. Things will change."

Feeling a sense of relief and hope, I impulsively stepped forward and wrapped my arms around Ethan in a brief hug. To my surprise, he hesitated for a moment before cautiously returning the embrace.

Little did we know, Mark had walked into the restaurant at that exact moment and witnessed the entire exchange. A look of suspicion crossed his face as he watched us, his instincts telling him that something had changed between his sister and his teammate.

As Ethan and I pulled apart, we were unaware of the scrutiny we were now under. Mark's suspicions were piqued, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something significant had just occurred between us.

The atmosphere at the dinner table had noticeably shifted, and I couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and anxiety. While Ethan seemed genuinely committed to changing his behavior, the unintended consequence of Mark's newfound suspicion added a layer of complexity to our already complicated relationship.

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As the weeks passed, Ethan and I continued to spend more time together, both during our tutoring sessions and outside of them. Our relationship was slowly evolving, and the mutual animosity we once shared was gradually being replaced by a growing friendship and understanding.

However, Mark began to notice the change in our dynamics. He would often spot us together around campus, studying in the library, grabbing coffee, or even just chatting and laughing in the university courtyard. Despite our best efforts to keep our growing friendship under wraps, it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide the bond that was forming between us.

Mark couldn't shake the feeling that something was going on between his best friend and his sister. The secretiveness of our newfound friendship only heightened his suspicions. Why would Ethan and I keep this a secret from him if there was nothing to hide?

One evening, after a particularly productive tutoring session, Ethan and I were walking back to our dorms when we ran into Mark outside the hockey rink. He looked surprised to see us together, his eyes narrowing as he took in our relaxed demeanor.

"Hey, Y/N, Ethan," Mark greeted, his tone friendly but his eyes betraying a hint of suspicion. "What are you two up to?"

"We just finished a study session," I replied, trying to sound casual. "Ethan's really making progress."

Ethan nodded, offering Mark a genuine smile. "Yeah, Y/N's been a huge help."

Mark studied us for a moment, clearly not buying our casual demeanor. "That's great to hear," he said, his tone still friendly but now laced with curiosity. "You two seem to be spending a lot of time together."

I felt my cheeks heat up, realizing that our secret was becoming harder and harder to keep. "We're just friends, Mark. Nothing more."

Ethan chimed in, "Yeah, just trying to get my grades up and stay on the team."

Mark looked between us, his suspicion not completely alleviated but not wanting to push the issue further. "Alright, just remember, Ethan, she's my sister," he said, half-jokingly but with a serious undertone.

Ethan nodded, "I know, Mark. I'll always respect that." 

Despite Mark's attempt to convince himself that there was nothing going on between Ethan and me, his suspicions continued to gnaw at him. He couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal, knowing that the two closest people in his life were keeping something from him. Even though they weren't explicitly dating, the closeness between Ethan and me felt like a betrayal of his trust.

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As days turned into weeks, Mark found himself growing increasingly frustrated and angry. He couldn't understand why Ethan and I would keep our growing relationship a secret from him if there was nothing more to it. The more he thought about it, the more it fueled his suspicion and resentment.

One evening, Mark confronted me about his suspicions. We were alone in our dorm room, and the tension between us was palpable.

"Y/N, I need to know the truth," Mark said, his voice strained with emotion. "Are you and Ethan... more than just friends?"

I hesitated, unsure of how to respond. The truth was that Ethan and I had grown closer over the past few weeks, but we hadn't officially defined our relationship. However, I couldn't deny the growing feelings I had developed for him.

"Mark, I... I don't know what to say," I replied, feeling torn between my loyalty to my brother and my burgeoning feelings for Ethan.

Mark's expression darkened, his anger bubbling to the surface. "Don't play dumb with me, Y/N. I've seen the way you two look at each other, the way you're always together. How could you keep this from me?"

I sighed, feeling a wave of guilt wash over me. "I'm sorry, Mark. I never meant to hurt you. It just... happened."

Mark shook his head, unable to hide his disappointment. "I thought I could trust you, Y/N. I thought Ethan was my friend. But it turns out, I was wrong about both of you."

I reached out to him, desperate to mend our fractured relationship. "Mark, please. I know this is difficult, but I care about Ethan. And I care about you. I don't want to lose either of you."

But Mark pulled away, his trust shattered. "I need some time, Y/N. I need to figure out how to deal with this betrayal."

As he left the room, the weight of his words hung heavy in the air. I knew that repairing the damage to our relationship would take time and effort, but I was determined to do whatever it took to make things right.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

During the next hockey practice, the tension between Mark and Ethan was palpable. Both were competitive and passionate about the sport, but the underlying animosity stemming from Mark's feelings of betrayal added a new level of intensity to their interactions on the ice.

As they found themselves on opposite teams during a scrimmage, Mark's aggression towards Ethan became increasingly evident. He was playing more aggressively than usual, delivering harder checks and playing with a level of determination that seemed fueled by his feelings of anger and betrayal.

Ethan, sensing the change in Mark's demeanor, tried to keep his cool and focus on the game. However, it became increasingly challenging as Mark continued to target him, making the practice more of a personal vendetta than a team exercise.

At one point, during a particularly heated moment in the game, Mark delivered a high check to Ethan, causing him to crash into the boards. The impact was hard, and Ethan fell to the ice, clutching his shoulder in pain.

The coach blew the whistle, signaling an end to the scrimmage and rushing onto the ice to check on Ethan's condition. The entire team gathered around, their concern evident as Ethan struggled to his feet, wincing from the pain.

"Are you okay, Ethan?" Coach Naurato asked, his voice filled with concern.

Ethan nodded, trying to brush off the incident. "I'm fine, just a bit shaken up."

Mark, realizing the gravity of his actions, looked visibly remorseful as he approached Ethan. "I'm sorry, Ethan. I let my emotions get the best of me. That was uncalled for."

Ethan looked at Mark, his expression a mix of pain and understanding. "It's okay, Mark. I get it. But we need to figure this out."

The coach, sensing the need to address the situation immediately, called for a team meeting to discuss the underlying issues and find a way to resolve the tension between Mark and Ethan.

"As a team, we need to support each other, both on and off the ice," Coach Naurato began, addressing the entire team. "Personal issues should not interfere with our performance and unity as a team."

Mark and Ethan exchanged a glance, realizing that their personal issues were affecting not only their relationship but also the team's dynamics and performance.

"We need to find a way to resolve our differences and work together for the sake of the team," Ethan said, breaking the silence.

Mark nodded, his expression serious. "I agree, Ethan. I let my emotions cloud my judgment, and I'm sorry."

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

When I found out about the altercation between Mark and Ethan during practice, I was furious. I couldn't believe that their personal issues had escalated to the point where it was affecting the entire team. Determined to resolve the situation once and for all, I called them both over to my apartment.

As they entered, they could sense the anger and frustration in my demeanor. I didn't waste any time getting to the point.

"What the hell were you two thinking?" I exclaimed, my voice filled with anger. "You let your personal issues get in the way of the team's performance, and it's not okay!"

Mark and Ethan exchanged a guilty glance, realizing the gravity of their actions and the impact it had on the team.

Before they could respond, I continued, "I'm tired of this tension between you two. If you have a problem with each other, then deal with it like adults and stop letting it affect the team!"

Mark looked at me, his expression a mix of guilt and understanding. "You're right, Y/N. I let my emotions get the best of me, and I'm sorry. It's not fair to you, Ethan, or the team."

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my anger. "It's not just about the team, Mark. It's about your friendship with Ethan and your trust in me. I can't believe you would let this situation escalate to the point where it affects our relationship."

Mark looked at me, his expression softening. "Y/N, I've thought about it a lot, and if you and Ethan want to date, I'm okay with it. I'd be happy to have Ethan as a possible brother-in-law. I just need to know that you're both serious about each other and that this won't happen again."

Ethan looked at Mark, surprised by his admission. "Mark, are you serious? You're okay with Y/N and me dating?"

I turned to Ethan, my eyes widening in surprise. "You would want to date me?" I asked, my voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and hope.

Ethan smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at me. "Yes, Y/N, I would. Despite our initial disagreements and the challenges we've faced, I've come to care about you deeply. I'd like to see where this relationship could go, if you're willing."

I felt my heart swell with emotion, touched by his sincerity and the vulnerability he was displaying. "Ethan, I've developed feelings for you too. Despite everything, I've come to appreciate the person you are underneath all the bravado. I'd like to see where this could lead as well."

Mark, witnessing the exchange, let out a soft chuckle. "Well, it seems like the feelings are mutual. Just promise me that you both will be honest with each other and with me moving forward. I want you both to be happy, but I also want to make sure that this won't cause any issues with the team or our friendship."

Ethan and I nodded in agreement, grateful for Mark's understanding and support. "We promise, Mark," I assured him. "Our relationship won't change our commitment to our friendship or the team."

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

After Mark had given his approval for Ethan and me to date, the dynamic between the three of us shifted noticeably. The tension that once clouded our interactions began to dissipate, replaced by a newfound sense of camaraderie and mutual respect.

Mark, always the protective older brother, now seemed more at ease with our relationship. He made an effort to include Ethan in our family gatherings and often invited him over for dinner or to watch hockey games on TV. It was clear that Mark was trying to build a strong relationship with Ethan, not just as a teammate but now also as a potential future brother-in-law.

One evening, Mark organized a small get-together at our family home. It was an informal gathering, with just a few close friends and teammates. As Ethan and I arrived, Mark greeted us warmly at the door, a genuine smile on his face.

"Hey, you two. Come on in," Mark said, giving me a playful nudge and a wink. "Ethan, glad you could make it."

"Thanks for having us, Mark," Ethan replied, returning the smile. "Smells great in here."

Throughout the evening, Mark made an effort to involve both Ethan and me in conversations, ensuring we felt comfortable and included. He even shared a few embarrassing childhood stories about me, much to my chagrin, but it was all in good fun and made for a lively and enjoyable evening.

As the night wore on, Mark pulled Ethan aside for a private conversation. I couldn't help but feel a bit anxious, wondering what they were discussing. After a few minutes, they rejoined the group, both of them wearing satisfied smiles.

"Everything okay?" I asked, looking between the two of them.

"Yeah, everything's great," Mark replied, putting an arm around Ethan's shoulders. "I've got to say, Y/N, you've picked a good one."

Ethan chuckled, his cheeks turning a shade of red. "Thanks, Mark. I think you're pretty great too."

As the months passed, our relationship continued to flourish, and Mark's initial reservations about Ethan and me dating seemed to fade away completely. He became one of our biggest supporters, always there to offer advice, lend a listening ear, or celebrate our milestones as a couple.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

One weekend, Ethan and I planned a getaway trip to a cabin in the mountains. Knowing that Mark was an experienced hiker and outdoorsman, we invited him to join us. To our surprise, he agreed, and the three of us spent a memorable weekend hiking, exploring, and bonding over shared meals and campfire stories.

By the end of the trip, it was clear that Ethan had earned Mark's trust and respect. They had forged a strong bond, built on mutual interests and a shared love for adventure. As we packed up to leave, Mark pulled Ethan aside for another private conversation.

"Take care of her, okay?" Mark said, his voice filled with sincerity.

"You have my word, Mark," Ethan replied, shaking Mark's hand firmly. "I care about Y/N deeply, and I'll always do my best to make her happy."

As we drove back home, I couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude and happiness. I was grateful for Ethan's unwavering support and love, but also for Mark's acceptance and the bond we had all formed together.

honestly I hate this, but I wanted to get something out for you guys. Please dont be afraid to request!

[shitsndgiggs]

reader being a gymnast but she gets injured, and she cant go to the olympics because she has to have surgery, and kenan is there to take care of her and when shes allowed to walk again he takes her to his football matches so she isnt bored home alone…

angst at the beginning, then fluff at the end

THICK AND THIN - KENAN YILDIZ

Kenan helping you through your injury

Kenan Yildiz x gymnast! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

It was the day that everything was supposed to fall into place—the culmination of years of relentless training, early mornings, and late nights. The Olympic trials had been circled on my calendar for as long as I could remember.

But instead of celebrating a dream coming true, I was lying in a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling with a dull ache in my chest that was far worse than the pain in my knee.

The injury had happened so fast. One moment, I was in mid-air, performing a routine I had practiced hundreds of times, and the next, I was on the mat, my knee twisted in a way it wasn’t supposed to go.

The pain was immediate, but it was nothing compared to the realization that followed—the realization that my dreams of competing in the Olympics had just shattered in a single moment.

Kenan had been at the gym when it happened, watching from the sidelines like he often did, offering quiet support that meant more to me than he probably realized. He was by my side in an instant, his face pale with worry as he called for help.

He didn’t leave my side, not in the ambulance, not in the hospital room, and certainly not when the doctor came in with the news I had been dreading.

“You’ll need surgery,” the doctor had said, his voice gentle but firm. “And recovery will take time—several months, at least. The Olympics… I’m sorry, but it’s not going to be possible this time.”

Those words echoed in my head over and over as I lay there, feeling like the ground had been ripped out from under me. The Olympics were gone, and with them, everything I had worked for.

Kenan sat beside me, holding my hand, his thumb gently stroking over my knuckles. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. His presence was the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

I shook my head, tears spilling down my cheeks. “It’s not your fault. I just… I don’t know what to do now, Kenan. This was everything to me.”

He squeezed my hand a little tighter. “You’re still everything to me. And we’ll get through this together, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

The weeks that followed were a blur of doctor’s appointments, physical therapy, and long, quiet days at home. The surgery had gone well, but the recovery was slow and painful.

There were days when it felt like I’d never get back to where I was, when the weight of what I’d lost was too much to bear.

Kenan was there for all of it. He made sure I took my medications, helped me with my exercises, and never once let me wallow in self-pity for too long. He was patient and kind, even when I was short-tempered and frustrated.

He cooked my favorite meals, kept the apartment tidy, and somehow always knew exactly what I needed, even when I didn’t know myself.

But as much as I appreciated his care, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being a burden. Kenan was in the prime of his football career, and here I was, holding him back. I tried to tell him to go to practice, to focus on his career, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” he’d say with a smile, brushing a kiss against my forehead.

It wasn’t until I was finally allowed to start walking again that things began to change. The first steps were tentative, shaky, but they were steps nonetheless. Kenan was there, of course, cheering me on like I had just won a gold medal.

His encouragement meant everything, and slowly but surely, I started to regain some of my strength.

But the long days at home still dragged on, and Kenan could see how restless I was becoming. So one day, after another grueling physical therapy session, he surprised me.

“How about you come to my match tomorrow?” he asked as we sat on the couch, my legs stretched out on his lap.

I looked at him, surprised. “Really? But won’t it be… you know, distracting?”

Kenan chuckled, shaking his head. “Distracting? Are you kidding? Having you there would be the best motivation I could ask for. Plus, I think you could use a change of scenery.”

He was right, of course. I needed to get out of the apartment, to feel like I was part of the world again.

So the next day, I found myself sitting in the stands at the stadium, surrounded by the roar of the crowd and the smell of freshly cut grass.

It felt strange at first, being on the sidelines instead of in the spotlight, but as the match began, I found myself getting caught up in the excitement.

Kenan was amazing to watch, his focus and determination on full display as he moved across the field with the kind of grace and power that had always taken my breath away.

But every so often, he’d glance up at the stands, searching for me, and when our eyes met, he’d smile, and it was like we were the only two people in the world.

After the match, which they won, Kenan came straight over to me, still in his kit, sweat-soaked and grinning like a kid.

“What did you think?” he asked, practically glowing.

I smiled, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. “You were incredible, Kenan. Thank you for bringing me.”

He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “You being here made it even better.”

From that day on, I started attending more of his matches, and it became our new routine. It wasn’t the same as training for the Olympics, but it was something, and it felt good to be out and about, supporting him the way he had supported me.

And slowly, as the weeks turned into months, I started to find a new rhythm to my life.

The pain of missing the Olympics never completely went away, but with Kenan by my side, it became more bearable.

He helped me see that there was more to life than one moment, that there were other dreams to chase, other goals to reach.

One night, as we lay in bed, Kenan wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. “You know,” he murmured against my hair, “you’re the strongest person I know. I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

I turned in his arms, looking up at him with a small smile. “I couldn’t have gotten through this without you, Kenan. You’ve been my rock.”

He kissed me softly, his hand gently brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. “We’re in this together, remember? And we always will be.”

[writing-for-life]

Hob Gadling’s Involvement in the Transatlantic Slave Trade between the 16th and 19th Century

The Fallacy of (clumsily written) Racial Reconciliation or: Is show/Hob really different from comics!Hob

I originally wrote this a while back as a reply to someone else’s post, but since we’ve been discussing “Men of Good Fortune” (comics) and “The Sound of Her Wings” (Netflix) in our community over the past weeks, I’ve expanded on a few points of my original thoughts.

This post discusses difficult topics, systemic racism, questions of social (in)justice and problematic angles in writing. If that’s not your thing, this is the exit sign…

A question that comes up quite frequently is the following:

Is show!Hob different from comics!Hob?

Hob’s conversation with Dream in 1789 (and not just 1789) in the show has been significantly altered (compared to the comics), and it makes it tempting to believe this somehow makes him different regarding the more problematic side of his character.

In the comics, we have a bit of dialogue in 1789 that shows how deeply involved in the slave trade Hob was: “I sort of started it,” said with a hint of, dare I say, pride? And then brushing off Dream’s concerns by saying, “It’s a living.” Twice.

(They changed this to, “It’s just how it’s done”, and a shrug in the show.)

And it’s true: If this had been integrated into the show, it would have painted him in an even worse light. However, I personally think it was the wrong move to leave it out (Ferdinand Kingsley carefully voiced something along those lines as well btw). Because now the show pushed Hob’s whole involvement in the slave trade much more into the direction of, “Oopsie.”

Can we truly take leaving out the above dialogue as a hint that Hob might be a better person in the show? I’d like to really reflect on that--leaving out those comments can’t make him a better person. Even if we change his arc slightly and he “wasn’t that involved.” You’re involved, or you aren’t. There is no, “I tried a bit of slave trading and decided it wasn’t for me.” One could even argue it makes the angle of the show more problematic because it makes the slave trade a “little blip” in his timeline. Things like that can’t be a blip. I personally think the writers made a mistake here, but that’s obviously just my opinion.

If there wasn’t enough space in the show to expand on it (which I get for a side character), I feel they should have left out the slavery arc completely instead of keeping, but then minimising it (that might sound contradictory, but it only does if you don’t look at it too closely). It already didn't sit right with me 30 years ago to use slavery as a side note for showing a white person’s character development without properly examining the damage caused, and it still doesn't sit right with me now. It makes the plight of PoC a plot vehicle to centre white people’s guilt, and I always thought that’s a blind spot only white people have (and I’m white myself, to get that out of the road straightaway).

I’m not saying it couldn’t or shouldn’t have been used narratively. Or that you can’t show remorse and atonement/redemption for the most heinous acts (that’s not the same as forgiveness—I’ll get to that). Or that characters who have committed said acts are irredeemable. But it would have needed to be fleshed out instead of making it a comment in passing. Many books and movies do exactly that. But the point is that it’s never been fleshed out.

“But they had to shorten and streamline it…”—just no. Because to me (and ofc people are free to disagree), that exactly proves the point—centring the white guy while sidelining the people who suffer. I am a bit doubtful we’ll get anything remotely appropriate in the show after what we’ve already seen. Only time will tell, so I’m withholding final judgment at this point. Fact is: It is uncomfortable to watch for people with any sensitivity on the matter.

And yet, there is a lot of focus on leaving out Hob voicing his regret in 1889, since that (again) “would have painted him in a better light.”

While simultaneously regularly failing to mention that he proudly proclaimed he “invented” the triangle trade. Can we really pick and choose his traits like that? Hob is a materialistic opportunist who also has some regrets. That doesn’t mean he can’t exist as a character, or that we’re not allowed to like him (morally grey characters are often the most compelling ones). We don’t need to sanitise him though, or try to erase his problematic traits from canon. The same goes for other characters (yes, I’m looking at you, Dream, and I’m sure we’ll get to that very soon—in fact, we’re possibly starting tomorrow 🫣). If we are talking about Hob’s remorse, we are probably mostly thinking about Sunday Mourning, so I need to bring in issue #73 at this point (this is your spoiler warning if you don’t want to read ahead).

The Fallacy of Racial Reconciliation

Very plainly:

A black woman is used as a vehicle to forgive Hob. And said black woman has been written by a white male author for that sole purpose without giving her anything else to do. I personally think NG got that wrong. It was clumsy and insensitive to POC, and I really hope they change this for the show. It’s a fact that he really wasn’t good with writing black female characters in the whole run—they all get fridged in one way or another, and he even admits it in the Sandman Companion. And then turns around and basically implies that it's all okay now because “nothing bad” happens to Gwen once Morpheus is dead. She is allowed to be a vehicle for the character development of a white guy though. It’s just really insensitive, and I sincerely hope they don't put it in the show this way. And I’m glad that we're seeing hints it might not happen--at least the casting in the show hints at it (from Lucienne, Death and Rose to very likely turning Carla into a white man—we already met Carl, and that’s who he is IMHO).

There is also the not so small fact that Hob is, even in his guilt and shame (shame is always about yourself, and that’s actually very in keeping with his character), not honest with Gwen. The thing about him basically inventing the triangle trade, which he so proudly proclaimed in 1789?

The English who were so good at it? The “Jack” Hawkins he talked about in 1789? That’s actually this dude:

And Hob funded him 200 years before 1789, and enabled Hawkins. Hob was involved in what became the transatlantic slave trade well before 1789–he already funded it when he had money in the 1500s.

He carried that mindset around with him for literal hundreds of years and saw nothing wrong with it until at least (! more about that in a sec) 1789. Dream had to rub his nose in it, otherwise it wouldn’t even have occurred to him (or did it, and he just chose to ignore it--see below).

Hob has been written as a stand-in for humanity, British Imperialism and England over the centuries—with all that entails.

So how honest is he with Gwen? And how long, even after 1789, was he still involved, even after abolition in England (Somerset vs. Stewart declared slavery unlawful in England in 1772, but that wasn't true for the rest of the British Empire. Buying and selling slaves was only made illegal in 1807, while owning slaves only became unlawful with the Abolition Act of 1833, and it took another year to buy out slave owners to actually make it happen)? Because there’s still this:

“It got worse when they did [outlaw the slave trade]. You only needed one voyage in three to make a profit. You could afford to dump your cargo if… you spotted a British Man o’ War.” How does he know? Why does he have these nightmares? We can take a guess…

That’s not someone who tried it for a couple of weeks and then thought, “Sorry, my bad.” That’s someone who has been opportunistically involved from the 1500s and potentially until after slavery was unlawful in England, which it already was when he talked to Dream in 1789. So does his feigned ignorance of, "It's a living/It's how it's done?" really hold? Especially if he potentially kept going, even after that convo with Dream? When I wrote "between the 16th and 19th Century" in the header, that's exactly what I meant...

Guilt and Shame

Yes, what we see above and in all the other panels is guilt and shame. And it reminded me of this:

And I’d encourage everyone to really listen to what Jasper has to say, and sit with the feelings it brings up. Because I can still remember watching this in the George Floyd aftermath for the first time, and how deeply uncomfortable it made me—because he’s right.

Black people/PoC do not need to forgive and absolve white people from their guilt. They can if they wish to, but that’s their choice, not ours. It’s not for white people to absolve other white people from their guilt around the oppression of PoC. And that’s why it could be argued it’s not for white people to write a black character to do that in their stead either (they can of course, but then they need to live with the fact that people will call them tone-deaf). It could also be argued it is something that cannot be forgiven retrospectively, and white people need to be okay with that. It can only be worked on in the present with a view to the future. And as Jasper also so rightly points out:

The guilt is not even helpful (at least Gwen has the right sentiment there, but it’s still falls incredibly flat over all), and shame only centres ourselves.

Forgiveness vs Redemption

Hob Gadling's regrets don't make everything he did forgivable. I think it actually does the story a disservice if that’s our main takeaway, because this is truly one of the bits of The Sandman that’s written in an extremely tone-deaf manner. NG isn’t the first author who did this, but we can take something good and helpful from this, and that’s engaging with these questions instead of brushing them under the carpet—because that’s what literary analysis is about.

It should be clear that I do see Hob Gadling as narratively important because I see him as a stand-in for humanity, and more specifically, English history. And there is really so much to learn from that.

Writers can get things narratively right but still be emotionally tone-deaf due to their own blind-spots. We don’t need to assume malice, but we also don’t need to leave it entirely unchallenged.

And because of that, we can certainly see Hob as someone who has to live with his conscience, and the consequences of his actions, for the rest of his life and struggles with that (as he should). And maybe we can see him as someone who is now, finally, trying to do the work. Because that is what atonement and redemption actually mean:

Taking action to rectify past wrongs. Actively working against the harm once caused, and preventing it from ever happening again. And I hope that’s what he does, and the signs are there (but there are also still signs that he values covering up his immortality higher than e.g. telling Gwen the truth. And we can find a million excuses for why that is, but ultimately, none of them truly matter).

However, it is not the same as forgiveness from the people we have wronged. Forgiveness is not a prerequisite to redemption, although it can be a part of it if the person who has been wronged chooses to extend it. But the people Hob wronged are dead, while their descendants still need to live with the pain people like Hob caused to this very day. So while I don’t see him as irredeemable, I don’t think he needs to, or even can, be forgiven—especially not by black people (unless they choose to. But it is also fine if they don’t, and again, we need to be okay with that). And we could say, “But Gwen chose to.” To that, I say:

I wonder what Gwen would have said if he had been truly honest with her (which he wasn’t, see below panels). That wouldn’t have been an embrace is my guess…

[jadeacereigen]

Signs Serizawa knows Reigen has no powers

The Reigen spinoff implies that Reigen hasn't told Serizawa who he really is yet. I think plenty of people have taken this to mean that Serizawa is still unaware, but I disagree. I'm fairly certain that Serizawa already knows the truth and has accepted it, not caring to call Reigen out for his lies because they don't matter that much to him.

Read ahead for a long list because I have no life...

1) Mob's memories

We don't really know what exactly Serizawa saw from Mob's memories (we catch a few glimpses in the anime, but we don't know how many memories he saw nor how clearly he actually did). However, it could be enough for Serizawa to know what Mob knew at the time—maybe not that Reigen is powerless entirely, but at least that he is lying about what he is truly capable of.

2) Serizawa probably overheard the conversation between Toichiro and Reigen

I mean, he jumps in to save Reigen at the perfect time, so I feel like he was watching the conversation leading up to that point from the sidelines. Toichiro called Reigen out for being a powerless fraud, and Reigen did not confirm but he also did not deny it.

3) Serizawa only defied Toichiro when he was going to attack Reigen

The fact that Serizawa finally decides to defy Toichiro at that key moment... I feel like he was only able to muster up that courage because he knew it was a matter of life or death for Reigen. He knew that Reigen wouldn't be able to defend himself like Mob or Shou could, so he finally decided to act then despite knowing it would betray the man he admired most.

4) Serizawa never questions why Reigen is unable to do certain things

Granted, a lot of this is just how Serizawa is as a person, as he's not the confrontational type at all and tends to just go with the flow. However, even Mob questioned Reigen sometimes, like pointing out that he should've been able to see weak spirits or asking why he didn't do anything to help. Serizawa never does, he never really expects Reigen to do anything regarding spiritual matters. Serizawa never questions why Reigen does nothing in the yokai fight, for example.

People might point to times where Serizawa leaves Reigen to do something on his own (i.e. the train ova where Serizawa leaves Reigen in the parallel dimension or the scene in Season 3 where Serizawa initially says nothing while Reigen holds a cursed object). However, I don't think it necessarily means Serizawa thinks Reigen has powers, I think it just means Serizawa trusts Reigen's experience in the field. Serizawa may be a powerful esper, but he has little experience using his powers in an actual job.

In the train OVA, Serizawa was just following advice from a business handbook that said to never question one's boss. I think it's notable that the moment Reigen tells Serizawa he can make decisions for himself, the first thing Serizawa says is "Please, let me help you somehow." It feels like that was something Serizawa wanted to do this whole time, but Reigen kept telling him to leave him to his investigation and he felt like he had to listen.

A similar mindset is why Serizawa just lets Reigen hold a really cursed object and doesn't say anything about it until Reigen asks him. Serizawa was just too used to blindly leaving things to his superior rather than following what he thought was right.

5) Serizawa tries to stop Reigen from entering the storm

When Reigen and Serizawa try to brave the storm caused by Shigeo, Serizawa says that they cannot continue as his powers are being drained. Reigen tells him that he will go forward on his own, claiming he'll be fine, but Serizawa says "there's no way you'll be fine!"

Those aren't the words of someone who believes Reigen has any powers, in my opinion. Those are the words of someone who knows Reigen is utterly powerless and sincerely believes that him braving the storm will be a death sentence. If someone as powerful as Serizawa can't brave the storm, how could Reigen possibly survive?

6) Serizawa never refers to Reigen as a psychic

PLEASE CORRECT ME IF I'M WRONG. However, I genuinely do not recall any scene where Serizawa refers to Reigen as a psychic or even mentions Reigen having powers. Even Mob, despite questioning Reigen's honesty, referred to him as a strong psychic from time to time. Serizawa never does that, as far as I can tell.

Anyway, that's all the evidence I can think of. Thanks for reading if you made it this far 😭

[halfmylife]

Late Night Confessions

Pairing Finan x Reader

Summary you escape to catch your breath when Finan joins you and suddenly your confessing your feelings

Warnings none

A/N as it’s Valentine’s Day here’s something cute and fluffy

The night was peaceful. Even with rowdy shouts from the men in the ale house, the city was peaceful. The breeze was gentle and the stars sparkled above, you could not take your eyes off of them.

It had been a long day. You supposed you should be inside, drowning your troubles away with ale and celebrating with the others but you could not bring yourself to do so. Having spent all day trying to get back to Finan during the battle only to see him chatting happily with another woman about his glory made something sink to your stomach.

You have never painted yourself as the jealous type and you told yourself that was not the case at all. It was not jealousy, you were simply tired. Yet, you could not erase that very image from your mind. So here you were, standing outside on your own, staring up at the dark sky.

“Are you not cold out here?” Finan’s voice cut through the peace and caused your stomach to drop. It was until you felt his presence beside you that you realised you’d been holding your breath.

“No I’m fine.” You tried to suppress the shudder that tingled down your spine but he was not so easily fooled. Your eyes never met as he stood beside you, his gaze following the direction of your own.

“Ya know we’re supposed to be celebrating?” He said suddenly, you could hear him take another sip of his ale next to you but you still did not dare to look at him.

“I suppose I just needed some air.” It was a poor excuse and half true at best. You wanted space, need it even. There was only so long you could watch on the sidelines whilst he was so content and you weren’t.

“Do you have an excuse for everything or are you gonna continue to lie to me?” He adjusted himself to face you fully and waited for you to argue back. Your face dropped at the statement, finally forcing you to look at him.

“I’m not lying.” You protested. Another lie.

“Ya are. Plain as day.” He argued, pointing a finger at you. “How many times do I have to tell ya, ya can’t lie to me.”

“Please Finan, I am fine.” your tone was calmer than before, trying to reassure yourself more than him. When that didn’t seem to work you turned away again, trying another tactic. “I’m sure you have plenty of ale to drink and women to charm, I would not want to keep you.”

“The ale and women can wait, you can’t.” How you hated when he said things like that. Any words like those made you think you had a chance when you knew that much was untrue. “So what’s troubling you?”

“Nothing, like I said I am fine.” Your jaw was clenched and you spoke through gritted teeth. Finan was always observant when it came to you, knew every expression of yours and knew exactly what they meant. There was nothing you could hide from him. It was both a blessing and a curse.

“And yet you’re getting riled up.” He teased.

“I am not.” You snapped.

“Like I said, you’re a terrible liar.” He laughed, he actually had the nerve to alight whilst you stood there, red faced and clearly not enjoying the conversation. “Just tell me and I’ll leave you alone to sulk.”

“I’m not sulking.” You mumbled. Alright, maybe you were but he didn’t need to know that and you certainly wouldn’t admit to it anytime soon.

“Ya are!” He argued once more. Finan knew exactly how to get under your skin and he was doing exactly that. “Staring off into the distance like a child that’s been scolded.”

“Will you stop?” Your voice rose unintentionally but you’d grown tired of his teasing and giddiness, all you wanted was to be left alone.

“I won’t stop until you tell me what’s bothering you?” Finan’s voice was soft when he spoke this time, clearly aware of your disposition. He knew something was bothering you, why else would you be in a foul mood? The man wouldn’t stop until he knew he’d helped however he could.

“Fine.” You’d given in. For a second you paused, thinking of how to word it. ‘I’m in love with you’ didn’t seem to be the right way to go about it. “I have fallen for someone but they do not feel the same way.” Really? That was how it came out? There was no going back now as it cling to the air around you.

“How’d you know?” He asked, scoffing. Was it really not obvious? Had you not spent years loving him? You half wondered if he was about to voice his own confession but it never came.

“I just know.” You sighed. Countless times you’d seen him entertaining women and the mornings after you’d always hear about it no matter how much you protested.

“Have you bothered to ask?” He asked as though it was as simple as that. Could you imagine?

Good morning, Finan. I’m in love with you, do you feel the same way? It was laughable.

“I don’t need to, I’ve seen how they feel.” You shook it off and kept your eyes trained ahead. It was easier, that way you didn’t have to look at him. Maybe you wouldn’t give anything away if you didn’t look at him.

“Is the bugger blind?” He half shouted. It was not the reaction you had expected but it wasn’t unwelcome. The thought tugged at you, don’t let this fool you, he doesn’t mean it. “Half the men in Winchester would fight each other bloody for a chance with you.” Hardly. The men of Winchester would hump anything that breathed if they could.

“You are just being kind.” You retorted slightly sarcastically. Most men wanted anything they could get their hands on, you would not consider yourself to be one of those things.

“I am being honest.” He corrected you, inching closer to you. There was little space between you to start with but now as he adjusted himself your arms brushed against each other, the sensation sending a flutter through your stomach. “You are incredible and fearless. Any man would be lucky to call you his.”

“And yet he does not want me.” That’s what you had always told yourself and yet he was here, staving beside you and complimenting you like you were the sun and moon. That was just how Finan was, how he’d always been.

“You don’t know that.” He rebutted. Finan seemed almost excited at the prospect and you hoped he’d stay this excited if you ever finally confessed. “What’s stopping you from walking in there and taking him by the shirt and telling him how you feel?”

“He’s not in there.” You blurted out, turning to face him again. You regretted it the moment it came out.

“Then where is he?” He faced you fully, waiting for an answer that did not come.

“Finan.” You whispered. No don’t say a thing, you told yourself. He doesn’t need to know, tell him a lie and forget about it. Before you could even think of a lie, he’d read your face word for word and realised what you had meant. His face dropped and his body visibly deflated as he processed it all. You couldn’t stop yourself from speaking, the words pouring out. “I never wanted to tell you. I thought you were happier not knowing, that maybe I wasn’t the one you wanted.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, it had been only seconds and yet it felt like forever. Say something, please, anything. You remained still, watching as he stepped back, placing his mug of ale down far more gently than usual. All you wanted to do was run, save yourself the embarrassment of any more words but then he spoke.

“How long have you felt like this?” Was all he asked and you no longer felt the strength to hold back or lie anymore. There was no turning back now.

“Years.” Your voice was breathy and you could feel the tears filling your eyes. Do not cry, now is not the time for tears. You searched his face for any sign of anything and still you could not stop the words. “But I knew you never wanted me the same way.” He seemed more shocked by that statement than the realisation of your feelings and it took him a moment to compose himself.

“After everything I just said, you think I never wanted you?” His brows were furrowed as you spoke and you couldn’t help but feel taken back. Maybe it had a been a passing phase and nothing more, maybe it was long forgotten.

“You were always preoccupied with other women.” You said, half to yourself. Now was not the time for jealousy but it had been one of those things that always nagged at you no matter how much you tried to avoid it.

“I never had you for the jealous type.” He laughed after a moment and suddenly the tension drained from your body.

“Finan!” You snapped, giggling as you did. You finally felt like you had him back. He no longer stood away from you perplexed, instead he closed the distance, gently cupping your face. You felt so small in his grasp but you didn’t want to move an inch, savouring this moment that you have craved for so long.

“Those women, they were never you.” He started to confess as his thumb rubbed against your now red cheeks. “All this time I thought I’d never stand a chance. You always kept your distance from me, I thought you hated me.” You couldn’t help but laugh a little as the words came out, though he didn’t seem to mind.

“I could never hate you.” You whispered, your hands finally reaching out for him. You placed your palms against his chest as if to keep yourself steady but you lost focus as soon as you heard the beating of his heart.

“There was never anyone but you.” He admitted and the thrum of your heart only grew louder with each word. There had never been anyone but Finan.

“Do you mean it?” You asked foolishly, in hopes this wasn’t some cruel joke. He only held you tighter, too afraid to let you go now that it was out in the open.

“I mean it. I’ve been a fool all these years.” The moment he reassured you, you practically beamed at him, the tears no longer in your eyes. When you tried to look away from his gaze, his hand held you in place, you gaze pouring into his deep eyes. “There’s that smile I love so much.”

“Shut up.” You laughed.

“Oh you’ll have to make-” before he could even finished you crashed your lips onto his, burying your hands in his hair as you pulled him closer. He kissed you back, pulling you in by the waist.

In that moment neither of you wanted it to end.

[spot-the-antisemitism]

“pro-Pal” anon - I want to apologize for several things because I clearly communicated poorly

First, I didn’t mean to imply you aren’t Jewish or your perspective isnt! When I said “a Jewish perspective” on the slur usage, all I meant is that I’ve seen Jewish users talk about this as an issue too, not just others watching from the sidelines, and obviously you don’t know who I am so I didn’t want to go “Hi, just butting in with information which is irrelevant to jumblr!” bc I’ve first found these conversations amongst Jewish bloggers, but they haven’t had a gigantic amount of reach to where it’s still commonly used (which is why I’ve seen a couple jumblr blogs make PSAs about it).

Secondly, I also didn’t mean to imply ‘zio’ is 100% directly equivalent etc, and you’re completely right about all of the conspiratorial uses. It’s a horrible word, and nobody should be using it for any purpose, but I guess my phrasing made it come off as assuming you didn’t know that. Clearly you do, because you run this blog and experience this shit firsthand. I truly did not mean to denigrate your lived experience or expertise or imply you don’t know how slurs work or something. The purpose of the comparison was that you know exactly what you’re talking about when it comes to antisemitism (more than me clearly!) so I was trying to think how they’re used in similar ways sometimes (as you acknowledged).

Third, I’m swear not a hamasnik, and I’m not sending this randomly due to tag searching, or mass-asking (I mean; nobody else got that ask), I sent the ask because I’ve been following this enough with multiple people to see that your blog is fairly influential (I see you reblogged on my dash with some frequency), and I genuinely have encountered a fair number of people (of all backgrounds, not singling out Jewish ppl here) who didn’t realize there was a slur within the phrase and went “Oh ok I’ll use a different word.” I was trying to cover my bases in case you were unfamiliar—not with the issues at hand but with a very specific usage of a word used against Palestinians, which is not something tossed at you personally afaik—not to imply you were generally ignorant of racial hatred in some way. The whole point of this blog is that you’re not. If I thought you were it’d be pointless to try.

Thank you for your consideration about using ‘hamasnik’ as an alternative. I completely agree that the Western movement is not pro-Palestine, simply anti-Israel (often extending to anti-Jewish) and those two things are not equivalent. There’s no excuse for the way the ‘movement’ as such has treated and continues to treat Jews, nor for valorizing Hamas’s crimes against humanity.

I will push back on some things you claimed about me though because they are wrong: sending this had NOTHING to do with Sinwar’s death and accusing someone of terror apologia over an ask which did not mention him or Hamas is a big reach. He was a butcher of Israelis and Palestinians alike, a murderer, a rapist, a truly hateful man, and I am glad he can do no more harm in the world. And what it’s worth, I have been called several slurs with some frequency, including as threats of violence and rape said to my face. That I have no experience of oppression not a particularly kind assumption to make about me, and I’m kind of alarmed at how hostile and unnecessary it was to “call me out” as a non-oppressed person. I did not mean to cross such a line as to inspire that reaction, but I won’t lie, it did kind of make me feel like shit.

You obviously don’t have to post this if you don’t want to, all I want to say is I meant no harm, I do NOT support Hamas, but I do support the work you do calling out antisemitism, which is why I was even on your blog and seeing it on others—I genuinely wasn’t sure if you knew because I’ve met people who were surprised to learn it wasn’t just shorthand for “Palestinian” and without that context it sounds harmless. I’m sorry if I came off as condescending (I’ve been told my sentence structure sometimes does when I’m trying to word things very carefully but I’m still figuring out how to avoid it) or confrontational, and again thank you for acknowledging the slurs/their history in your post and for using ‘hamasnik’. The people (mainly white goyim) being antisemitic & racist themselves need to be called out and I’m glad you’re doing it. That said if I upset you enough that you’d like me to not interact with you or view/follow your blog, I will honor that, though I plan to keep following the other Jewish bloggers I do and continue keeping track of rising antisemitism as well as anti-Palestinian hatred. If I’m uneducated and ignorant, I’ll just have to learn more, but if this isn’t the place for me specifically to do it in your opinion, I’ll respect that.

Thanks for taking the time to read this, and again, I’m sorry.

Dear "pro-pal is a slur anon",

I have gravely misunderstood your intentions because you came off as very condescending

first, I am aware of what spacelazarwolf said, I follow spacelazarwolf, I had argued at the time it's not a slur when talking about non arab non palestineans. I now see I was wrong and apologize.

Second, thanks for realizing I know more about slurs than you but again I probably shouldn't have dissmissed the palestinean perspective and said I know better, anymore than you shouldn't consider you know. Zio is a slur even when used agaisnt gentiles, Pal/Pali is a slur even when used against non palestineans. We agree

I was already using hamasnik but yeah I should have switched to it sooner, honestly.

"I completely agree that the Western movement is not pro-Palestine, simply anti-Israel (often extending to anti-Jewish) and those two things are not equivalent. There’s no excuse for the way the ‘movement’ as such has treated and continues to treat Jews, nor for valorizing Hamas’s crimes against humanity."

^ this right here

Third, I assumed you weren't trying to reach me but actually condescend and scold me for wrongdoing to discredit me and not in good faith at all. you do not know how many times people claimed i have sexually harrased, abused their cat despite never meeting them that I was racist for "spade", that I could be dissmissed because I cannot spell so "pro-pal is a slur actually" sounded like another reason to discredit me and paint me as evil, racist and uninformed

"And what it’s worth, I have been called several slurs with some frequency, including as threats of violence and rape said to my face. That I have no experience of oppression not a particularly kind assumption to make about me, and I’m kind of alarmed at how hostile and unnecessary it was to “call me out” as a non-oppressed person. I did not mean to cross such a line as to inspire that reaction, but I won’t lie, it did kind of make me feel like shit."

No excuse for saying that.I really need to stop with "ooh you sound like you're not oppressed enough" it's deeply harmful to assume

Sorry for calling you supporter of hamas that was uncalled for. please forgive me. I like when people ask me to condemn Israel it is hypocritical of me to ask you to prove you don't support hamas

"That said if I upset you enough that you’d like me to not interact with you or view/follow your blog, I will honor that, though I plan to keep following the other Jewish bloggers I do and continue keeping track of rising antisemitism as well as anti-Palestinian hatred. If I’m uneducated and ignorant, I’ll just have to learn more,"

While you have deeply offended me and I you in turn, I honestly think if you want to learn, I think talking to me is beneficial to both of us and if you want to keep talking that's up to you

and why on EARTH would I not publish the post exonerating you?

thank you for pushing back,

Cecil

[juyeonszn]

AND THEN THERE IS YOU

PAIRING ju haknyeon x f!reader (gn technically since there are no gendered terms)

WORD COUNT 1.17k

GENRES fluff ﹒very slight angst like blink and u miss it

WARNINGS another fic of mine that doesn’t require an 18+ warning… fawn in her tamed era 🙏, ur heart will ache from how </3 this is, mentions of divorce, reader had kind of a shitty childhood, reader also has some intimacy issues, hak is the most patient and kind person ever, throws up everywhere bc me when </3

SUMMARY he was content loving you until you were ready to love him.

MORE ANDDDDD my insanity strikes again!!!!1!1!1! aka in my dr. seuss william shakespeare edgar allan poe steven king arc 😍 my inspiration has been crazy lately, so enjoy this before juyeonszn goes into a drought deeper into the semester 😭 ANYWAYS MAE (@maessseongs) HERE U GO!! i kept it fluffier and kinda short bc it just felt right, i hope that’s okay with u! this is the last request from my 100 followers event so far ✨ prompts used are: 2, 7 >:)

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs

Relationships were a weird concept to you. Growing up, you’d never really been shown affection. Your parents weren’t the type to pack your lunch for school in the morning and send you off with a peck on the cheek followed by an ‘I Love You’.

In fact, they never told you that they loved you very often. Maybe a handful of times in your whole life did you hear those three words uttered from them. And even less did you hear that they were proud of you. It was worse when you took a step back and watched their own crumbling marriage.

As long as they’d been together, you never heard them tell the other how much they were appreciated. They fought more than they got along. You usually fell asleep to the sound of doors slamming and loud arguing in the hallway. When they finally decided to get a divorce, you almost cried out of joy. They were draining more out of you than each other.

So, perhaps that had to do with your fucked up view of relationships as you became an adult. You could never fully comprehend what love was since you didn’t exactly have stellar role models. Boyfriends came and went, losing interest as soon as they realized how disconnected you were. Your heart was never truly in it.

And then, you met Haknyeon.

Sweet sweet Haknyeon, who only cared about your happiness and your well being. Haknyeon, who didn’t ask you for more than you could give. Who didn’t push you for answers when you shut him out. Who patiently waited on the sidelines while you rebooted yourself.

If there were a higher being out in the universe, they’d done an excellent job at putting all the best qualities into Ju Haknyeon. By some miracle or a stroke of luck, he found his way to you. You’ll always think that he deserves better than you, but you’ll also always be eternally grateful that you have him.

As summer takes its last breath and the air begins to chill, leaves wilting to the streets and crunching below the feet of passersby, your motivation to get up in the mornings has started its tumultuous decline. You don’t know what it is about the change in seasons that continues to put a damper in your mood as the years go on, but it’s become almost too much to bear. It was no longer a dull pressure in the pit of your stomach and the back of your mind. Now it was a heaviness that settled in your heart and weighed you down.

It was a Thursday evening and you were tucked into bed already, despite a peek of the sun still visible over the horizon. Your head was pounding despite the room being silent. You curl into yourself further just as your bedroom door creaks open. Haknyeon whispers an apology, going to exit the room when he sees the state you’re in.

It was standard for him to leave you alone until you were ready to talk. He knew you had a hard time opening up, considering what you’d grown up with, and he didn’t want to be the person who pestered you to tell him what was wrong. He wanted you to feel comfortable coming to him first. Haknyeon couldn’t handle being the reason you were pushed to your breaking point.

But for some reason, this time is different. You don’t want to be left alone. You want to be held. You want him to kiss your forehead and tell you he loves you, unlike what you had when you were younger.

“Hak, wait,” you call, voice slightly hoarse. “Stay. Please.”

He’s taken aback by your request, but doesn’t hesitate to follow through. He climbs into the bed behind you, wrapping his arms around your center. In spite of the fact that this wasn’t a usual occurrence, that cuddling was something you’ve only done a couple other times, he embraces you as if this was second nature for him. As if holding you in his arms was his very life source.

“Are you sure?” He asks softly, words spoken gently into your hair.

“Mhm, I want this,” you nod, nuzzling into his arm. “I have never felt this safe with anyone before.”

Haknyeon’s breathing stutters. You’ve never admitted this to him before, you’ve never ever said ‘I Love You’, but he’s always been willing to wait. He understood that this was a new territory for you. He was content loving you until you were ready to love him, even if it took months— even if it took years. That’s how much he cared for you. In his eyes, you were the reason there were stars in the sky. You were the reason why the sun rose in the morning and why the moon shone at night.

He kisses your temple. “I’ll be here to protect you.”

You turn in his arms to get a good look at his face. Because it was so rare that you were this close, you wanted to memorize his features from this distance. You trace his cheekbones and jawline with your thumb, eyes flickering down to his lips.

You lean forward, minimizing the gap between you to press your lips into a sweet kiss, almost as sweet as him. Haknyeon gasps out of surprise, but quickly reciprocates your affection, bringing up a hand to cup your face. He allows you to set the pace, to move at a speed you were comfortable with in case this was all you wanted.

When you pull back to catch your breath, he smiles, taking in how pretty you were. He could never get enough of you. He thinks that was his biggest flaw, being so greedy when it came to you. He couldn’t help but indulge himself every time you let him, though if it were a sin, he’d gladly commit it over and over again.

“However many years we have left, I wanna spend them all with you.”

You feel the tears dripping down your cheeks before you register that you’re crying. You couldn’t possibly fathom how Haknyeon came to find love in the form of you; the hollow shell of a person who’s never felt the warmth of another human in their life. You didn’t think you deserved someone like him. The only logical explanation was that you were a saint in a past life, and the higher being you mentioned earlier was rewarding you for it.

But even so, he loved you. Enough that he wasn’t afraid to spend the rest of his life with you waking up on the other side of the bed.

He swipes away some stray tears with the pad of his thumb and kisses your nose. You let out a small laugh, connecting your lips once more. It conveys all you want to say, but you know saying it out loud will make it concrete. It’ll solidify what you’ve been building up the courage to finally tell him.

“I wanna spend them all with you, too.”

© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[reallyromealone]

Ello father I would love it if I could participate in your 3000 followers event. With prompts 6: “I should’bt be in love with you” and 18: “I fell in love with my best friend” and can you make it kinda sad but with a happy ending? with Luffy please!

Absolutely yes

(Name) was tired.

Hopelessly he was in love with Monkey D. Luffy, the infamous pirate captain who just happened to be an incredibly close friend to (name).

(Name) wanted so so badly to confess his love to the other but there was a huge taboo towards two men being romantically together, so (name) kept quiet about it.

He sat on the sidelines and watched Luffy gain more and more people who were hopelessly in love with him due to his Incredible self, only for the black haired man to show zero interest in all the beautiful women that came his way.

And for some reason, that hurt even more.

They arrived at a port town, the crew relaxing a bit as they restocked on supplies and a few men going to a local tavern to get shit faced.

(Name) looked heart broken as he nursed his drink, watching luffy get flirted with by those who knew his name, the pirate captain treating them like nothing more than old friends.

"What's got you all depressed in shit" Sanji asked taking a sip of some nicer alcohol and (name) sighed "I'm in love with my best friend" he mumbled drunkenly and it didn't take a genius to figure out who he was referring too, Sanji setting his drink down and staring at his friend with an unreadable expression before patting his bad "my condolences, it can't be easy"

"I'm just...gonna drink my sadness away..."

And that's how (name) spent the night, drinking away and eventually having to be helped back to the ship.

(Name) couldn't sleep, too depressed to do so, deciding to go up into the deck while everyone was asleep and just... Not exist for a bit.

"What's up with you?"

Luffy stood there concerned as (name) stared up at the sky "I... I am in love with someone who I can't be with" (name) said honestly, unable to lie to his closest friend and confidant.

"Why not? Do they not love you back or something?" "Not exactly... It's more that we can't be together because of society"

"Whaddya mean?"

"I'm I'm love with another man"

"And you can't be with him because of what others would say? That's dumb" (name) almost laughed at his words as he passively spoke "I shouldn't even be in love with you... There's so many better options you could choose from" (name) froze as he realized he spoke his thoughts and glanced to luffy who looked at him shocked before giving that million watt smile that made any person melt"I knew you liked me!"

"Y-you did?!"

"Uh-huh! And now that it's confirmed I can do this!"

And with that luffy kissed (name) sweetly, an innocent and loving miss that made (name) absolutely melt.

"No more moping now!"

" Aye aye captain!"

[it-happened-one-fic]

Hours in the Moonlight: Fairest Midnight - 11. Holy Water, Stakes, and Other Such Things

Summary: Lessons of vampire hunting were inevitable, though you hadn’t exactly expected for Epel to be quite so excited about what it took to take vampires when he was one himself. But at the very least you were getting to have a bit of fun out of your lessons in between your exhausting sparring session.

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ Vampire AU/ romantic/ angst/ angst with comfort/ fluff/ sfw/ platonic interactions too!

Trigger Warning: Vampire

Word Count: 1371

Hours in the Moonlight Master-List

I didn’t know what I had expected for my training. But it certainly hadn’t been actively and repeatedly having to fight one of my three vampire friends, interspersed with him listing the varying weaknesses and habits of vampires.

“Good, Trickster,” His eyes were alight as he dodged me for what felt like the thousandth time in the middle of a large room that he’d cleared of all furniture specifically for this purpose. 

Epel and Vil watched from the sidelines, being spared yet another sparring session as Rook continued his nightly lessons with me. 

I’d been waking up with sore muscles ever since I’d first asked for my friend to teach me, but I hadn’t missed a single night yet. Because, as miserable as the persistent sparring was, I also knew it was important. Especially if I was going to become the next vampire hunter.

I swung the stake-shaped pool noodle I’d been given as my practice weapon at his chest, trying to finally land a blow that would signal my success, only to get caught and gently thrown across the room. 

I landed on my feet this time before falling forward and having to catch myself on my hands. But that moment of lost balance was all he needed, and Rook zipped forward at inhuman speeds, grasping me by my forearms and lifting me from the ground with ease. 

He smiled sympathetically as he looked up at me, “And I suppose that is the end of this round.”

I drooped as I dangled in his unnaturally strong grasp, exhausted as I accepted my defeat yet again with a nod.

“T'inquiète, t'inquiète, Trickster. You are getting better every night. You almost had me three times this round,” Rook’s tone was cheery as he sat me down, brushing off my clothes affectionately before leading me over to the table where Vil and Epel sat.

Epel perked up as soon as I plopped down in the chair next to him, “You are getting better, Y/n! Just think, you won against me earlier.”

I smiled slightly at his encouraging words, even though we both knew that win had only been because he’d gotten tangled up in the carpet’s edge.

I glanced over to see Vil silently holding out a bottle of water to me and smiled slightly as I accepted the bottle, “Thanks.”

Epel watched me for another moment before twisting towards Rook, “So the main way of killing vampires is a stake?”

Rook nodded dutifully, but he’d accepted full responsibility for teaching both me and Epel about the ins and outs of vampire weaknesses, “Oui, though sunlight is probably the easiest method to destroy our kind. It is best to use stakes made from oak, ash, or hawthorn, though.”

I nodded silently, remembering the vampire Rook had killed not all that long ago when I’d first found out he was a vampire hunter. My plan before he’d shown up was to get out into the sunlight, where she wouldn’t have followed. 

Or at least she wouldn’t unless she was well and truly insane.

“Fire also works well,” Vil was quite calm in his assertion, as if we weren’t talking about the best easy to kill those of his kind. But then he did agree with Rook that sometimes killing certain vampires was a necessary evil.

“Can we be drowned?” I glanced over at Epel with raised eyebrows; it was like he was more interested in this conversation than I was. But after a brief moment, I looked over to see Rook and Vil wearing matching, thoughtful expressions.

“I suppose if you were to find a way to trap them underwater, that would work… but I’ve never actually heard of a vampire drowning,” Vil frowned as he looked towards Rook, who nodded with a rather concerning degree of fascination in his eyes.

“Yes, if you were to use weights, you could imprison them at the bottom of a body of water, but I do not know if they would drown….” He trailed off thoughtfully, only for Epel to pipe back up, a certain gleam to his blue eyes.

“What if it were holy water?” He looked almost pleased by his thought, like he’d solved a grand mystery.

“Theoretically they would eventually die a very painful death, yes, but finding that amount of holy water,” Vil shook his head with a slight grimace, and I found myself nodding in agreement with him. I’d only ever heard of holy water in vials or on church grounds. And vampires weren’t supposed to be able to go on consecrated ground anyway.

“Do garlic and mustard seeds actually work?” I eyed Vil as I spoke, noting that eating Italian before he visited had never seemed to have been an issue.

“Mustard seeds scattered on the ground must be picked up by a vampire before they can continue, but they are very fast. Garlic works as a slight deterrent, but only in large amounts,” Rook nodded with a slightly amused smile as he answered.

Vil’s eyes met mine in an almost meaningful way, “Some vampires also develop an allergy to garlic.”

Epel’s nose wrinkled slightly, “Like a skin allergy?”

Rook chuckled and nodded before Vil leaned forward with a smile, “Of course, it's also rumored that if you were to sneak garlic into a vampire’s meal, that would affect them too.”

I was barely able to keep from smiling as I continued to hold Vil’s gaze, “Sooo, eat lots of garlic before facing any vampires so that if they do bite you, you can at least get petty revenge in the form of hives?”

 I felt my eyebrows rise, but I still managed not to smile as I took a sip from my bottle. Vil, who looked like he was trying his best to suppress a smile at my words, shook his head slightly. His voice lowering to a softer, amused tone, “But you’re not supposed to be getting bitten.” 

“I’d eat Italian before hunting anyway, just to be safe,” I grinned at Epel as the young boy leaned over and whispered to me, nodding firmly as I agreed with him.

“We’ll also need to train you with an ax,” Rook's sudden assertion had me stopping in the middle of attempting to put the lid on my bottle back on.

He met my confused gaze with a cheerful smile, “Decapitation is also an effective way of killing vampires.”

Vil shrugged elegantly at his words as he sat back back in his chair, “Drastic, but effective. But then decapitation works for most creatures.” He looked my way calmly, again, somehow utterly unbothered by the topic of conversation.

“Decapitation is really only ever done when the vampire is asleep during the daytime hours, if you have been able to find where they rest,” I nodded slowly at Rook’s words. Grimacing slightly at the thought of chopping off a vampire’s head while it was asleep.

In the end, I was going to be killing vampires anyway, but somehow doing so while they were asleep just seemed worse.

“What about crosses and other holy symbols?” Epel nodded at my question, looking towards the two instructors with a slight tilt to his head.

Vil nodded slightly at my words, “Crosses typically work best as they are one of the most easily recognized holy symbols, but other symbols will work as long as the vampire recognizes them and their religious nature. Holy symbols typically do not kill, but rather serve as a means for driving them away or as a protective measure.”

Rook nodded, tilting his head slightly as he looked towards me, “We cannot touch holy symbols, we recognize and the more religious the vampire, the stronger the effect of the holy symbol. As the Roi du Poison said, holy symbols drive vampires away and can serve as a sort of shield.”

I nodded slightly, adding buying a crucifix necklace and maybe other religious jewelry to my to-do-list, amongst other things. At the very least, those would be easy to obtain. 

Holy water, stakes, and other such items would no doubt be a little more difficult. And that was even considering the fact that Rook had already begun teaching me how to make stakes for myself.

If you would like to read more:

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[denimbex1986]

'Before I saw the Barbie movie, I was resolutely against ever seeing the Barbie movie. Despite the fact that as a child I loved Barbie, who I interviewed regularly for important radio segments in her coral peach ball gown, I decided that the last thing I needed was 90 neon-coloured-Margot-Robbie-filled minutes of a film which would obviously have nothing new to offer me; a grown-up feminist woman who stopped idealising the problematic Barbie aesthetic decades ago.

But then the reviews from angry men started rolling in. You only had to be vaguely near the internet after Barbie’s release to hear the resounding roars of the mostly middle-aged; outraged that such an abomination against “all men” could even be allowed to exist. The reviews began to read like dreamy promotional soundbites: “An alienating, dangerous and perverse film”, “They won’t be happy until we are all gay”.

These men were really, really wound up about this film. They loathed it. They were spitting fury at Greta Gerwig for creating a piece of such obvious, glaring, “anti-men, feminist propaganda”.

And so, when I was asked by one of my teenage children if I would be up for a day of “Barbenheimer”, I said “yes”: newly salivating at the potential of a project that could cause this much delicious backlash.

I decided I would swallow my aversion towards sustained exposure to powder pink, get Barbie watched, then chase it all away with a good dose of brooding grey, historically accurate cinema. Despite the promise of those furious reviews, I still expected to enter and exit the cinema despising Barbie and in awe of Oppenheimer.

During the five hours of media and popcorn consumption that followed, a chain reaction set in motion that left me changed. It made the vitriolic reviews of Barbie, calling Greta Gerwig’s masterpiece “anti-men”, even more comical. The irony was bright and clear to me: Oppenheimer is anti-women.

And the thing is that Oppenheimer is not different to most films. Because most films are anti-women.

We just don’t take to the internet to rage about it because we’re used to it; desensitised by the decades of cinematic women who exist only to paint their lips red, bare their breasts and give the important male protagonists something to play with.

Is Barbie anti-men? Oh, I hope so (it isn’t, it’s anti-patriarchy), but also, frankly, I don’t care. Because if it is – after decades of movies made by male directors like Oppenheimer’s Christopher Nolan, it has good reason to be.

And it does what it so brilliantly does within the sparkly, imaginary bubble of an entirely fictional world where the male characters it side-lines are literally plastic dolls, all called Ken (except Alan); fake toys who simply can’t even breathe. Anti-women films like Oppenheimer on the other hand, sideline or completely erase very real, flesh-and-blood women who lived whole lives and made significant contributions to our world.

So, if you’re a man who has watched Barbie and felt angry or irritated or just plain strange while watching the depiction and treatment of the Kens – then welcome to cinema. That is what it feels like to be a woman watching Hollywood movies most of the time.

But here’s the thing – that poor Ken doll you’re lamenting over, is not Leona Woods; who at 23 was one of the youngest female scientists the Manhattan project employed. Ken, unlike Leona, was not present at the first nuclear chain reaction and Ken did not have to do what Leona did – which was to conceal her pregnancy until two days before her baby was born. Ken is also not Elizabeth Graves; a scientist entirely essential to the project’s success who was completing an experiment when she went into labour and did not stop the experiment until it was finished, timing her contractions with a stopwatch. Let’s see Christopher Nolan make a three-hour-long film about that.

Neither Woods nor Graves feature in Oppenheimer, which, like so many anti-women films, manages to assume such an air of authority that it can leave us assuming that its astounding lack of female representation must be down to its admirable commitment to historical accuracy. I’ve heard the cries – “It is called Oppenheimer after all. How much do you expect it to worry about its women?” And perhaps it’s true – you can’t very well expect a film about the very intelligent physicists who tackled the science behind creating the atomic bomb to change facts just for representation can you?

No. But you can and should expect such a film to accurately and fairly represent the female scientists who were, in fact, right there – alongside Oppenheimer and his men, ensuring the Manhattan Project’s success. Perhaps it might have been appropriate if viewers left the three-hour epic clear in the knowledge that Kitty Oppenheimer didn’t only drink herself to distraction while taking care of screaming children and dropping a hip flask out of her handbag at every possible moment; she was also a trained botanist who was employed at Los Alamos to take blood and test the levels of radiation exposure of her colleagues.

More than 600 women worked on the Manhattan Project at Los Alamos alone, yet the only female scientist given any recognition in Nolan’s world is Lilli Hornig, who speaks only briefly, mostly in opposition to the bomb’s use. And what about Charlotte Serber? Who Nolan depicts as Oppenheimer’s secretary, completely erasing her vital work as scientific librarian for the project’s “secret library” and who, with no formal training, became the only female group leader, overseeing a staff of 12 people while also risking her safety in counter-espionage efforts.

Oppenheimer doesn’t only fail the Bechdel test, it fails to represent the real women who contributed so significantly to that morally fraught turning point in history. Those women were physicists, engineers, chemists, mathematicians. They existed. And, as is so often the case, many of their achievements have been forgotten and remain unrecognised, by both history and cinema.

As I continue to emerge from my Barbenheimer experience, researching the lost women of the Manhattan project and occasionally still basking in the disgust of all those angry men who need to hate the work of art that is Barbie, it becomes ever clearer: anti-women is the benchmark of mainstream filmmaking and some people are simply unable to deal with the plastic Manolo Blahnik being on the other foot.'

[zzznnnq]

★ Chapter Seven: Fireworks

The sports festival was one of those school events that always managed to bring out the best—and worst—in people. The field was packed with students, teachers, and even some parents, all buzzing with excitement. The sun was high in the sky, and the air smelled of freshly cut grass and sweat.

Minji, of course, was in her element. Being both tall and athletic, she thrived in these kinds of events. I, on the other hand, was perfectly content hanging out on the sidelines, pretending to be involved while staying far from anything too physically demanding.

I sat under one of the tents, watching the chaos unfold. Students were running back and forth, shouting instructions, laughing, and psyching each other up for the upcoming races. In the middle of it all, I spotted Minji, standing tall and confident, surrounded by her friends—Hanni, Yunjin, Ryujin, and, of course, Karina.

I could see it from here—the way Minji’s eyes followed Karina, subtle but impossible to miss if you knew what to look for. Minji was trying her best to be casual, but there was a certain softness in her gaze, a quiet attentiveness that she didn’t show anyone else. Karina, for her part, seemed oblivious, focused on stretching and chatting with the others.

"Your sister’s in deep, huh?" a voice said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I glanced to my left and found Wonyoung standing beside me, her usual easy smile on her face. She was dressed in her sports uniform, her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. Even in a crowd of students, she stood out, her height and presence impossible to ignore.

"Yeah," I replied, following her gaze back to Minji. "She’s not exactly subtle."

Wonyoung chuckled and plopped down next to me, the sun catching her eyes in just the right way to make them sparkle. I tried not to stare.

"You think Karina knows?" she asked, glancing at me.

I shrugged. "If she doesn’t, she’s either blind or in serious denial."

"Minji’s got it bad."

"Tell me about it."

There was a beat of silence, comfortable but charged. Wonyoung leaned back on her hands, her eyes scanning the field. I could feel the warmth radiating off her, even though we weren’t touching. It was moments like this, when it was just the two of us, that I wished I could freeze time.

Before I could get too lost in my thoughts, the whistle blew, signaling the start of one of the races. I looked up just in time to see Minji and Karina lining up for the relay, both of them looking focused and determined. It wasn’t their first race of the day, but this one seemed to matter more.

"Think your sister’s gonna win this one?" Wonyoung asked, squinting at the starting line.

"I mean, she’s practically a machine," I said. "But she’s got competition."

We watched as the race began, Minji and Karina sprinting down the track, their legs moving in perfect rhythm. For a second, it looked like they were neck and neck, but then Minji surged ahead, her long strides eating up the distance between her and the finish line.

As expected, Minji won the race, her teammates cheering as she crossed the line first. Karina wasn’t far behind, coming in a close second, but there was no bitterness between them. In fact, as soon as they caught their breath, Minji gave Karina a playful nudge, and Karina laughed, the sound light and carefree. They looked at ease with each other, the tension between them almost invisible to anyone who didn’t know better.

"She’s really into her, huh?" Wonyoung said, her tone more thoughtful now.

"Yeah," I replied quietly, my eyes still on Minji and Karina. "She’s been like this for a while."

Wonyoung turned to look at me, her expression soft. "Must be tough, watching her go through that. I mean… caring about someone who might not feel the same way."

Her words hit harder than she probably intended, but I forced a smile. "Yeah. It’s not easy."

I wasn’t sure if she knew what I was really talking about. But either way, the moment passed, and the festival continued.

The afternoon was a blur of races, games, and cheering. I mostly stuck by Wonyoung’s side, watching from a distance as Minji and Karina interacted, their easy banter laced with something deeper. It was hard to ignore the way Minji looked at her, like Karina was the only person in the world. And maybe, for Minji, she was.

As the day wore on and the sun began to set, the festival started to wind down. Most of the students were tired, sweaty, and ready to head home, but there was one last event that everyone had been waiting for: the fireworks.

I found myself standing by the bleachers with Wonyoung, the two of us watching as the first few bursts of color lit up the darkening sky. The crowd had gathered around, but somehow, it felt like we were in our own little bubble, just the two of us.

"This is my favorite part," Wonyoung said softly, her eyes fixed on the fireworks above.

"Yeah?" I asked, glancing at her.

She nodded, her face illuminated by the flashes of light. "There’s something magical about it, you know? Like, for a few minutes, everything else fades away, and it’s just… beautiful."

I didn’t respond right away. I was too focused on the way her expression softened as she watched the sky, the way the colors danced across her face. She was right. It was beautiful. But it wasn’t the fireworks that had me captivated.

We stood there in silence for a while, just watching the sky. The air was cool now, a breeze rustling through the trees, and for the first time all day, I felt completely calm.

I stole a glance at Wonyoung. She looked so serene, so content. I wanted to tell her how I felt, to just say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, I took a deep breath and asked, "How’s everything with Yujin?"

The question felt like a punch to the gut, but I needed to hear the answer.

Wonyoung turned to look at me, her eyes soft. "We’re good. She’s… she’s really sweet, you know? She gets me in ways that not a lot of people do."

I forced a smile, even though my chest ached. "That’s great. I’m happy for you."

Wonyoung smiled back, but there was something else in her expression—something I couldn’t quite place. "Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot."

Another firework exploded above us, lighting up the sky in bright blues and greens. For a moment, neither of us spoke. It was like we were both waiting for something, though I wasn’t sure what.

Then, Wonyoung stepped a little closer, her shoulder brushing against mine. "I’m glad we’re friends," she said quietly.

"Yeah," I replied, my throat tight. "Me too."

We stood there, side by side, watching the fireworks light up the night. And even though everything inside me screamed to say more, to do something, I stayed quiet.

Because sometimes, that’s all you can do.

[x0401x]

When the irony is almost too ironic

So now that I’ve posted the rest of the character highlights (had to split them into two because of Tumblr’s image limit), I might as well comment on them too. Need to get this off my chest for a moment.

The highlights of Masaki, Eisuke and Koushirou in particular gave me whiplash. They threw me back to my reviews of S2 in ways that feel oddly cathartic. Like how they just… keep confirming literally everything I pointed out as negative in S2. It’s weird because those things were all so obvious, but the way they’re written in the fanbook almost exactly how I talked about them is… well, it’s really something. Some of it even dates back to things I said regarding S1 six years ago. I don’t know how to describe this but it sort of feels like being vindicated in a morbid way, if that makes any sense.

I just wonder… when whoever was in charge of writing this text typed it down, did they actually believe that it had anything to do with the source material at all? Because it… kinda reads like they did? “The only thing he thought about was improving his skills in order to change his grandfather’s opinion of him” really sounds like that’s what they got from Masaki’s backstory and, uh. How. How do you miss the point by so far? It literally went in the opposite direction. We already knew that but still.

Also gotta love that it says his mindset changed when he watched the boys doing archery in earnest, instead of Minato being the one who changed it when he begged Masaki not to leave him. KyoAni really went out of its way to make sure that there’s absolutely nothing exclusive in their relationship this time around. Everything that was originally a them-only thing in the novel has been turned into a Masaki and the boys' thing in S2.

Speaking of the team, the implication that Masaki started out not rejoicing in his disciples’ development but learned to do it eventually is just brutal. I get what KyoAni is trying to convey to the viewers and that they’re making up for a lot of what they didn’t show in S1, but the timing is terrible and it’s a contradiction of basic Zen principles. Principles that Masaki had already been shown to follow prior to this.

Alas, that’s just one contradiction of many. Masaki is probably the character with the biggest amount of incoherences in how he is portrayed in the anime. My guess is the animators were so focused on collecting material about archery that collecting material about Shinto priesthood probably wasn’t a priority. More like they were so focused on the boys that Masaki was relegated to the sidelines. And I say this a lot but have to say it again: that’s what happens when you try to write Masaki separately from Minato. It goes off the rails.

Other than this, there’s also confirmations of some of my suspicions. Masaki almost telling the boys what they got wrong, then deciding to do it the Zen way and letting them find out for themselves only after getting a cue from Tomio is one thing that I hadn’t been so sure if I was just overthinking or not, but turns out not. This is the anime’s way of telling the viewers that Masaki, too, is growing as a teacher, but they could’ve done something equivalent that wouldn’t make him seem contradictorily inexperienced.

I say contradictorily because, again, he has been teaching these kids in the Zen way (indirect, mystic, full of puzzles, fuck around and find out for yourself, master throws a question and disciple has to give his own answer) from the very beginning. Even in S1 he was already doing that. But in S2, just like the boys suddenly forget how to work as a team, Masaki seems to suddenly forget how he had been teaching them until then. So he suddenly becomes a greenhorn as well, because it’s totally realistic for a high schooler like Eisuke to be the perfect teacher for a bunch of other high schoolers, but a 5th dan has to start again from zero. They could’ve just animated Masaki’s fight with Minato and let that be his greenhorn moment, but their relationship isn’t supposed to exist in S2, so this just isn’t an option, apparently.

Speaking of Eisuke, now I finally understand why his relationship with Shuu and Minato felt so off in the anime to me. In the novel, his beef was with them, not with Saionji. Saionji chose them as disciples because he felt something fateful about meeting them. It’s never explained in the novel, but a while after I finished reading volume 3, I got hit with a thought. I felt this was the author’s way of hinting that the three of them are an allegory to Amida Sanzon, with Saionji being Amida Nyorai, Shuu being Seishi Bosatsu and Minato being Kannon Bosatsu. Same logic applies to the Minato-Masaki-Shuu trinity, since Masaki has also taught Shuu at some point, with Masaki being Amida in this case. I imagine that Ayano wrote about it so vaguely in volume 1 because she didn’t know whether or not she could delve this deep into Buddhist territory back then.

But in any case, the way that the novel establishes the conflict with Eisuke is: Minato and Shuu are special. Not in general, but to Saionji, specifically. Teaching them is his calling and being taught by him is their calling. But all Eisuke gets from this is the first part. That Minato and Shuu are special, and he is not. That somehow they were regarded more highly than him, who is older and more experienced, when actually, they were not. Saionji simply felt that it was his mission to teach them, and he was right about that. Eisuke could’ve tried to find his own calling with another master—one who perhaps could teach him in uchiokoshi style. Instead, he chose to be immature and became obsessed with proving himself superior to Minato and Shuu. He could not stand the idea that little kids with no previous experience, one that got apprenticeship through connections and one by dumb luck, were worthier to be taught than him and even his uncle.

Eisuke also seems to have felt like there was something fateful about Saionji choosing them over him. The way he talked about it felt a lot like chosen people ideology, which even Shuu sometimes seemed to believe whenever he went on about being “loved by the god of archery”. He’s pretty much looking down on Saionji by thinking Saionji was mistaken to choose Minato and Shuu over him, and it’s extremely arrogant to try and prove Saionji wrong by defeating Minato and Shuu. It’s also childish logic, because defeating them would prove nothing, actually. And that’s the point of the novel. Same point as Zen Buddhism and archery: those who hold grudges can never reach spiritual adulthood. Eisuke is, as his name itself implies, forever a child on the inside.

But all of that makes Eisuke look kinda lame in the eyes of the audience, doesn’t it? And Yamamura Takuya is having none of that with his new bias. Nuh-uh, the ones who have to look bad are Saionji, and by extension, Minato and Shuu. Because pulling the rug from under the main characters’ feet is the smartest possible move.

In the anime, as confirmed by the fanbook, Eisuke’s problem is Saionji. Not because she chose Minato and Shuu over him, but because she rejected his uncle. In the novel, Saionji rejecting Shigeru was also something that pissed him off, but his main problem was with Minato and Shuu. In the anime, that’s the opposite, which is why Eisuke is way less hostile and childish towards them in it. The difference that this makes is: the anime makes Eisuke look good in detriment of Minato and Shuu. With him being angry at Saionji for her being unfair to Shigeru, his attitude and motives seem justified. It’s not about him, it’s about someone he loves and admires. That one hurts more and doesn’t make him seem arrogant at all for defying her decision. It even almost seems like Saionji is in the wrong for hurting his family’s honor in certain respects, and that he rightfully wants closure from it but isn’t going the best way about it, which is his one and only mistake. And with Saionji being the target of his anger, he doesn’t need to be as antagonistic with Minato and Shuu in particular.

Now this might make people think, “Isn’t that better than in the novel, then?” That is subjective, but objectively speaking, this is a narrative incongruency. Novel!Eisuke is an example of how narrow-mindedness and lack of humility can lead one astray. By taking away his arrogance and just making him angry while justifying this anger, they’re basically taking away the reason for him to fail. It also makes him more endearing than the actual protagonists and makes the audience want to cheer for him instead of them (which a lot of people did). And none of that is an accident, because the director himself says it in this fanbook that he likes Eisuke personally. Or the traits that he can identify with, at least.

On the topic of Eisuke being the director’s bias, it’s amazing how the other members of Tsujimine basically exist in the anime not as their own person but as extensions of Eisuke. They’re there to make him look better and to do things for him. Koushirou’s highlight made me realize that we only ever get any information about the other members in relation to Eisuke, save for when Enyuu had a crush on Rika, but this was meant to give the girls more screen time rather than give him a personality. I always wondered why Reiji, who is so flashy in the novel, was so meek in the anime, but now I guess it’s because no one can catch more attention than Eisuke. Literally all data there is in the fanbook about Koushirou and the others is linked to Eisuke. His highlight is only about what he does to help Eisuke, even though the anime never explains why Koushirou goes that far for him in the first place. It’s not interested in exploring Koushirou himself. The director’s only interest is Eisuke.

S2 is such a frustrating topic to write about. So many things were done well and so many were done horribly. I feel terrible whenever I analyze anything Tsurune-related nowadays.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Can I just say that as much as I'm usually talking into the void here, I'm so grateful for this community, even if I'm usually hanging out on the sidelines?

It's so nice to be able to come on here and write my silly little posts about the things Taylor's music makes me think about and to then have you wonderful people continue the discussion, or to read what you are all observing or analyzing and have my mind blown or chuckle or share in the joy or whatever.

For comparison, there are people who I used to love talking about this stuff with but over the years they've soured on Taylor (totally her prerogative) and we've stopped being able to have these discussions, because the nuance just goes out the window in the process. Like thinking Taylor was obsessive for writing as much as she did about JG because they were only together three months (when those of us who follow her realize it was more complicated than that), or insisting Midnights is a breakup album and the last year and a half of the relationship with Joe was fake going through the motions or fake and that they broke up way before tour (when... it's pretty damn obvious when it happened from the set list alone) and thinking TTPD is just going to be a diss album used to bury a helpless ex (...) or using the situation last May (ahem) as proof of her callousness or whatever, when again a more human answer is that she wasn't exactly thinking clearly and in The Pit in the wake of a life-changing upheaval etc. Or what really gets me, dismissing the Snakegate stuff as her being petty and holding onto grudges and ignoring the really intense mental and physical consequences that she dealt with for years afterwards.

Which is not to say this is all about her personal life, but that by being able to look at the music through a more nuanced lens instead of, like, taking it literally, for lack of better word, it colours in the lines and not only situates the music more in the context in which it was created, but also makes it feel richer to our own interpretations and associations with it. I LOVE when we all go back and find parallels with her other songs, and it's even more fun now because the mash-ups on stage show Taylor does the same thing with her own music! It's such a rich tapestry and we're in such a unique position as fans where an artist is reaching (if not has reached) living legend status in real time, while at an unprecedented level of creative output, and we get to digest the music and study it and watch it evolve before our eyes!

It's just really nice to have a space online where we *can* do that, because I feel like there just is nowhere else to really do that? It seems like people I know in real life either a) actively avoid her music (totally fair, not everyone's cup of tea) b) only care in terms of current pop culture value (also fair, although it gets annoying when it veers into TikTok brainrot into easter egging and shit instead of being about hte music) or c) obsessed with the Travis romance of it all. And I think most online spaces are kind of caught in these camps too. It's either unrelenting criticism (which is fine, not everyone has to like her and there are valid things to critique, even if I don't particularly care to myself) veering into hatred for the sake of hatred, or obsessing over her personal life to the point of dehumanizing her as a person and artist.

I know I'm being a cupcake but like, this is the cupcake website, so who cares. I use this space to delve into the shows and movies and music I love because there isn't anywhere else you can curate your experience as much as you can here. And when it comes to Taylor's music, I love that I can just spill my guts about what sets my brain on fire (affectionate) and the connections that emerge and just how much it makes me feel. And between the reblogs and comments and messages, it's slightly less lonely talking to everyone else too.

So, thank you friends! I don't know why I'm in my feels today but it seems like as good a time as any!