#however I cannot remember what they were. which I do fully acknowledge is not a good citation for an argument

[bookwyrminspiration]

Do you have a source for Shannon struggling with fertility issues?

I don't remember where I first heard reference to it, so unfortunately I can't find that to cite for you, and Shannon is (very understandably) reserved with her personal life, so there's not a lot I can find to point to. And I don't want to go digging too far and disrespect her privacy

What I can cite though is this excerpt from her baby announcement post on IG back in 2021: "It proved he was strong. And safe. Despite all the doctors who told me this could never happen. Still, everything felt too fragile to share baby bump photos or exclamation-mark filled posts with everybody." (emphasis mine)

Like I said, I don't remember when or where I first heard it (maybe it was even that post, I genuinely don't know), I've just been operating with that knowledge for a while, so it's possible I jumped to conclusions and remembered it as more confirmed than it is. It does seem implied by her caption, but I'm not going to push the topic further because it's not my life or my business. But I hope that helps answer your question!

[mimez-meme]

Defending hizashi chapter 420 (spoilers!)

(Please bear with me I’m not exactly amazing with my words or explaining but I tried, some of the points in here would have been mentioned before/talked about before)

Look im not saying what happened in chapter 420 didn’t annoy me a bit, like i was a bit angry at hizashi. But you gotta remember he has reasons for why he acted that way and it isn’t necessarily his fault? Idk

This man has been bottling up all his emotions for 15 years or more. Taking aizawa’s life way more serious then his, he wants to be aizawa’s protecter and make sure he finds happiness. He would do anything to make sure he gets that. (He also doesn’t view himself as a person he views himself as a third person if that makes sense) His reactions in 420 is a good example of what bottling up emotions can do to you, it can make you loose control when faced with those emotions, which is basically what happened.

Present mic CANNOT cope or deal with his emotions, half the time I doubt he knows how he actually feels He uses aizawa as a way to distract himself from the grief and his emotions, as he understands shota’s, and when aizawa is around he focus’s on him, not himself. When it’s just him, he will do anything to take his mind off his feelings by overworking, drinking ect. Now along with bottling up all his emotions he’s buried oboro, well not fully. He clearly isn’t over him but he’s trying to be for aizawa. He’s trying to get over his trauma. Because he’s built up all these emotions, made this persona, buried deep all his traumas and then being forced to face the worse trauma caused him to snap, beacuse he doesn’t want this, this isn’t how things were meant to be. He’s lost the patience to just move on, leading him to be violent and aggressive. Even aizawa was shocked when he snapped and told him to shut up and calm down in the car scene whatever. being forced to face him again clearly had an massive affect on him and he’s still trying to reject the fact that oboro could possibly be a villian cuz in his eyes villains don’t deserve to be forgiven they are horrible humans and don’t deserve second chances and he doesn’t want to believe his best friend who talked and told him about the ways and how they’re all going to be heros together, be a villain. Facing oboro once more has made all his emotions spark and like mentioned he cannot deal with that. Whenever he starts to show vulnerability he instead starts to act angry to cover up his true emotions with anger Because it’s better then being ‘weak’ and showing vulnerability infront of aizawa or others. His bottled emotions also seemed to of bottled up into anger, which is once more a common thing for those who bottle up emotions. Clearly hizashi is upset and hurt by all this but he refuses to show it. Now onto actually discussing chapter 420, killing kurogiri to hizashi is the only escape, only way to stop all these emotions, in this chapter he’s crying. And aizawa ‘points it out’ and when he does he responds with ‘I’m a man, men don’t cry!” However he doesn’t actually believe that he just thinks HE can’t cry because we see present mic attempt to comfort aizawa when he’s sad, he even punched the fucking doctor for making him cry. He wouldn’t do that if he thought MEN couldn’t cry. However it turns out aizawa wasn’t even talking about hizashi he was talking about Oboro/kurogiri, beacuse he’s crying. I’m sorry but it kinda felt like aizawa was ignoring hizashi then, and aizawa has never really acknowledged how hizashi really feels beacuse to him hizashi hasn’t changed all these years but to us we see obvious changes. (He said that in my hero justice 2)

Hizashi is facing so many emotions at once and like I said he CANNOT cope or deal with it, he has no distractions, it’s oboro and facing him again that’s making all his emotions spark, if your someone who’s bottled up their emotions for years and then one day your hit with a wave of them, and they suddenly they all come out whatever you will not know what to do. Hizashi is scared, angry, upset ect ect, it’s causing him to be violent. He wants aizawa to be happy, and safe but he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to kill oboro he wants to kill kurogiri but he knows kurogiri is oboro but he’s in denial. He doesn’t want to see Oboro has this villain but he knows deep down it’s true. (Now I’m talking about a different chapter, I forgot what one) When kurogiri dies/goes to save shigaraki we see zashi crying, he even said “thanks bud” when kurogiri opened a Portal for him to go to the battle field. At his point we see that hizashi seems to of finally came with terms of kurogiri being oboro but obviously he dies, if hizashi really wanted kurogiri dead he wouldn’t have cried? If that makes sense he wanted to save him like aizawa. Now beacuse kurogiri is dead present mic is going to have to carry MORE guilt probably more guilt then aizawa.

I still don’t think that was everything tho/ all his emotions. Like just think about how powerful zashi is, I think he was still holding back. Because he has been bottling them up for 15 years so there’s no way that’s everything. Yk?

His reaction was valid and in character for him.

The moment he shows emotions people hate him, like come on guys, Be so fucking fr. Like present mic is angry at himself, the villians ect. He couldn’t protect his friends, it was the villians who did this.

Thanks for reading!! And sorry if any mistakes or if some of it doesn’t make sense😓

‼️oh yeah he also has the black and white mindset and that’s believed to maybe be another trauma response‼️

[orbitposting]

"Accommodations give disabled people an advantage over non-disabled peers"

TW: mentions of ableism, mistreatment of disabled children, and it's effects, mentions of fatphobia

For context, my sisters and I all grew up in the late 90s/early 00s with different disabilities (overlap was acknowledged later in life). My eldest sister has autism with some support needs without intellectual disability, my older sister has dysgraphia, and I have asthma. Looking back, none of us were fully accommodated.

At home, when my sister would have meltdowns due to sensory overload or changes in environment, and my mom consistently chose to scream at her for "misbehaving"/"being difficult". In order to stop the chaos, I was often left to comfort my sister. Often, I would simply offer her ice-cold water and tissues, and things would calm down.

In middle school, I remember she went to an alternative school in order to accommodate her better. While it was very valuable to have her learn the bus system and the self-reliance of getting to school, this program taught 4th grade math to her in 8th grade. She struggled with getting back on track with math for years. Eventually, she left due to difficulties with other students and the lack of consequences for various unacceptable behaviors.

In high school, she was supposed to pass a language course in order to graduate. She took Spanish, since my mom was offering to help with her knowledge of Spanish. However, this didn't help, even with my mom's college-level knowledge of Spanish. Notably, she didn't speak English in full sentences until she was seven years old. ASL was also not an option, but fortunately they waived the language requirement. Graduation was a close call, for other reasons, as well.

My older sister's experience is what is prompting this post. She has struggled with dysgraphia throughout her school years, and it was never accommodated. While she was a prodigy with immense knowledge of history, it would never come across in her writing. She was diagnosed around 10th grade, which she remained in denial about. However, my mom talked to the school regarding accommodations, and they had nothing to offer. Throughout her education, she would fail every writing assignment or writing-based class she was given. This was especially frustrating when classes that didn't revolve around writing paragraphs made her do it, anyways. She only passed 10th grade Physical Science since my mom knew the teacher, and asked that he not account for the lack of writing assignments and explained her situation. What prompted this post was actually my dad finding her SAT results, and me discovering that she had all zeros for her essay score, despite getting a 1170 for the multiple choice portion. (Quick aside: standardized testing should NOT be considered indicative of any student's performance if they cannot properly accommodate disabled students.) She did graduate, but my family wasn't sure the school would let her.

In my case, throughout elementary, middle, and high school, gym class felt like I was constantly fighting for my life. While I was allowed to have my inhaler on me starting in 6th grade or so, I was still expected to do the exercises everyone else had to do. I was not allowed to take breaks, technically, but I did. This was especially noticeable when we would run laps around the gym. Every time I did so, I was harassed by the PE instructor until I kept running. Games weren't much better, either. I was always picked last (which makes sense), but not only that, I was purposefully targeted during games. I was openly mocked as I did my best to participate.

In 9th grade, things hit a wall. When swimming was introduced to the class, I outright refused. I kept "forgetting to bring my swimsuit", when that stopped working I "had to go to the health clinic", and when that stopped working, I got a note from the health clinic excusing me from the swimming portion of gym class.

The PE teacher did not go down without a fight, nor did my parents. I was told that I could have to do it again when we moved schools the next year (that school ended up not having a swimming pool), that I wouldn't graduate without this credit, that I was making the situation worse by singling myself out in this way, and that I would get an F in gym anyways. They eventually acknowledged my excuse, but made me sit by the pool as everyone swam so I could take notes on the same article about what to do in case of a drowning every week.

Peers would acknowledge me from the pool, friends would say hi and guys would mock me. Girls I didn't know would talk about how strange my lack of participation was. Meanwhile at this time, my dad was making me log my calories on MyFitnessPal and I was very aware of how "different" my body was from the other kids. I would have panic attacks just thinking about going into the pool. While it was hard, I don't regret fighting for what I needed. Also of note: it was a chlorine pool, and chlorine heavily affects my asthma. Sometimes my lungs would hurt just being in the pool room. This wasn't really acknowledged, I would wheeze while walking up the stairs, and it often hurt to sing in choir after pool days.

I also struggled with ADHD throughout K-12, but I wasn't diagnosed until after I graduated high school. However, as an AFAB person, I constantly had teachers mention symptoms of ADHD in my comments. It started with not turning in work and doodling/chatting in classes I didn't care about, but it eventually spread to other classes that interested me. I also struggled with severe compartmentalization, which I didn't realize until after high school. I couldn't remember what my homework was when I was at home. If I remembered what the assignment was, I couldn't remember the information needed to complete it! This meant I did any homework I did complete while at school.

Fortunately, graduating high school didn't turn out to be a problem for me. After a rough freshman year, I turned things around. I became a member of NHS my senior year and finished out pretty strong. That was, until COVID. I had my therapist send a note saying I was not in a place to do schoolwork, and to simply keep my grades from pre-lockdown. I didn't get AP credit for AP Biology, but I learned plenty. I also withdrew from my dual-enrolled Calculus 2 course. Looking back, with my compartmentalization issue, there was no way online school would work for me.

So yeah, actually being disabled in school isn't a walk in the park! Imagine that! For anyone wondering, we're all doing fairly well now. My eldest sister works janitorial in a hospital setting and enjoys it, since she finds the surgical field fascinating and doesn't mind all the blood and such. She did eventually catch up in math in community college, but she wasn't able to finish the degree (due to her advisor). My older sister works retail and is a union steward. A lot of what she does is mainly talking and some basic math. Fortunately, if she needs to write, she can just use a computer, since the physical act of writing is what is a lot of what's hard for her. Spellcheck is also helpful. I spent my summer doing more intensive mental health care, and now I'm more directed than I have been for years. I'm currently waiting on hearing back about a bank teller job, and I'm looking forward to that!

If anyone is currently struggling with accessibility in education, just know what you are asking for is reasonable. All you are asking for is equal opportunity education, and you should not be denied that.

[gemsofgreece]

Καλημέρα! I'd like to ask you about the colours of Classical statues and temples. Have you seen any reconstructions you liked? Bless the people investigating them, it seems they didn't wanna assume too hard so they ended up making the statues look somewhat on the very gaudy side. (I sent the same ask to @alatismeni-theitsa just to be sure)

Haha this is a sore spot for me because I really do love the woren all white look!

However, we all have to acknowledge that the preference for the bare white look is largely a bias infliltrating our minds through the presumed superiority of Renaissance Art. The colour of the ancient statues had already faded by that time, making Renaissance artists believe that this was the actual classical prototype that was supposed to be imitated and glorified.

I believe our love for the all-white classical look in sculpture is based on both this bias, but also the aetherealness, distance and solemnity that was believed to be communicated through this lack of colour and the exposition of the work done on the bare luxurious marble. That second reason is what I find beautiful in it too.

Of course, actual Ancient Greek art was coloured. Given that Greek art of antiquity aimed at a naturalistic approach, it is absolutely reasonable that the artists wanted their artwork to have the colours of the real subject / object it was depicting. What you see now are recreations based on whatever colour-tracing methods we have available today, which are not infallible yet. While the general conclusions must be more or less accurate ("this part of the chiton was red and the hair was black" etc), they still remain hypothetical because the methodology cannot perfectly detect hues, paint layers, different pressures on the paint and all those techniques that provide nuance and are integral to art. Having said this, we should also remember that creating paint hues in antiquity was extremely difficult and obviously the paint job done could not be equal to that of the last centuries. Therefore, with our modern criteria, ancient paint job must have often be underwhelming but, again, I believe we also are in a position in which we do not get the precise, fully accurate picture yet.

In a way, this conviction we all have that coloured statues are kitsch is kind of arbitrary, simply because the notion that sculpture reached its peak with the Renaissance is so very deeply engraved to our minds. Think about modern art for a moment: modern paintings, figures and figurines, ceramics with paint... or even sculpture from other cultures of the world outside the Greco-Roman sphere: none of this is considered kitsch, simply because none of this is directly compared to Renaissance scupting. (Although of course other cultures' arts are often viewed derogatorily through this very pervasive presumption that the Renaissance was the peak.)

We also should return back to the considerable probability of poorly made recreations, which lack nuance. Take these examples:

Jesus Christ Superstar

Not the best, right? However, if we see paintings and art from earlier times i.e Mycenaean and Minoan and contemporary ones like rare surviving Classical, Hellenistic and Grecoroman art, we realise that colours were used wisely and there was the concept of layering, shading and creating detail and nuance.

In this art of Alexander (100BC, exhibited in the Museum of Napoli) we can see an extensive use of highlighting, layering and creating shadows, which is very different from the blast of thick paint you will see on these recreations.

There are also recreations which prove exactly that a lot of the responsibility regarding how we perceive them lies on the very quality of the recreation itself.

Source

Honestly, for me this is totally fine. You can find fine modern art - even modern Greek folk art - of similar styles or colouring. The quality of the recreation here is far superior than the ones above.

This one, I am also totally fine with it, especially the last of the colourised ones. It took exactly the same amount of extraneous work for the artist to sculpt plus the struggle of painting it. And it gives us so much additional information about what fashion looked like.

The recreations made for ancient Greek temples prove more how colour could actually be used in good taste:

If I told you this was some late medieval manuscript art, you'd not think of it as kitsch. The idea immediately kicks in when I say it is a recreation of a Parthenon frieze colourised. (Source)

In this recreation IMO the Parthenon looks hella fine!

I confess I struggle with the Caryatids of the Erechtheion:

but I suppose it's partly because to us it looks like you took all the redhead Barbies you had and assigned them to carry the building. Without all the preconceptions we have, which are informed by kitsch cheap art of the last decades and the axiom that Renaissance sculpture is the best, Ancient Greeks were probably astonished by the beauty and realism of six different beauties making the temple stand. For me, who I am influenced by all that I have analyzed, my colour tolerance would go as far as having all of them like the Caryatid in the middle, with the white peplos. Apart from that, the paint in the temple is totally beautiful and elegant. (Source)

The neoclassical Academy of Athens uses paint like in antiquity except it draws the line in the statues (and perhaps it uses more gold). The Academy of Athens is exemplary.

Zappeion also has colour and it's marvelous:

I believe this was the aesthetic ancient artists were going for.

In conclusion, I think ancient artists tried to use paint in the best of their abilities, no differently than how we also almost always add colour to our modern art, except of course there must have been limitations to the qualities and varieties of paint hues that could be produced at the time, which would inescepably sometimes lead to results less than ideal. Regardless of how well or poorly painted any particular ancient artwork was, we are predisposed to view it negatively anyway because we are wired to believe that the Renaissance style set the standards for what is beautiful and what is not and that when it comes to colour in sculpture, less is obligatorily (much) more.

That's all I got to say! From my side, καληνύχτα! (I'm posting this way past midnight lol)

[zinnia--0]

diluc, his past and present, and a pair of gloves

i like to think that diluc’s gloves play a greater role than just heat protection from his daily and knightly duties.

note: this post was originally posted on jan. 9, 2023.

diluc’s default skin is his chosen outfit for his nobleman duties, for when he’s out to do his obligations and responsibilities as the current head of the ragnvindr family, the master of the dawn winery. on the other hand, his alternate skin “red dead of night” is a modified version of his uniform from when he was still under the knights of favonius. he wears this mainly during his vigilante work.

both skins represent the two current and main sides of diluc’s identity: diluc as the ragnvindr heir, and diluc as the darknight hero.

the bases of his clothes are quite similar (a coat, vest and shirt, pants, and boots), just in different colors. but what stood the most for me is the detail of his gloves.

diluc’s glove for his red dead of night skin is fully black. on the other hand, on his default skin, the top side of the glove is black while the palm side of the glove is fully red.

this made me wonder since plain colored gloves are most common to use when it comes to formal attires and yet diluc chose at two-colored pair instead of a plain black or red one. i began to revisit some of diluc’s lore from events and voicelines out of sheer curiousity.

during the hidden strife event, diluc has stated that he only kept letters from the past in case they prove to be useful in the future, and yet he has kept (and have recently read) kaeya’s letters from the said past, even when some of those letters were only out of kaeya’s concern for him.

diluc also kept kaeya’s compensation gift even if it doesn’t match the mansion’s interior.

during the weinlesefest, the traveler asked him regarding the voice from the wine bottle, that of which he responded with the following statement [regarding his late father].

connecting all of these together, one could conclude that diluc knows the definition of the past and lives it through, but that doesn’t stop him from being sentimental about it.

diluc has a complex character which is sometimes (or maybe often) left unnoticed with all the running gags about his deadpan stare and remarks about kaeya and the knights of favonius.

he got his old uniform re-modeled for the sake of nostalgia but using it instead in accomplishing his newfound resolve after three years of solitary sojourn in search for the truth.

in his vision story, it was explicitly stated that as much as he doesn’t talk about his past, he also doesn’t deny it. he acknowledges that his past is a part of his present.

in this sense, i’m inclined to think that diluc’s gloves could’ve been his own way of remembering what his hands have committed during those years of his raging anger and loss, that his hands are both stained and that cannot be changed even under the guise of nobility and fame; it could be his way of admitting that his persona as the master of the dawn winery and the vigilante darknight hero aren’t two separate entities, but rather his acceptance that both personas, as well as his past self and deeds, are all part of the diluc ragnvindr that he is today.

note: to be clear, the part about the purpose of his gloves is a headcanon. however, the analysis itself is my conclusion from the dialogues, events, and voicelines stated.

[dsmp-analysis-showdown]

Analysis 2

This analysis is participating in the Analysis Showdown, click here to rate it! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

c!Wilbur and c!Tommy’s confrontation in “Boundless Sands”

C!Wilbur and C!Tommy’s confrontation in “Boundless Sands” highlights how Wilbur was never confronted about his inner motivations, even at his death, and then changes that pattern.

The reason Wilbur was able to get so far during the Manberg/Pogtopia era was because nobody knew how to approach him. Tommy reacted to Wilbur during this time period with confusion and fear, but ultimately he could not do anything more than sometimes walk away from the situation [1]. This was not a shortcoming on his part, as Wilbur had power over him as a mentor figure, and in the past this level of dangerous behavior had not been shown from him. However, it was ultimately ineffective. The one instance where Tommy somewhat managed to prevent disaster was with Quackity in the button room after the festival, but this still seemed to have no effect on Wilbur’s goals, and was simply a setback for him [2]. Maybe Tommy would have been able to prevent Wilbur’s third death initially, but it’s unlikely. 

At the end, Philza was also caught unaware, and his inability to react properly was part of what let Wilbur succeed [3a]. I believe Philza failed due to putting emphasis on how illogical Wilbur’s actions were, which Wilbur was too far gone to care about. There was no way Philza could have figured this out, but during Tommy and Wilbur’s confrontation it is shown that the most vulnerable spot for Wilbur is the flaws in how he treats other people.

After he is revived, Wilbur’s dynamic with Tommy continues being one where he primarily gives orders, and Tommy shuts down after an initial pushback [4]. I believe C!Wilbur’s extended isolation in Limbo made it so he was not able to fully reckon with the consequences of his actions. After his role in Ranboo’s death, we do see Wilbur having more self-awareness and wanting to change [5]. But at the end of this, we see his final step in “remedying” things is to leave [6a]. 

Tommy doesn’t succeed in stopping Wilbur, but I think he achieves one important thing here, and that’s finally holding his ground and confronting Wilbur about his true nature.  During Wilbur’s third death, he only was honest when he chose to or when he was (almost literally) backed into a corner [3b]. Here, even though he does not have to, we can see him first cave slightly when Tommy makes the statement that he “deserves to know” [6b]. 

This line of interactions continues until the breaking point, where Tommy finally addresses the matter of things. Going against the behavior he exhibited in Pogtopia, he bluntly acknowledges that he is someone who has always been by Wilbur’s side with far too little questioning, and that he deserves something in return [6c]. He is not trying to engage in an argument about the general worth of Wilbur’s motives like Philza did [3], but simply holding Wilbur accountable as a person, and that makes all the difference.

The point of this analysis is not at all to be harsh on Wilbur, but to draw attention to how he ended up as the persistently shady character he is due to his lack of honest relationships. I cannot think of an instance when Wilbur has been confronted like this before, and we can sense hesitance in the way he replies, this is new ground.

Wilbur continues to try and dodge the questioning, and Tommy pulls out a sword [6d]. Here we get some very clear fear from Wilbur, and I think it’s important to remember what is probably his biggest memory related to swords [3c]. Tommy has made a breakthrough, he has scared the person who has caused him anguish. I believe that Tommy and Wilbur care deeply for each other, but their relationship is also one with a lot of pain in it, and it was necessary for this pain to be brought to the surface at some point.

The rest of this discussion is the closure, after a touch more bargaining Wilbur comes clean. It is messy, and it is very much a source of controversy in itself, and he still leaves at the end. But the important part is that this conversation showed a weakness that was previously less open in Wilbur. For once, he does not get to excuse himself as a villain or a mastermind, and he faces one of the people closest to him like a human.

sources:

1: https://youtu.be/09ercVF8HgI  (1:11:18)

2: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xb8FXKTLwPc (29:31)

3: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wq4gphJDUpc&t=4291s (a: 1:15:39 b: 1:14:30 c: 1:16:54)

4: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36682660 (first text chunk)

5: https://youtu.be/8r9GahaP6r8 (7:50)

6: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TkKLA19QC8s (a: 12:55 b: 13:45 c: 15:15 d: 16:35)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Rate this analysis!

[sacra1sf]

Social Media & Social Relationships

As a 2001 baby, I'm in a unique position--I grew up without much technology, and social media didn't have a presence in my life until I was about 13. I was able to watch in real time as phones and computers took over the world and put all of its victims in a crushing vise.

My first piece of technology was the white iPod Touch 2nd Generation. I was about 11 years old when I got it. I remember begging my mother to buy me one so I could play Cupcake Maker on it, an app that simulate baking and decorating cupcakes. For those unfamiliar with the iPod Touch, it had no ability to send or receive calls or FaceTime, and you could only send SMS text messages if you were connected to Wi-Fi. This meant that at the time, it was largely used to play games or listen to music.

I received my first personal phone in 2014, the year I was going into 7th grade. I had previously shared a small Blackberry slide phone with my sisters my mom had given us for safety purposes when we walked home from school. I didn't spend much time on it, though, because I was a HUGE reader; I spent almost all of middle school with my nose in a book if I wasn't at school. I'd sometimes go on my phone during lunch if my friends and I didn't have much to talk about, but I'd only go on Pinterest.

Social media's chokehold didn't fully envelop me until my senior year of high school, which was cut short by COVID-19. I wasn't perfect in my media consumption by any means, but it wasn't until I caved and downloaded on specific app out of lockdown-induced boredom that my media habits changed for the worse. The app? TikTok.

Suddenly, I was glued to my phone day and night. I no longer wanted to read because I could watch hundreds of videos in one sitting, each one more captivating than the last. But what started as learning new ways to make coffee from baristas and discovering new crafts to do quickly took a dark turn. My feed suddenly became a never-ending loop of girls showing off their tiny bodies that would never look like mine, ways to look prettier that were only achievable if you had money to spend, complicated and productive morning routines that were started and completed before I even woke up. Once the self-comparison started, it wouldn't stop.

While I still fall victim to the comparison traps, I've at least acknowledged that is a problem. The issue is that you cannot get rid of the bad without getting rid of the good. There are creators on TikTok that inspire so much love and happiness. I enjoy watching videos of kittens being rescued, women empowering other women, petitions being spread, awareness being raised, and life hacks that I would never have thought of before.

I'm mainly talking about TikTok because it is the social media app I use the most, as well as a perfect example of the kind of app that Max Stossels discusses in his talk Teens, We've Been Sneaking Into Your Brains. The notifications are made to pop up every time you open the app so you are persuaded to see who liked your comments/posts. For a while, you were not able to see the time while you were in the app as a way to keep you from realizing how much time you were spending on the app. There is an endless feed of videos for you to watch, so you have to make the active decision to get off. All of these are ways that the app ensures you will spend countless hours scrolling.

As a kid who grew up with DVD's and VHS tapes and not Netflix, home phones that didn't have any sort of touch screen, and clunky TVs that only had cable, I could talk forever about technology and how I've seen it change the world firsthand, especially social media. However, this post is already really long, so I will cut it off here. Hopefully, hearing my story about how I grew up with social media will make you think about your own experience.

[lamentingwclf]

His response is a small laugh, and she will hear him shaking his head. "You want to talk about illegal acts, but you're willing to assault me? That seems rather counter productive." And she never actually would - they both know it. Just as he knows she's grasping at anything she can to arm herself against him. Gwen was not used to being at a disadvantage, and she was very much out of her comfort zone. It's why she continued to try and assess his well being and care for him. These were the things she could offer, and these were the things he'd always been unwilling to take from her.

He's quiet for a moment as she readjusts to her stomach and is able to look up at him. With one arm still pinned, he's left with one to explore. He traces the shape of her spine, from the base of her neck until his arms is fully extended. The pads of his fingers dance over each knobbed point. "Mhm." His words are still lazy, and dragged out. "Like Steve's dad." Which they both know is why their friend is throwing himself over and over at the recruiters, even if false papers were another arrestable offense.

But his hands still at her promise, and he's momentarily speechless, a rarity for him, as his eyes roll towards the ceiling. Bucky had spent the last two days trying to make sure these exact affairs were in order because that was his role. He was the caretaker for the group, the oldest, the one everyone came to. Now he was leaving - and it never really occurred to him to ask Gwen to step in. It was logical, but why should she halt her life to make sure the pieces of his went on? What would happen if Harry was injured or released early? The list of instructions he wants to give suddenly are bitten back, and he says the only thing he knows he should, "Thank you."

Though he means it, he's thankful for her restlessness. Thankful she's trying to fit so much into such a short time that she's not lingering on any one topic - he'll regret this in a moment, but for now, he just listens to her request knowing that it's a promise he cannot keep, because it just isn't in him to run. He won't seek a fight, but he won't back down from one either.

He joked about the promotion to Sergeant being because the Army just handed them out out of desperation. It had been further from the truth. From the second he'd started basic, the others looked to him. He'd always had that natural draw that people flocked to. He'd been point to a particularly useless Sergeant himself - and when it came to battle tactics - to practice their skills in the field - the man had frozen. It was an exercise, and the man couldn't remember which way was up. So Bucky had stepped up, and within an hour of them emerging from the woods, he was in the COs office being told how bright his future was and getting handed stripes.

But he doesn't tell her this as he takes her hand in his, and stills her affections. "I can't do that, and you wouldn't love me if I did." He says instead, for the first time acknowledging that she had said it to him. That he'd tucked it away for safe keeping. "You know me, I don't go looking for risks, but I'm going to do what I have to to take care of the men, and if that means I go down, well..." He brushes a stray lock from her face. "Good luck finding me in Hell, Gwen Adler."

He says it because he knows it's going to upset her, because he knows she will then reach out and shove him or smack him, as she often does. He says it as he takes liberties of her nudity, and proximity to him to grab the curve of her ass and pull her closer. But he does not, however, expect what she jumps to next, and it makes even his smile falter with a flush creeping in. He'd been content to let her touch his face, to trace his features - all the things she knew like the back of her hand but were seeing them for the first time in new light - but she was making it sound so clinical.

He groans in response to her questions, and it's not that he can blame her for it. She didn't know. He'd been answering her questions for the better part of fifteen years, but never had she ever asked him about sex. Never had he had to talk about it so frankly. But he also knew she didn't exactly have anyone to talk to - aside from her friends, and what would they say about their new found curiosity. "It's just different." A shrug, his hand running down his face as it burns. "Not everyone is going to react the same, just like not everyone cries when they get a cut. It's not indicative of your ability if they aren't...loud...I'm happy, I'm satisfied." He adds, knowing she's looking for the reassurance. Then, raises a brow, "and weren't you just concerned about the legality? Maybe we'll make a rebel of you yet."

Brown eyes roll despite the tear that comes down her cheek, knowing damn will this whole interaction would only fuel the torment he'd send her way. The worst part was that she had nothing on him. She was the inexperienced one, the naive one, and rather loud one. What could she possibly tease him about? That he loved her? That he knew how to touch her? And apparently how to get her to say yes to him so easily? Nope. None of that could be used to her advantage. "We broke the law is all I'm saying. It's considered a sinful act and therefore the states have outlawed it. You, out of all people, should be the one to know that law and it's no wonder you haven't been arrested for it." Her eyes close as he gently wiped away her tear, letting out a soft breath. "...It's nothing you've done. It just felt...wonderful."

She eyes him, and quickly she sits up, ready to return the favor the best way she could. Which, was something her mother stressed at a very young age. Make men happy and satisfied. Telling a five year old this probably wasn't the exact action she meant, but, she was probably warning her for future years too.

It was her turn to smile as suddenly he became sheepish, a small laugh coming as his hands go for the hard bulge in his pants and do what he could to hide it. "Are you- Are you blushing?" Her smile widens. "In fifteen years I've never seen you blush." A quick kiss is pressed to his cheek, smiling against him, before she looks back down again, her hunger flaring, and quickly they work together to discard his clothes.

She's grateful when his hand comes over hers to show her how to touch him, and the way he feels in her hand can't help but ignite her body once more. But it's his turn. Her free hand comes to his cheek after a few moments of watching the way he moved so beautifully in her grasp, feeling the heat- the way he'd twitch. Brown eyes come to look into his blues as she works him, watching every inch of his features until he's kissing her. And dammit the way he's going after her lips almost causes Gwen to lay back down and demand he put himself inside of her. But instead she kisses him back and applies more pressure to his length, quickening the way she stroked him.

When he finally pulls back from her it's to call out her name and curse, and for a split second she's about to pull her hand away, afraid that somehow she'd hurt him, but instead he releases and she can't help but give a small gasp at the sight, about the way his body moves as it gives him the pleasure he needed.

"Are you alright," she whispers as he stills her hand, fighting the sinful urge to lean down and taste the mess that covered him and her hand. But...they've already committed one illegal act tonight, they didn't need to keep adding to their sins. A small hum is given as he cleans her off then is taken back against his chest and held tightly in his arms.

When he asks his question, it breaks her heart. Her head falls to the side to rest against his. "Like I told you at the dance. I could break your ribs." She's quiet for a few moments before she rolls to her stomach, bodies pressed to one another as she gently trails her finger over his jaw and cheek. "It won't be long. Before you know it you'll be back here in Brooklyn and the war will be nothing more than an ugly piece of history....are you in the 107th?"

A kiss is placed to his chest, lips then traveling their way up the side of his neck to his jaw and finally his lips. "Bucky...I promise you I will take care of them. I swear it. I will do what I can to keep Steve in line, safe, and healthy. I'll make sure your sisters have everything they need for their courses a-and anything else that might arise. I'll make sure they stay busy and are okay. I'll make sure your mother goes to her doctor appointments a-and out of bed when I can. She expressed interest in going outside to see the seagulls with me at the docks once, maybe I'd even get her to accompany for a little walk. But don't....do not worry about them. I'll keep everyone above water, until you get back."

Hands sprawl up on his chest, making their own journey to his cheeks then kisses him. A collection of sweet kisses are granted. "Now....I need you to promise me something." Another kiss is allowed. "....that no matter what anyone else has told or will tell you- do not be brave. Don't. Bravery....Bravery leads to stupid decisions and stupid decisions can get you killed. You are smart and you need to use your brain to go about this. You hear me? I don't care how it looks or what consequences you may or may not have to attest to...if something is wrong- you run. You save yourself and don't you dare look back. Because I need you to come back here. Too many people do....and I swear to God if you don't...I will make your afterlife so goddamn miserable you'll wish you never met me."

A few more kisses are given before Gwen let's herself draw lazy patterns on his chest, while her other fingers toy with his beautiful features. Tracing his lip, his scar, cheekbones- studying him as if she'd never seen his face before. "Why did you use your undershirt?" She whispers. "I'll have to wash that now and I don't exactly have the experience in getting that out. What if it stains? Why didn't you just use the robe? Or the other robe that's already been soiled by the rain? And why did you not call out like I did? Does it feel different for men? Did I do a bad job?....Does it feel better if a girl puts her mouth over it?"

[certifiedsidedish]

Thua is NOT the villain of “The Eclipse”

Let me start this post off by saying that I do not condone Thua outing his friends’ secret relationship. It’s true that he is my favorite character in the series; and I believe he is one of the most well-written BL characters (especially in a high school BL), period. That being said, his actions in EP11—as well as throughout the series—came from a place of pain and suffering. And when decisions are made based on pain, things rarely end well.

But before we talk about Thua (and he is not the villain that some are making him out to be) let’s talk about Akk. While Ajarn Chadok uses Akk to enforce the authoritarian regime of the school, Akk is the one who decides the means in which he is going to carry out Ajarn Chadok’s orders. Akk decides to torment his classmates. Akk sends the truck into the crowd of protesters. And it’s Akk who drops the flower pot from the 4th floor, mere inches from a student’s head. Akk’s tactics rely on the potential of physical harm to affect those who he sees as a threat to his school, and his title as Student Prefect Club President.

Now compare these things to the methods Thua used: Thua created the Twitter account. He used it, as well as the banner, to scare the protesters. He set a mannequin on fire. While both Akk and Thua’s actions caused psychological trauma (yes, I said trauma) to their targets, only Akk’s methods could have directly resulted in both mental and physical harm.

If we look at Thua’s character, we see in the beginning that he is true neutral: the quiet kid who just keeps his head down, does his work and wants to get out of the hellhole that is Suppalo as fast as possible. It’s not until Ayan calls Thua out for not taking a stand and fighting against injustice that we see Thua begin to shift from true neutral to neutral good (with some chaotic tendencies). Now in EP11 Ayan is actively insisting that Thua silence himself. Why? Because it would reveal that Ayan has been covering for Akk this entire time (which IMHO  is just downright hypocritical of AyanAkk.)

Which brings me to the protest—and Thua’s outing of AyanAkk as being in a relationship. As a member of the queer community myself (💗💜💙) I can acknowledge that Thua outing AyanAkk was inappropriate. He robbed them of the decision to be open about their relationship. However, I fully—and I say this with my ENTIRE CHEST—support Thua outing Akk as the one behind the curse. Akk’s actions not only inflicted psychological and potential physical damage to those who were seen as “out of line,” they also encouraged an environment where Thua (and Kan for that matter) was bullied. And as we see in EP5 the bullying Thua endures leads him to feel like he wants to disappear. This could be interpreted as an early warning sign of passive suicidal ideation. 

Had it not been for Kan, disguised as man of mystery Bruce Wayne) there is no telling what Thua would’ve done. The grief of losing his father, the emotional and mental abuse he has had to endure from his stepfather, as well as the bullying and blatant social rejection by his peers, resulted in Thua’s depression—yeah, my little pudding pop is depressed as fuck! 

That depression soon lead to rage and shame. Thua was [rightfully] enraged by the injustices that allowed others to torment him. That torment kept him in his depressive state, resulting in him being “like a robot.” Ever heard of the expression you cannot heal in the same environment that broke you? Thua’s pain was unleashed when The World Remembers began their protests. Because those protests would lead to a version of Suppalo that would not support Thua’s tormentors.

So for those of you saying that Thua should not have been forgiven, I ask you this: why not?

Akk lied to his friends for years about the curse of Suppalo.

And he knowingly put their physical and mental well being in harm’s way.

Why are we as a fandom quick to forgive Akk, but not Thua? Is it because Akk was being controlled by Chadok? If that’s the case, I have to go back to the argument that Chadok did not tell Akk to run that truck into a crowd of his peers; Chadok did not tell Akk to drop that flower pot on their heads. Chadok simply told Akk to do what must be done to keep the protesters at bay. 

Akk’s actions directly contributed to the student body’s mentality of causing harm to those who are “different” including Thua, a boy who is lonely and just wants his pain to end.

TL:DR Thua is not the villain everyone is making him out to be. He is a child who has been directly affected by Akk’s actions as Student Prefect Club President. And he deserves to be forgiven for his actions just as much as Akk deserves to be forgiven for his.

[groundcontrol21]

Sicktember #13

Prompt #13: Seasonal/Pet Allergies

Fandom: The Three Musketeers (bookverse, I even tried to emulate the writing style, sorry Dumas)

Title: In Which The Character (and Handkerchief) of D’Artagnan is Put to the Test

Summary: Firmly inspired by this post by @sickromancer: “No, you can’t fight a duel with a hay-fever like that.” But when the duelist in question is D’Artagnan, he’ll find a way through all the sneezing. 

Notes: In the book (and in the BBC show), dueling is banned, but that’s no fun, so here it’s all fully legal (but still ill-advised). Although, a little illegality never stopped anybody 🤷

On account of it being a beautiful April day, the sun shining brightly and no tasks set before them with which to fill it, the three Inseparables decided to spend the warm morning lazing about in the leafy courtyard behind the Hôtel de Treville. Knowing that D’Artagnan had been invited to take breakfast with the captain and the other newly commissioned Musketeers, they expected his presence later, and were thus surprised to find him already perched at one of the courtyard’s tables, polishing his hand weapons with such vigor as though they had done him personal offense. 

When D’Artagnan did not so much as acknowledge their loud salutations as they approached his table, nor grant their arrival at it with any more than a red-eyed glare, Aramis observed, “It seems our Gascon is in a worse mood than usual!”

In reply, D’Artagnan gave a sneeze so loud and forceful he was forced to grasp his cup to keep it from toppling off the table. “Heh’EESHHHH!” He grumbled and produced a handkerchief from his sleeve, wiping at his nose with the hasty conviction of a man who had already been wronged one too many times by the bothersome appendage. 

“And a bit ill as well,” Athos observed, for his part.

“I’m not ill,” D’Artagnan growled. His friends raised their eyebrows at him; surely he could hear how his own voice was pitched about an octave below its usual? He growled again at their expressions, then growled a third time when his nose demanded he sniffle. “It’s the damnable flowers with which the architects of Paris have seen fit to line every bed and fashionable avenue.” He gestured to the pots of lilacs that hung in the windowsills of the courtyard. “I’d like to wring every last one of their necks!”

“Come, such violence to a flower?” Aramis said, laughing. “Well, gentlemen, let it not be said that our noble Gascon has no Achilles heel.” 

Porthos laughed, too. “If, God-forbidding, there ever comes a time when we fall out of favor and the occasion rises for a duel between us, I shall remember to schedule it in a botanist’s hovel.”

There was, however, no humor in D’Artagnan’s occluded voice. “Would you care for that duel to come today, Porthos?”

“Come, D’Artagnan,” Athos said, “what has sharpened your temper so?”

D’Artagnan ignored the older man’s inquiry, training his teary eyes on Porthos with a rabid intensity. “Perhaps you would like to schedule it for two o’clock at the Jardins des Tuileries so that I may do away with you there the way I will do away with Menard of the Red Guard just the hour before.”

Athos nodded significantly. “Ah! It is the heat of anticipation that makes his blood boil so fiercely.”

D’Artagnan turned once more to his handkerchief. “EHKSHHH! HESHHH! Ehh’ehhh’hehhhKSSHHHH!”

Aramis bit his lip. “And what has Monsieur Menard done to provoke such a challenge?” 

“Now, Aramis,” Athos said diplomatically. “I am sure the young man’s ire is justified.”

“I lay no accusation of the contrary,” Aramis said, raising his hands, palms up, in a gesture of surrender. “It is merely that I wish for our D’Artagnan to keep in mind my warnings against senseless escalations.”

Porthos scoffed. “Fie! Your warnings. Too much time with your prayer books, Master Abbé, makes you forget. A man cannot let any insult against his person stand, no matter how slight!”

Athos turned to the Gascon, who was again wiping his nose on his handkerchief. “Tell us, D’Artagnan, what caused you to issue the challenge.”

D’Artagnan told them the story of how Menard had found him taking his breakfast on a bench outside the Hôtel de Treville and how he had asked D’Artagnan why he was not dining inside with the rest of his company. At first, D’Artagnan had rebuffed the man’s inquiry, stating that if the Red Guard minded the law half as much as they minded another man’s private business, France would be all the safer indeed. But then he had sneezed thrice, awfully, and Menard wondered aloud whether the Musketeer hadn’t been kicked out on account of plague, and so D’Artagnan felt forced to impose upon the Guard that he was indeed healthy, and the true cause for his suffering and his solitude were the lilacs that the had lined the serving tables at breakfast. He had then sneezed a good four times more, and Menard insulted the quality of the expulsions. D’Artagnan in turn insulted the presumed quality of some of Menard’s other bodily expulsions, and the two men agreed to settle their insults with a duel. D’Artagnan relayed this story with all the gravity and attention it deserved, and so was immensely incensed when Aramis and Porthos commenced to laugh so hard they clutched their sides. Even Athos was smiling broadly. Aramis at least had the good grace to look a tad contrite when he glimpsed D’Artagnan’s iron scowl.

“Apologies, dear friend,” Aramis said, wiping tears from his eyes. “But surely you can see the humor in this situation?”

“No,” D’Artagnan growled, his words bouncing dully off swollen sinuses. “I certainly cannot.”

Porthos snorted again, but was silenced by the unmistakable crack of a foot striking his shin beneath the table. 

Athos regarded the Gascon seriously. “Who chose the location? ”

“Menard.”

Aramis clucked his tongue in reply. “Have you been to the Jardins des Tuileries yet this season?”

D’Artagnan shook his heavy head. 

“I have been with a–” Aramis colored almost imperceptibly, but continued, “--a friend.” At this, both Athos and Porthos swallowed down choked noises in their throats. “The gardens are absolutely filled with lilacs. Menard must have known this.”

Athos nodded. “It is the only reason he would have chosen such a location, out of the way for you both. It is on the outskirts of Paris. Would not the square behind the Louvre serve you just as well?”

D’Artagnan slammed his blade and towel on the table with such force as to cause the birds nesting in the tree across the courtyard to take flight. “He wishes to humiliate me further, the dog! The scoundrel! As if insulting me for my damned hayfever, over which I have no control, wasn’t enough.”

Athos nodded sagely, watching as D’Artagnan pawed at his reddened nose with a series of enraged sniffles. “The only question which remains is,” the older man said, “what do you intend to do about it?”

“Well, there is only one thing that can be done, I suppose.” When none of his friends showed indication of following his logic, Aramis continued as though supremely put-upon. “We convey a message to the rascal Menard and pray that he sees sense.” 

Immediately, Porthos and D’Artagnan rose with a clamor from the table, and Aramis shook his head. “He cannot fight like this!” He gestured to the sniffling Gascon. “If the flowers have such an effect on him merely by being in the vicinity, imagine what it will be like when they are at his feet!”

“You advise him to back down from a challenge?” Porthos snarled. “Pardieu, Aramis, I fear you really have taken your clerical lessons too much to heart!”

D’Artagnan opened his mouth, no doubt to add another remark in spirited agreement with Porthos, but the only thing which issued forth from his mouth was another fit of sneezing, which of course incidentally supported Aramis’s argument. “HETCHOO! Hehh’TSCHH’uhhh! Heh’hhhRSHHHH! Ihh’ISSHHH!”

Once it was clear the young man had finished, Athos spoke. “The challenge is D’Artagnan’s, and so it is up to the Gascon to decide the course of action.” His light eyes roved the length of D’Artagnan’s body, like an appraiser studying a jewel. “But as his second, I issue this condition: Spar with me now. If you land a touch, you may go.”

D’Artagnan whined like a child. “But Athos is the best swordsman in the regiment!”

“All the more reason a touch should be proof of your fitness, then.”

Athos drew his longsword and, with a discomfited hmph, so too did D’Artagnan. Soon the crash of sword against sword broke the silent air as the two fought, Athos wearing an expression of curious disengagement all the while D’Artagnan scurried around like a rat to parry his blows.

“Don’t tire him out before he’s even fought!” Porthos called.

Aramis hit him on the shoulder. “Oh, hush Porthos!”

But the two of them had noticed the sweat that was already beading on D’Artagnan’s forehead, especially in contrast to the way Athos hardly seemed to move. The Gascon was far from fighting fit, that much was certain, his position firmly on the defensive even though Athos was clearly not giving his all. He leaned to the side to let off two sneezes.

“KSHH! Heh’KSHH!”

“Sneezing on me does not count as a touch,” Athos said. He raised the tip of his sword to D’Artagnan’s throat as the man blinked heavily. “Let’s go!”

Perhaps the ribbing had induced some new vigor in the young man, for not long afterward did he make a small, neat cut on the fabric of Athos’s shirt near his shoulder. D’Artagnan smiled, his breaths heaving, and stowed his sword back in its sheath.

Athos did the same and shrugged. “A promise is a promise.”

“This is folly,” Aramis said sharply. 

Athos tapped his chin. “That balm from your mother—would it help in this situation?”

D’Artagnan sniffled bitterly, taking his friend’s concern as a mockery. “Seeing as though I have no wound which is external, I should think not.”

“Given his nose’s sensitivity at present, the herbal scent would likely do more harm than good anyway,” Aramis added, and then sighed deeply. “If you must fight, promise me you will duel only to first blood.”

Porthos and D'Artagnan rose again in a bleating chorus. “Aramis—“

Athos shook his head. “On this I must side with Aramis, I’m afraid.”

D’Artagnan cried out with the sharp fervor only a young man deeply incensed by the injustices of the world can possess. “But I landed my touch!”

“Only after I would have taken your sneezing head off ten times over.”

Aramis smiled to himself, and D’Artagnan sulked into his handkerchief. He remained nearly as taciturn as Athos for the rest of the morning, despite his friend’s attempts to rouse his spirits and engage him in their conversations to pass the time. In his view, there was not much to be said, not when every bit of the world from his friends to the flora seemed to side against him.

At last the time came for them to depart to the Tuileries for the duel, which revived D’Artagnan somewhat, as much as a man who can hardly breathe through his nose can be lively.  The first thing he noted upon arrival at the gardens was that Aramis had told the truth; all other types of verdure had seemingly been neglected in favor of the accursed purple blossoms. The tickle which had assaulted his nose all day quadrupled, despite being near the bounds of intolerable before.

The second thing he noted was that Menard awaited him, with only one man as his second. “I must say, Monsieur D’Artagnan,” the Red Guard said, “given the state of you earlier, I am quite surprised to see you here.”

D’Artagnan rubbed his nose in an attempt to quit the infernal tickle before he spoke, but the gesture was futile. “What is it, Monsieur Menard? Eh’KSHHH! Heh’KSHHH! Do you mean to imply that I am–Hhh’RSHHH!--not a man of my word?”

“Nothing of the sort!” Menard held up his hands. “Quite the opposite, in fact. I am shocked to see a man remain so bound to his word despite the obvious…” He trailed off, brow furrowed in slight disgust at the noises D’Artagnan was making. “The obvious cost to him to do so.”

The Gascon regarded his opponent through vision made blurry with tears. “I am not a man to be felled easily, of that you can be certain! Not by you and most definitely–Ahh’KSHH’uhh!-- not—KSHHH’ooo!-- by a damn hay fever! HESHOOO!”

Menard gave a clipped nod. “That much is plain to see.” For a moment all was silent (save, of course, for the various noises of D’Artagnan which could not be helped), until at last the Red Guard spoke again. “I am willing to withdraw my earlier statements and dueling challenge in the face of such determination, if you are willing to do the same?”

‘Heh’RSHHH’uhh!” His nose was beginning to feel as though it was swelling shut, and D’Artagnan could scarcely see through all the irritated tears which clouded his vision. A year ago, perhaps, he would have barreled on with the challenge like a headstrong ox–in all honesty, he was still quite tempted to–but he congratulated himself on the wise temperament he was developing with age as he nodded.

“I am.”

Menard offered his hand. “In that case, Monsieur D’Artagnan?”

“Monsieur Renard,” D’Artagnan said, and shook his hand. 

“It is settled?”

“Heh’KSHHH!” He leaned to the side and withdrew his hand to grasp for his sodden handkerchief. “So it is.”

With that, the two parted ways. The Gascon returned to his friends, his whole face feeling as though it were being pressed in a vice, and they hurried to lead him out of the gardens and hopefully, back to his apartments by way of streets that were relatively flower-free.

“I still say we let the scoundrel off too easily,” Porthos grumbled. “He obviously knew what he was doing, setting the Tuileries as the meeting place.”

“I still maintain that D'Artagnan should not have gone at all,” Aramis countered. “Look what a scant ten minutes there has done to him!”

“The two of you can bicker all you like once we have deposited the Gascon back at his lodgings and me back at mine,” Athos said. “We face more pressing issues at the moment, like whose handkerchiefs D’Artagnan will use now, that his has clearly been used up.” 

D’Artagnan was helpless to reply, save for a thundering, “HAHSHHHOOO!”

[ohnominamino]

An Essay on Love in Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time

Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time is a movie about love in all its forms. From the love of family, friends, and neighbors, to the compassion we feel for people we have never met. The movie reminds us that love is something we continuously gain, lose, and choose, again and again. Which love is greatest? In my opinion, the answer to that question is left up to interpretation. In this essay, I will give my own personal interpretation on certain character interactions and what I believe we are meant to take away from their Rebuild portrayals. 

The character I will start with is one I’ve noticed the most outrage over from people who haven’t seen the movie and read out-of-context spoilers: Kaworu Nagisa. 

Kaworu is a beloved character among many Evangelion fans, especially those who are members of the LGBT+ community. He is a canonical love interest of Shinji Ikari and I want to reassure people that this final movie does not change that fact. However, it does not make the couple blatantly endgame either. This skirting around the couple might make some fans upset, and while their feelings are completely valid, I do not think they fully understand the difficulties faced by LGBT+ people in Japan, nor do they understand the way that romance is typically conveyed in Japanese storytelling. (I recommend watching “Is ‘Yuri On Ice’ Good Gay Representation?” by James Somerton for more about storytelling nuances.) 

What have we been shown about Shinji and Kaworu’s love? The good news is, anything you read into the original TV series and End of Evangelion is completely true for the Rebuilds— because Kaworu is the same Kaworu. This movie proves Evangelion is a single universe set on repeat, and that Kaworu and Shinji meet each other every loop, and in each, Kaworu is trying to make Shinji happy. Within the final movie, Shinji becomes aware of the loops and chooses to break the cycle and free Kaworu from his pain. 

What does the relationship between Shinji and Kaworu teach us? I believe the purpose of their love is to show the audience that first, in the words of Kaji, “love has no gender.” Second, I believe Kaworu’s love in particular is a warning about basing your own happiness solely upon another person. There are parallels drawn between Gendo/Yui and Kaworu/Shinji. Gendo could not exist without Yui, and so he was willing to destroy the world to be reunited with her. For Kaworu, it was not the destruction of humanity, but the destruction of himself that defined his tragedy. What’s important within the final movie, in my opinion, is that Shinji does not reject Kaworu’s love. With the insight he’s gained from remembering past loops, he sees Kaworu’s love and appreciates him, but he also sees his suffering and wants to ease it. He helps Kaworu into a new world where he can seek his own happiness and find balance in his life (something his father did not have). 

While Kaworu and Shinji are not seen as an explicit couple at the end of the movie, it’s significant to note that, when he sets Kaworu free, Shinji holds out his hand to Kaworu as a promise to stay together. Over the course of the movie, Shinji comes to accept his connection to others through accepting touch (in the form of hand holding and hugs from Rei, Misato, and Gendo); however, Kaworu is the only character in the movie who Shinji initiates physical contact with and that speaks to how much Kaworu means to him. This simple gesture, in my opinion, keeps the door open for Kaworu and Shinji to be a couple one day, after Kaworu has found more balance in his life. 

If I were to write an entire essay about Kaworu, it would be titled, “Out of the Coffin: How the Resurrection of Kaworu Nagisa Buries the Tragic Lovers Trope” because this movie truly does just that. 

Another potential love interest for Shinji for many years was Asuka; however, unlike with Kaworu, the nature of this relationship is not left up to interpretation by the end of the movie. Before her big final battle, Asuka tells Shinji, “I think I loved you back then” (regarding their time in middle school) and Shinji, during Instrumentality, tells Asuka, “Thank you for saying you loved me. I loved you too.” It is past tense. 

What does this relationship teach us? It’s a beautiful way of showing that we can love people, and grow and learn, and let go when we no longer fit each other. Letting go is an integral part of life. Whereas other Instrumentality scenes involve touch, Asuka’s, mirroring the ending of End of Evangelion, has a distinct lack of touch. Shinji sits with his arms around his knees and Asuka turns her body away from him. He gives her his thanks and he sends her off to find her peace. Asuka and Shinji teach us that it’s okay to grow out of relationships. You can appreciate what they were to you at the time they happened and move on. 

What about Rei? To be honest with you, this movie is less about Rei’s relationship with Shinji, and more about her relationship with the world. Rei teaches movie viewers about the simple pleasures of living. While Shinji is in mourning for the first quarter of the movie, Rei (as “Sokkuri”) is learning about crop growing and community, the wonder of babies and kittens, the joy of the bath after a long day of fruitful work, and the power of words and picture books. At the end of her life, she only regrets not having more time to spend with the people she loves. In Instrumentality, Shinji accepts her hand when it is offered to him, which I hope signifies he is ready to see life as she had come to during the final movie. 

Rei teaches us that we can love living and to not take our limited time for granted. 

Next, we move on to parent figures: Gendo and Misato. I think they both represent people ill suited to the role, who do the best they can despite it. Gendo, as mentioned for Kaworu above, is a warning about defining yourself by your relationship to another person (Ikari, afterall, is Yui’s name). He is also a lesson in how people mourn and how they can lash out. Misato, like Gendo, felt herself a poor parent, and while mourning the loss of Kaji, she gave up her child to be raised by other people, but, unlike Gendo, went forward to put all her energy into protecting humanity. Both of them reach out to hug Shinji within the movie and he accepts them where they are. 

While I wouldn’t say the movie shows that Shinji forgives Gendo, it does show his making an effort to understand and make peace with what others have done. For Misato, it is fair to say we can still hope for a better future, even when it feels like everything is crumbling around us. Her self-sacrificing love for her son and the whole of humanity is what enables Shinji to then save the people he loves (via the spear of Gaius). 

In the movie, we are also shown friendship. Touji, Hikari, and Kensuke are important members of their community who maintain open communication with those around them and respect others’ boundaries. They are patient and kind and represent the importance of being present. They teach us to meet people where they are and support them how we can, whether it’s giving them a warm meal or giving them space when they need it. 

There are many more characters that could be talked about, but today I am going to end on Mari. Mari’s love is physical. She enjoys being in people’s personal bubbles. She cuddles Asuka and helps trim her hair, she gets into Gendo’s space at college, and at the end of the movie, she reaches out her hand to Shinji to help him stand up from his seat. Upon first glance, some viewers might take Mari and Shinji’s final scene to be romantic, but the reality of it is this: We do not, and cannot, know what kind of love she is meant to represent in his life.

We do not know Mari’s relationship with Shinji because they hardly interact in the movie. She clearly cares about him, but in my opinion, it comes from a place of duty and compassion— Mari was friends with Gendo and Yui. She has been there since he was born. (If we take the manga to be canon, then Mari even had romantic feelings towards his mother. Her hairstyle and glasses are from Yui. At the end of the movie, Mari has changed her hairstyle, which to me implies she has moved on, and “getting” with Shinji would be a thematic break.)

Additionally, their conversation, while flirty, is very much one that implies they haven’t seen each other for a while. Mari is someone who is very physically affectionate. With everyone. If someone ignores that and focuses on the fact she gets into Shinji’s space and claims that’s romantic, they better acknowledge it’s possibly romantic with Asuka, who we see far more intimacy with. When Mari flirts, Shinji flirts back and her initial reaction is surprise, “Wow, you’ve learned to talk back!” Her purpose is clear. She is there to remove the DSS choker from his neck. 

Personally, I love that Mari is the one to close the movie, for the exact reason that we do not know her relationship with Shinji. For Mari to have an assigned role would be to say, “This kind of love is most important,” when the entire movie was spent showing us each love is of equal importance in the balance and building of our lives. (It’s wonderful to see those types of love embodied across the platform from Shinji at the end of the movie: Rei and Kaworu, who, just like in End of Evangelion, could signify the ability to connect with others and be loved.)

If you view Mari as a romantic love interest, then I think it speaks to the value that you as an individual give to romance rather than what the characters themselves are feeling. To me, Mari, the character who was created to “destroy Eva,” is a symbol of all love. When Shinji takes her offered hand and then pulls her to run into the new world, it’s a symbol of balance. The give and take of any kind of relationship. 

We are the product of every relationship we have ever had, from our parents to the people we once loved, from our friendships to any other person we want to stay connected to. Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time is a story about these relationships. It is a story about love. 

[brightblessed-aa]

⸻ ♞

The fact that Urianger is correct only makes him more angry. Roi knows he can't fully place the blame on himself, but his mind would stubbornly think of hundreds of reasons why it was his fault the moment he told himself it wasn't. Maybe it was arrogance. Maybe it was childishness. Roi had always found himself to blame. Ever since the night his life first went up in flames. When he caused the death of his mother.

"That's..." He couldn't argue. The fire started to die out, leaving only a bitter coldness in its wake. Jumping between burning with anger and freezing with melancholy. He looks away, amber eyes cast down to the floor. He can't argue. His mind understands, but his heart refuses to accept it.

His gaze, however, is pulled back to the other when he hears the question. The look of shock on his face is clear. He had not expected such a question. After all, they needed him. There was no one else and he suspected there wouldn't be unless he died. He had been asked once before to renounce everything. Though that had been from Fray. Or rather, a part of himself that he didn't want to acknowledge.

Did he want to leave? Again, he ponders it. Was there a part of him that longed for a peaceful life? That wanted nothing more than to live safely like a normal person? A life free from the shackles of his reputation and his blessing? A life in which he would not be forced into violence? Of course. And yet...

Roi could remember how he felt. In his village, watching those soldiers beat his neighbor. How no one raised a hand to help. He could remember the fury he felt at the injustice. If he had the power to do what no other living person could... If, without him, more people would be made thralls to Primals. Would die to the empire. If more people would suffer... If the people he wanted to protect were hurt... Was he any different from those people that turned their gaze away from a person in need? If he had the power to act and chose not to, he may as well be complicit in death and agony. Inaction was an action. And how could he, knowing his own power, sit by and allow people to suffer? The powerful should protect the weak. People like Ro, who were ruined by the world, should protect those who had not been. He wanted to prevent more people like him from existing.

"I... I cannot leave. How can I leave? If I walked away, I would be condemning far too many people to death or worse. It isn't even a choice. It isn't even a question." He sighs. He understood the thought. And yet...

"No one... Made me into a weapon. Well, maybe they did. But it wasn't the scions or even Eorzea. It was me. I did it to myself. Use me. I can rest when I die."

brightblessed.

⸻ ♞

 Loved? Why the hells would he be loved? His life is valuable? Of course it is. No one wants their weapon of choice to break. Roi knew his value was solely in his ability to kill. A sword sharper than any other. Roi was just as much a deadly weapon as the sword he carried on his back. And just as replaceable. If he fell, a new warrior of light would be found. Just as he was compared to the Warriors of Light in the calamity. And yet, he had to live. Carrying the weight he never asked for. That he was never equipped to handle. Roi has not a stable person, nor was he a good person. His soul was rotten and his demons always got the better of him. He accepted his lot in life as a weapon. If it was to protect those that had touched his heart, then he would be a sword. It was the only thing he was good for. 

❝ Don’t try to twist my words! Of course she had a choice! But sometimes we make choices that are BAD for us. And that’s when others have to step up! She called me a friend and I… ❞  She had been his first friend, no doubt. And he had failed her. Not only did he let her more or less die. He also destroyed himself again and again. His attempt at self-destruction would have her and his family disappointed. And yet he would selfishly continue on. Because that is who he was. 

The Warrior of Light was a hero. Roi Coello was a selfish disgrace. 

❝ I’m loved? If so, it is woefully misplaced. You can proclaim your love for a sword all you want. If it breaks, you find another one. ❞   He had stopped his shouting, but his voice was venomous. Emotions ran wild within him. Maybe if he showed Urianger how ugly he really was, he would tell him that he failed. He would say he was to blame. That he should have been the one to die. Anything but trying to comfort him. Anything was better than that. Spit at him. Hit him. Call him unworthy. Don’t tell him he’s valuable or loved. Had he even deceived Urianger? Could no one see his wicked soul? 

❝ Don’t pretend you don’t know what I am. I know you’re a fucking liar, but at least keep them believable. Love from the people of this land is conditional. As long as I keep killing for them… Don’t act like it’s anything more than that. Maybe one or two people care. But almost everyone who has ever loved me is dead. They’re dead because of me. So don’t pretend you know shit about me. ❞ 

Bold of Roi to yell about twisting words when he’s doing just as much. Though in perhaps the opposite direction, to make things worse and worse for himself. Urianger can understand the impulse, maybe, but it doesn’t mean he has to allow it. “If any one of us had done something different, mayhaps she would still be here. But we did not, and thee blaming thyself is taking a burden that is not thine.”

He can’t walk on like this, Roi has enough burdens, is not the balance heavy enough without adding further on to it? “If that is the case, say it is equally Y'shtola and Thancred’s fault, for not catching her. Or mine and the First’s fault, for offering her as sacrifice. Thinkst thou that your logic is the only path, or thy blame unique in not acting differently? It is not. If nothing else, our fault is equal and she chose to hold her actions as intentional.”

“I do not know thee well. But I also do not think it necessary to know thy interior and exterior to stand by what I said. The people art as varied as anything else, but thou art nonetheless cared about by those around you.” Is that not the same as love? He loves people, so wishes to protect them. Urianger will protect Roi, too, if he can. “It is cruel. I cannot say I know why or how thy friends died. But the loss which I do know of, Minfilia especially, remaineth not thy fault.”

Still, to ‘proclaim love for a sword’. Is that all Roi thinks himself? A blade, wielded by an organization he did not long since join. How heartless. Did they never…? No, was it worth it? Is it worth it? Urianger leans toward no, that losing an identity as a person is not worth the violence they continually ask Roi to be a part of. He knows they need Roi, they need him to be the Hero of Light, but… but.

Urianger fidgets again, back to pressing over the joints of his fingers, a monotonous cycle that distracts from the argument in his head between you are going to promise something you absolutely should not and to ignore a life you could [protect] is not wisdom. Roi is a life before he is a sword. That cannot and should not be forgotten.

Urianger speaks after a moment, cutting through his own circular thinking. “…Doth thou wish to leave?” He stands by his creed. He has to. They can make do with none except Krile who have the Echo, because otherwise thinking that he’s forcing Roi to stay and fight battles he doesn’t choose is… “I would let thee quit this place, and not track thee down. It is not my wish to make man into weapon and aught else, and thou hath already done more than a lifetime’s of work. I shall not lie and say we would not miss thy presence, but I should like to think that none among us would have thee a Scion only by duress.”

If Roi leaves and the others are angry, then Urianger will take that fault. So be it. They have found a way before, they shall find one again.

[sanstropfremir]

Hello! ✨🎥 anon back from the dead. I saw that someone asked you about recs on books a couple of days ago and I wanted to ask about it. Which plays would you recommend (as you said on the notes)? And what would you recommend to expand on technical knowledge about dance? If you were to cover these things on that pending ask that you talked about, then I'll wait for that. Thanks!

HI HELLO how are you!!!! let me do the plays right now since i can spit them off the top of my head pretty quickly. however on the other hand i do not have any good recs on expanding technical knowledge of dance bc literally everything i learned was orally. it also depends on what type of dance? if you're looking for ballet i'd recommend looking at the ballet russe obvs but also balanchine! i got nothing for any other type of dance though.

so some plays that were very influential to me (a lot of these are not perfect and i fully acknowledge that):

the tempest - shakespeare

macbeth - shakespeare

twelfth night - shakespeare

cat on a hot tin roof - tennessee williams

any of anne carson's translations of the greek classics

oedipus rex (actually for real it's a fucking incredible play)

rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead - tom stoppard

arcadia - tom stoppard

eurydice - sarah ruhl

dead man's cell phone - sarah ruhl

blood and ice - liz lochhead

if you can find any eng trans of wayang kulit or wayang wong scripts, but this may be difficult since the only way i read them was bc i took a class with like the one guy in the west coast of canada who's dedicated his entire life to indonesian theatre and translated a bunch of them himself and i think only had them published in a $100 textbook. they are however usually stories from the mahabharata or the ramayana, which are easier to find translations of

i read a bunch of translations of noh when i was like 13 and i cannot for the life of me remember the names of any of them but noh and kabuki are really good for looking at storytelling structures

hamlet - shakespeare

this is a pretty short list bc i've read a LOT of plays in my life, but these are ones that have had a profound impact on my artistic career in some way.

[dakotafinely]

Wow, Guess I'm Making This Post

So, I guess I'm back again to talk about somethings. To make clarifications and to correct myself. About two-ish (maybe three?) days ago I made a post @/ing Glitch and talking about LFLS. This post here, which I don't want anyone to reblog anymore but I cannot seem to make it unrebloggable and see no point in deleting it because it would still exist within the reblogs of it. But in the post I meant for my intentions to be made clear that I had problems with how people responded in treating LFLS compared to other fics, while also making it clear I had no ill will or bad intentions against that fic or Glitch themself. I tried my best and even had my post peer reviewed by fellow content creators so my wording could be at its best.

I failed in my attempt, however. As a couple of people had come into my DM's telling me take my post down. At first I thought perhaps they were just diehard fans of Glitch, who only wanted to focus on the fact that I called Glitches tweet condescending for smaller content creators and not encouraging like she had hoped. However, one of them made better clarity of their problems with my post then the other (no hate to that other they did their best their point just didn't come across as well as they hoped it to) to which I say thank you.

While I and some of the others that reblogged my post saw it as a complaint about fandom acting like other content creators don't make content. When they do and often get ignored, making creators feel unappreciated and abandoning works or not even sharing them to being with. Glitch and the people who know her saw it as me blaming her for her popularity and how LFLS blew up, that I made her to be condescending and that my post was made for negativity under the guise of fandom.

I want to make it clear I do not think ANY of those things about Glitch, I don't know Glitch personally. Heck, confession? Still haven't read LFLS, and probably won't. I completely believe that Glitches tweet was her trying to inspire people to create. It just felt unintentionally condescending to me and a few other content creators who have been writing Rise fics for just as long as Glitch, with much different results. And I suppose part of me let that feeling seep into my post. But Glitch and LFLS are not the cause of the fandoms reactions to them. And I didn't make that clear. Glitch is just a human being, like any of us are, and she is not in control of her popularity or peoples response to what she makes or creates. My post wasn't meant to be about Glitch but it became that when I didn't explain myself fully. Or make my intentions properly clear.

I intended for that post to focus on fandom and how it doesn't acknowledge smaller creators the way they do bigger creators. For example, myself, it is rare for me to get comments. Since January of 2022 to now I've had about maybe 7 or 8 new comments on my fic. For reference that's 10 whole months. With comments only coming in either one a month or two-three at once but then lacking between months. I've gotten a handful of asks about my fic. And my fic (Dread Poition) has been around since about 2020 (if I remember correctly). Now my fic is certainly not top tier nor really memorable for fics. But plenty of my writer friends get the same results as me. With works that are 1000 times better then my own. Some creators even LESS then that with about one comment within the past few years of their fanfic being public.

I bring up again, a friend of mine who creates fanart for Rise. Who has only ever gotten a large amount of reblogs and hearts on their LFLS fanart, and still do to this day. While their many, many amazing pieces of fanart they've made over the years doesn't even get CLOSE to as many reblogs and hearts as that one particular piece of fanart does.

Which, again, let me make it very clear that it is NOT Glitches fault AT ALL that this imbalance happened. That fandom decided that bigger works are the only ones that deserve any proper acknowledgement. It is on FANDOM and fandom ONLY. We all need to do our part to make smaller content creators known and let them know we love their fics and wish to see more of them. We need to engage with them, leave comments and kudos, reblog their posts about their works we enjoy, start conversations about fics we like more, and talk about more then just while known fics and encourage people to check out fics from writers they may never have heard of.

To the people who reblogged my post and hearted it because you understood what I was trying to convey. Thank you, I'm glad you agree and I am glad you could understand my post. To the people who maybe reblogged or hearted because they agreed with the miscommunication that Glitch is at fault, please know that is not something I agree with or want to be associated with. My post was never intended to start any negativity towards Glitch and I don't want that for them.

I also want to reiterate again that there is nothing wrong with liking popular works. Like, of course, LFLS by Glitch, The Brains And The Brawn by Jadesthe0ne, or Legends Of The Hidden Kingdom (fantasy au) by Charmy, to name a few. There is nothing wrong with expressing those likes with fanart or asks or comments. I think it's wonderful! But attention, love, and support are not finite, they can be given to big content creators and small ones alike without taking from either. And to me (and a few others) it certainly feels like that's how fandom can treat it sometimes.

No one is in any genuine wrong here. I'm not scolding fandom and I'm certainly not scolding Glitch. I'm just trying to point out an issue fandom has that it needs to resolve. And I'm again linking to my Writers Appreciation Post, because that's what this is all really about. Supporting writers and artists in the fandom. In my initial post I accidentally leaned into a "us versus them" mentality. "Us" being smaller creators and "Them" being bigger ones. I don't believe in that mentality and I am disappointed in myself for leaning into it unintentionally or not. We are all just creators wanting to make what we love. We are all just people who enjoy the same silly (/pos) TV show. And there's no need to pit ourselves against each other.

[loeyparker]

hurt her to save her - d.m

pairing: draco x fem!reader

word count: 7k 

warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of death and torture

plot: getting closer to Draco during sixth year has consequences. Draco realizes that when he’s forced to hurt you in order to keep you safe from Voldemort

a/n: my HP obsession is back so I’ve returned to writing fics but i might have went overboard with this one lmao . it wasn’t requested, but if someone wants part 2 i’m gonna do it <3

Draco Malfoy had a very good memory. Besides being cunning and arrogant, he was also incredibly smart – which is precisely why he was second best in most classes. Behind the cold, uncaring façade the youngest Malfoy put out into the world however, stood a boy who remembered things he probably should have forgotten.

Lately, Draco Malfoy couldn’t remember the last time he felt anything but fear. He attempted to mask the feeling either with anger, determination or indifference but the true, raw feeling of fear was behind it all, much like a dementor guarding all his other emotions. The past summer planted dread and terror deep into his mind and the ink on his skin felt like it was seeping through his skin, entering his veins and poisoning his heart.

By the time he arrived back at Hogwarts for his sixth year, he felt drained. With the weight of the world on his shoulders, the young boy attempted to pretend to be a normal student, despite the countless sleepless nights and stray tears that sometimes escaped through small cracks in the emotional wall he’d built around him over the years. The tears only saw the light of day in the darkness of the Room of Requirement, where he found himself surrounded by old artifacts and silence.  

“Draco, Severus has been telling me you seem distracted.” The soft, yet scared tone of Draco’s mother rang throughout the empty, rotting room in the Shrieking Shack. Broken windows allowed for the wind to invade the abandoned building violently and loudly, and to dance around the three figures standing in the dark. It caused a shiver to run up Draco’s spine, but he couldn’t tell if the reaction came from the cold or from Narcissa and Severus’s stares aimed at him.

Draco felt so small under their gaze.

“That’s true, I have been.” Draco admitted, looking forward. He focused on a spider trapping a moth in its web. “With school.” The moth fought, attempted to flap its wings but the web was too sticky. “I have to keep up my grades. Them dropping suddenly would be suspicious.” Draco’s voice didn’t waver, despite his heart beating at a much more rapid pace than normally.

“Lie.” Severus Snape spoke simply. The professor was tasked with taking care of the Slytherin boy, but he wasn’t about to listen to his childish lies while the man knew what he had been seeing in the past months around Hogwarts.

Draco didn’t move.

Narcissa sighed and got closer to her son. She placed her palms on Draco’s pale cheeks and she felt them being hollower than she remembered. Draco still didn’t look at her. The spider was covering the dying moth in his web, fully suffocating the creature.

“My boy, the dead don’t need lovers.” Narcissa’s voice was quiet, regretful even. Her heart ached for the boy who was so quickly deprived of a childhood.

“You cannot forget about the assignment because of a girl.” Snape spoke up, his voice monotonous.

“I haven’t forgotten.” Draco spat back and took a step away from his mother, whose hands dropped. He didn’t feel the lack of her palms on his cheeks, as they left no warmth Draco could feel. “And there’s no girl.”

“Do not lie to us, boy. I have seen you with the Ravenclaw girl, I am not blind.” Snape saw the glances between Draco and you in the Great Hall, he saw the way Draco fixed his gaze on you during DADA. He also caught you walking into the Room of Requirement not long after Draco the previous night. On top of that, Minerva had mentioned how Draco’s recent assignments closely mirrored yours. You had a certain style noticeable in your homework answers, and that style began to be seen in Draco’s own homework which lead everyone to speculate the two students may be closer than everyone thinks.

Before Draco could deny, Narcissa spoke “Under other circumstances, I’d be delighted to hear about a girl in your life.” Her tone was soft, yet it held an edge and sternness to it. “But you have a mission, Draco. Do I need to remind you of the consequences to befall our family if you don’t succeed?”

“No.” Draco spat. He already knew the consequences – loud and clear. They had been drilled into his mind, heart and soul the entire summer. If he couldn’t kill Dumbledore, Voldemort would kill Draco’s entire family instead.

“The girl is another weakness. Another person to add to the death list, Draco.” His mother pleaded. “You know he will kill her if he finds out.”

“I know.”

Draco could feel all the warmth in his body melt away and even his bones felt cold and heavy.

“You can still save her.” Snape spoke. “Focus on you mission, hurt her. Make her believe you don’t love her.”

Draco glanced at the spider one last time, and the moth laid still in the webs of the predator. The wind made the web sway, but only slightly. It was too sturdy to be blown away by any forces.

“Hurt her to save her.” Narcissa’s voice echoed through Draco’s mind all the way back to the castle. The Room of Requirement didn’t appear that night, and so the boy went to bed instead. He entered an empty Slytherin common room and even though the fire was burning, Draco couldn’t feel its warmth. Not even as he knelt in front of the flames, attempting to warm his freezing hands. His movements were mechanic. As he laid in bed that night, he couldn’t remember how exactly he got back into the dorm from the Shack.

However, he remembered events that took place years ago perfectly.

He especially remembered the night of the Yule Ball, two years prior. He can pinpoint the exact moment he spotted you in the crowd of well-dressed students. It was, in his mind, the first time he really, truly saw you. He remembered the small -but noticeable skip of his heart that happened as soon as his eyes landed on your figure. You were smiling, but sitting at the wrong table –  which confused him for a moment. You were sat at the Gryffindor table, right next to the Weasley twins who were making you laugh. A Ravenclaw boy whose name Draco didn’t know was behind you, resting his hands on your shoulders thus signaling that he was your date that night through possessive body language. You didn’t acknowledge his presence much, though.

Pansy, Draco’s date, made comments about your dress each time you stood up to dance. The long dark blue satin dress gently touched the ground with each step you took, the slit in its side slightly exposed your leg with each movement. There was a smile on your face the whole night.

Draco thought you looked so beautiful.

He thought you looked beautiful even when your glance danced towards Ron Weasley until the end of the ball.

Draco also remembered the night Pansy dragged you into Umbridge’s office a year later. She held your arms behind your back forcefully while you struggled to get out of her grasp. Your wand was in her possession and you looked angry. A great juxtaposition to how you looked on the night of the Yule Ball. He remembered thinking how much sense it made for you to be tangled in Harry Potter’s mess because that’s what Potter did. He had everyone on his side, all odds in his favor while Draco was being dealt bad cards at every turn.  

You fought and tried to get away from Pansy. Your hair was messy, and your oversized blue sweater was getting untucked from your jeans with each forceful move you made. A frown painted your soft features, your eyes seemed darker than usual. Draco caught a glimpse of the scars on your wrist which he immediately knew came from Umbridge’s detention sessions, and he felt a flicker of rage rise into his stomach. The feeling directly contradicted the satisfaction he had been feeling at the sight of Potter getting his plans spoiled right in front of him.

“Parkinson, lay it off.” Draco found himself spitting when he realized the pressure on your wrist was painful. He spoke before he realized what he was doing, and so he found the confused gazes of Ginny and Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and you – all fixed on him. Pansy obeyed Draco with discomfort.

You looked at him quizzingly, not really understanding why he was suddenly…helping you? He met your gaze just for a second before a heavy glare returned in his eyes and he turned away, focusing entirely on Harry and Umbridge.

It was minutes later when he watched your figure getting smaller as you ran away from Umbridge’s office, escaping with your friends. Draco and his friends were left behind and unable to follow as they each struggled with curses thrown at them in the escape. You were all long gone by the time the group of Slytherins came to, and Draco remembered that he found himself wishing he had people running into the line of fire for him like Harry did – he wished you would’ve glanced back at him in your escape and then weeks later when he was told about the events of that night, he found himself hoping his father didn’t hurt you in the Ministry attack.

Those thoughts and memories didn’t stay with him for long that summer, though. Draco couldn’t say that you crossed his mind after he received the Mark.

Until that night.

It was late and he was in the Room of Requirement, still fiddling with the cabinet. It was the fourth consecutive night spent in there after finding the damn thing, and he wasn’t anywhere close to fixing it. Frustrated, he punched and kicked the wood so hard that his knuckles sent sharp waves of pain through his arm. It was because of the noise he was making, the kicks and grunts that he didn’t hear the Room’s doors open and close.

You had previously been in the Gryffindor common room, attending one of their parties. There weren’t lots of Ravenclaws there – hell, it was only you, Stiles, Padma, Anthony and Michael. And it was all going well. You were sat on a bean bag chair with Stiles in-between your legs, surrounded by your Gryffindor friends: Ron, Harry, Hermione, Neville and Ginny, with Dean and Seamus on their way to you all with butterbeers in hand. The atmosphere was fun and light – a welcomed escape from the reality surrounding you, but you all decided to enjoy the moment and pretend the world outside the common room didn’t exist for the night. So you sat close to the fire and you didn’t know if the hot flames were warming you up or if it was the fact that Ron was focusing an unusual amount of attention on you.

You’ve had a crush on the Weasley boy since third year, and no matter what you did, you couldn’t stop your heart from beating faster each time he smiled at you.

You were having a great time.

“And if I become an Animagus to help Scott, then what?” Stiles spoke. Harry shook his head. You puffed. “What? We’d be the new generation of the Marauders; someone has to keep the legacy alive.” He continued, determined.

“Lupin would kill you, mate.” Ron laughed.

“You know animagi don’t pick their animal though, right?” You questioned. Stiles looked up at you and beamed.

“I know. But it’s like, vibe related so I think I’m safe. I’d absolutely be a dog, or a wolf.”

You glanced worryingly at Harry, but the boy simply burst out laughing and denied jokingly. Everyone else hearing the conversation laughed as well.

“Stiles, if it’s vibe related then you’d be a weasel.” You spoke, prompting laughs from everyone. Ron high fived you for the joke and you smiled wider than you thought possible.

The good mood didn’t last long, though. Only moments later Lavender Brown joined the group and comfortably sat herself in Ron’s lap. You watched him give her a quick kiss and wrap his arms around her. “What are we talking about?” She asked and it was as if your ears got covered. The sound faded, your smile dropped, your shoulders slumped. Ron would never like you back, you had to accept that. It was pathetic how you longed for the boy for so long.

So, you excused yourself and left the common room entirely to take a walk. You didn’t expect to end up outside the Room of Requirement, and you didn’t even feel like going inside. But the hall was dark and cold and you began hearing footsteps and the flickering light of Filch’s lantern slowly began illuminating the stone walls and with a haste movement, you went into the Room before Filch could walk around the corner and catch you.

You found yourself in a Room much different from the training grounds you had known while being part of the D.A. Tall piles of clutter seemed to reach the ceiling and despite the room being extremely vast, it felt tiny and crowded because of all the objects tossed and piled everywhere in sight. You walked on a path formed through columns made out of old boxes and books, all piled amongst stacked chairs, empty owl cages and rusty potions equipment. Loud bangs followed by grunts caused you to stop in your tracks and draw out your wand. The room in itself seemed unpredictable, and so you already had about six defensive spells ready to go in your mind and on the tip of your tongue.

You caught a glimpse of platinum blond hair before anything else. It looked messy – very different from the way Draco usually wore it: slick and perfect. Now, it gave you the feeling that he’d been vigorously running his fingers through it, causing it to become tousled. He was only in a white shirt – the robe, vest and tie laid disregarded on a near-by couch.

Lowering your wand, you gently knocked on a table to get his attention.

He turned around in a panic. His hand reached for his wand but stopped midair when he saw you. “What are you doing here?” Draco spat with no hesitation. His heart skipped a beat again, like it did on the night of the Yule Ball.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You responded, glancing at the cabinet in front of him. At the time, you didn’t think anything of it.

“None of your business.”

“I don’t care anyway.” You glared. “This room appeared to me like it did for you and since I think I need it, I’m not leaving.” With your arms crossed, you leaned against a random tossed out piece of furniture.

“Isn’t there a Gryffindor party you should be at?” Draco’s gaze remained cold and the scowl on his face didn’t falter.

“You know about that?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, I know everything that goes on around here.” He broke eye contact by focusing on folding up his sleeves. When his hand began working on his left forearm, he stopped abruptly, remembering. He went stiff at the realization, which you noticed. Before you could speak however, he looked back at you with a smirk, “Was Lavender Brown there so you ran away?” It was as if he didn’t look struck by lightning just two seconds before.

However, his words made you forget his strange behavior. “The hell? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come on, (Y/L/N). Everyone knows you have the hots for Weasley. Least you can do is own up to it.” He teased with a mixture of annoyance and amusement present on his face.

“Piss off, Malfoy.” Walking up to the old couch Draco’s uniform laid on top of, you sat down and watched as the dust flew out of its cushion. Draco groaned. “I’m just gonna nap here until I’m sure Filch left and isn’t near the Ravenclaw tower.”

Draco mumbled some things you didn’t bother to understand, and then silence befell both of you. He didn’t really bother to fight you to leave even though, in retrospect, he should have had. Maybe if you didn’t stay with him that night, he wouldn’t be meeting you in the Room months later with tears burning his eyes. But, to be fair, he couldn’t have known that night. That night, he just rolled his eyes at you breaking the silence ten minutes later, when he thought you were asleep.

“What are you even doing there?”

“I told you, none of your business.” He spat.

“Is that the vanishing cabinet Peeves broke a few years ago?”

Draco turned around. It was his turn to be surprised by your knowledge. “How do you know about that?” He couldn’t help but let his eyes roam over your figure as you sat cross-legged on the old couch he napped on countless times before. You wore casual clothes – which he always thought looked great on you, and your hair laid straight over your shoulders. The few candles he had lit around softly luminated your face with warm tones.

You smiled proudly at his question.

“Fred and George shoved Montague in it last year” you laughed “it was quite funny.”

Draco remembered the incident. He was, after all, the one who found Montague stuck in a bathroom after the encounter with the twins.

“You’re trying to fix it, aren’t you?” Draco watched you jump up from the couch and walk next to him to examine the cabinet. He suddenly felt on edge, exposed. The Ravenclaw in you was jumping to solve a problem, while the Slytherin in him was about to explode. “Have you tried a mending charm?”

“Of course, I tried a mending charm.” Draco answered with annoyance in his voice. You rolled your eyes. “It doesn’t work.”

“Well, then- “

“I don’t need nor want your help, (Y/L/N).” He glared down at you. “I can handle it myself.”

“Asshole.” You mumbled before taking a few steps back from Draco. He didn’t turn to you. Instead, he focused on his task even though his mind wasn’t on it anymore. He focused on your footsteps as you began to walk away without another word and before he could overthink, he spoke up softly. “But you can stay, if you want.”

You didn’t stop walking as you answered him. “I don’t.”

Draco then heard you utter “Lumos”, heard your footsteps getting quitter and quieter, then the heavy doors being pulled open. After they closed, he found himself surrounded by silence once again. Not dwelling on it, he pushed the thought of you away and resumed his work. Nothing was more important than his assignment.

Things slowly started to shift after that night.

The next day in Transfiguration as he was zoning out, a paper butterfly landed on his desk. He glanced around the room but saw nobody giving any sign of sending him the note. However, after he opened it and read its contents, his eyes immediately found you. On the paper was a list of incantations that would be useful in repairing things, and he knew you had sent it even though you looked focused on the textbook in front of you. It looked as if you were purposefully trying to ignore him, and Draco allowed the ghost of a smirk to form at the corners of his lips.

Two nights later, Draco walked into the Room of Requirement and you were already there. A few more candles than usual were lit as you sat on the (now clean looking) couch, reading a heavy, dense book. “Have they worked?” you asked without looking up from your book.

Draco sighed, loosening his tie. “No.”

And as time passed, you and Draco began spending more and more time together. Initially, you tried to help him fix the cabinet. It gave you a distraction from Ron and Lavender. But it was also obvious that fixing the old thing was important to him – he seemed desperate and for some reason, you felt like helping. And so, you found yourself sitting close to Draco on that old, tossed out couch with different heavy books resting in your lap every night, both searching for spells that could work. Each few day the space between you decreased until you reached a point where your knees touched and your shoulder pressed into his bicep. Sometimes you could even feel his minty breath on your face – just for a second. But the feeling began to linger even as you walked the stairs up to the Ravenclaw tower late at night.

You also found yourself thinking less and less about Ron.

Then, about a month after the Gryffindor party, the Katie Bell incident took place.

Harry began suspecting Draco of the attack and accused him of being a Death Eater. You didn’t go to the Room of Requirement for a few days after that because honestly, you were scared. You knew, deep in your heart that what Harry was saying made sense and because of that you started to believe that Draco’s cabinet wasn’t just some fun project. You lit on fire all the parchment you had written mending charms on, in a haste and with shaky hands.

You didn’t want to see him after that.

But you found yourself days later sneaking out of the tower late at night, quietly making your way to the seventh floor.

Draco got heavily scolded by Snape for the necklace attempt. The Professor found his action completely foolish and didn’t hesitate to let Draco know that. The boy arrived at the Room feeling beaten, defeated. On top of that, he was met by the empty couch and the broken cabinet and he snapped. In a fit of rage, he broke one of the cabinet’s doors and threw it at the couch. The noise he caused rang through the entire room, momentarily covering the silence. He couldn’t bear the sight of his failure any longer and the thought that you were now possibly scared of him after rumors of him being a Death Eater spread around the school, thanks to Potter, angered him even more.

“Training for the next Triwizard Tournament, Malfoy?”

Your voice made him turn around quickly, surprised look on his face.

A small smile danced at your lips, and you took out your wand. Pointing it at the broken door, you cast out “Repairo,” and the door lifted from the couch, gently levitating towards the cabinet and fixing itself. In the end, it looked as if nothing had happened. “At least this works, otherwise you would’ve had to pick up some muggle skills.” You teased.

Draco let out a small laugh, before his face fell again and he sat down on the dusty floor. His back rested against some other piece of forgotten furniture and he brought his knees up, hugging them to his chest. His head fell back, and he closed his eyes.

You quietly sat next to him with a huff.

“Why are you here?” Draco asked quietly.

After a moment of silence, you answered with honesty “I don’t know.” And you didn’t. You couldn’t understand why, despite the pit in your stomach that took shape as soon as Harry accused Draco of being a Death Eater, you were alone with him in a secret room, late at night.

Opening his eyes, Draco made a quick decision. He placed his left hand on your right knee, squeezing. Your eyes met – he looked calm; you were confused. “Do you trust me?” Draco’s voice was just a whisper. Alas, through the deafening silence of the Room, you heard him loud and clear.

“I don’t know.” You answered again. And, mirroring his impulsive move, you placed a hand over his. He felt cold at the touch and as you got used to the slightly stinging feeling, he found comfort in your warmth. “All I know is that I’m here, for some reason. I felt like seeing you.” You admitted, your voice tender and quiet.

Draco didn’t speak for a while. You thought you embarrassed yourself but didn’t dare to move.

“There are things about me that you really wouldn’t like if you knew.” The boy finally spoke. His eyes were glued to the cabinet that was a few feet from you both, but his mind was miles away. “I’m not a good man.” He admitted with no waver in his tone, no hesitation.

And maybe it was the daily, month-long meetings you’ve had with him. Or maybe it was the flicker of decency you saw in him when he got Pansy to release her painful grip on you the previous year. But your mind dug up small events and information buried deep in your memory that made you frown at his words. You remembered Dobby. Harry told you he was the Malfoy’s house elf who tried to keep him safe during second year, and it all seemed strange to you. You knew that house elves, if owned, could not act on their own volition no matter how strong their beliefs and inclinations were. In your mind it seemed unlikely that Dobby left the Malfoys without their knowledge and so, for the longest time you had a hunch it was Draco who sent Dobby to warn Harry. Especially since Lucius was the one who snuck Tom Riddle’s diary into Hogwarts. You were also quite sure it was Draco who helped Harry figure out the monster from the Chamber of Secrets was a Basilisk.

But overall, you knew Draco didn’t grow up in a good environment. He’d been heavily manipulated his entire life and it was in that moment, as you sat next to him on dirty floors, hand on top of his, that you decided whatever he was doing, he was doing either because of blackmail or manipulation.

“You can’t let the bad things from the past define you,” You whispered as your fingers slowly occupied the empty spaces between Draco’s own fingers. He was quick to grip your hand into his. “I think you are good. You’ve just been dealt shit cards.”

Draco didn’t show any emotion as he processed your words. But that night as he lay in his bed all he could think about were your words. Nobody had told him he was a good person before, and he’d never felt supported before in his life. And he felt a wave of emotions hit him all at once. He felt envy because Potter had had you all this time and because of your friendship with him, Draco didn’t get close to you sooner. He felt jealousy because he remembered you were in the Room in the first place because you were heartbroken over Ron – again, someone he didn’t like had all the things Draco felt he should’ve had instead. He felt comfort knowing you weren’t scared of him despite Potter filling your mind with (true) accusations. He felt hopeless because he was a Death Eater now and you were one of the good guys. He also felt entitled, selfish and determined because for the first time in a while, he found himself wanting something – someone, that he wanted for himself: you.

Over the next few months, you both unintentionally grew closer. Draco remembered every smile, every laugh shared between the two of you in the candlelight, hidden deep inside the Room of Requirement. Most days, he worked alone on the cabinet while you studied and pretended he wasn’t doing something potentially harmful. You both found yourselves finding comfort in the other’s mere presence.

You began to think less about Ron and more about Draco and it made you feel strangely guilty, especially when Ron would throw his arm around you like he used to in the Great Hall and you’d catch Draco’s eyes and excuse yourself to move back to the Ravenclaw table.

On certain nights you attempted to get Draco to do homework with you. But with each passing day, he became more and more anxious and afraid. And with each passing day, it hurt and worried you more and more. On a few occasions you did his Transfiguration homework for him just to keep him out of detention.

He owled you a Merry Christmas note during winter break but told you not to write him back. He knew you wished him happy holidays as well.

You gave him a Christmas present when you got back to Hogwarts – a ring, as you’d noticed he liked wearing them. His face lit up at the gesture and it was the first time he embraced you. The action was impulsive but it felt right. One of his arms wrapped around your lower back, the other cradled your head gently. His face buried in your neck and he held you so tight you didn’t dare move. He held you to make sure you were real and wouldn’t slip away from his grasp.

A little over a month later, Draco was feeling the pressure of his tasks heavier than ever. He felt sick each time he looked at the cabinet and you were noticing that. You were also noticing his complete disinterest in school and his reoccurring absences. He’d spend days in the Room, not even coming down to eat. You snuck him meals each time you could but sometimes you’d find them untouched on the floor.

“Alright, Draco. What’s going on?” You confronted him one night.

“Nothing.” He mumbled. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then help me understand,” you pleaded “Draco you’re not acting like yourself please, tell me what’s going on so I can help.” You never pleaded with a man before, never thought you would. Your ego felt too strong for this. And yet, there you were, standing behind a disheveled Draco Malfoy with an ache in your chest.

He ignored you.

You felt like throwing something at his head.

You watched as he opened the cabinet doors and took out a rotten apple. He held it in his hand for a second too long. It wasn’t unusual, you’ve watched him do this repeatedly over the past five months. You flinched when he threw the apple on the floor with vicious force. He then kicked the bottom of the cabined a bunch of times, yelling out in anger and frustration. His scream echoed through the Room. You pursed your lips.

“I can’t do this.” He finally spoke. “I can’t bloody do this and everyone’s going to die.” He started pacing around the small clearing amidst clutter. “My mum, my dad, me…you – we’re all going to die.” He kicked the plate of food you had brought him a few hours prior, spilling the contents over the floor.

You frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s gonna kill you and mum in front of me, make me watch,” He was frantic “probably gonna torture you first so I die remembering your screams. Then,” he pinched his nose, wiped his mouth “then he’ll kill me. I’ll be last and everyone’s gonna be taking the piss out of me, the fucking kid who couldn’t fix a fucking,” he kicked the cabinet again “magic fucking cabinet!” he kicked and kicked until you could feel the pain he felt in his leg yourself.

You walked up to him and attempted to pull him away from the large wooden broken object, but he pushed you away forcefully. You stumbled back in shock. “How dare – “ You couldn’t finish your sentence, however. He hastily turned to face you, pulling up the sleeve of his left arm aggressively, exposing the Dark Mark.

No words came out of your mouth after that.

You couldn’t seem to peel your eyes off of the mark, and Draco watched you with a pained heart. Part of him expected you to run, another to pull out your wand and attack. He didn’t know which one was coming, he didn’t know which one he preferred. However, he didn’t expect you to walk up to him with slow, steady steps.

His eyes locked with yours as you took his arm into your own. It was as if the Room emptied and the only things in it were the two of you. Holding his arm to your chest, you got as close to him as possible. As he looked down at you, his heavy breath fanned your face. “It’s okay, Draco.” You whispered. “I understand.”

And you did. You understood his choice, understood the position he was forced into. And your heart ached for him.

That’s the night Draco remembered best. The way your figure was illuminated by the soft glow of yellow candles, the soft fabric of your sweater rubbing on his skin. The kindness in your eyes spreading warmth through his veins, the way your lips moved when you spoke his name. Most times he thought about conjuring a Patronus, Draco believed the memory of that night was what he needed to focus on in order to succeed.

With his hand on the back of your head, he quickly lowered himself to reach your height and caught your lips in a kiss. He felt you smiling into it and he found himself mirroring you, until you pulled away to giggle into his shoulder. He couldn’t do anything besides kissing the top of your head.

Days later you were both laying on the couch you had transformed into a cozy spot. You were focused on his Mark, tracing your fingers along the lines of it, gently. Draco knew he was supposed to feel pride in having the Mark – that’s what his family had told him, but he felt something close to shame each time he looked at it.

You rested your hand on top of it, covering it. “I’m sorry. But we’ll figure it out.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

A week later he was forced into the meeting with his mom and Snape at the Shrieking Shack. The following night he walked towards the Room of Requirement late, with heavy steps. It felt as if each movement he made on the way happened in slow-motion.

You were reading comfortably when he finally reached you. A smile formed on your lips upon seeing him, but it faded when you took in his appearance, his sour face, hardened figure, stone gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Draco didn’t speak, only pointed his wand towards you. You froze. “Draco?” His hand shook, his face wavered. You were confused.

“I have to do this, (Y/N). He’ll kill you otherwise.” Draco’s voice cracked.

“No, he won’t. You’re a skilled Occlumentist, right? He can’t get into your mind.” You immediately caught on.

He shook his head. “He’ll know, he’ll know. Snape knows, mum knows,” he sounded so scared that you attempted to get up to comfort him, but he threated so you sat back down “he’ll know.”

Tears formed and blurred your vision as your heart picked up speed.

“You know, I didn’t wanna think about you, I wanted to stay focused. I came here to do a task, that’s it. I came to be great, to do great things for the Dark Lord.” Draco began, “But then I saw you. I’ve wanted you since fourth year and then here you were, being good to me and…you woke up a weakness inside me. And I got selfish, I put my mission aside to get something for myself.”

Tears now ran down your face, and Draco mirrored you. You shook your head, silently pleading for him to reconsider.

“But I have a mission, (Y/N) and it’s so important. I can’t be distracted. And I can’t have you being associated with me – it’ll get you killed and I can’t – I can’t have it.”

The candles flickered and for a split second your mind went to a Divination class, where Trelawney explained candle magic. Their dancing light showed instability, chaotic energy while its tall flame indicated success brought about with complications. The air felt cold as you stared at Draco who hadn’t fully stepped into the candlelight. An abyss of darkness stood tall behind him, the sights of it deepening the pit in your stomach. Despite his shaky hands, dark circles underneath his saddened eyes and hollow cheeks, Draco looked put-together. His hair wasn’t messy like it was the first night you found him in the Room. It was back to its slick, flawless style. He wore his all-black suit, and his tie wasn’t loosened.

“I also can’t have you walk out of here knowing everything about me.” His voice hardened and for the first time while being with him, you felt fear.  

“I won’t tell anyone.” Your voice was small. You sat up, your eyes beginning to look for a way out.

“I can’t risk it, you’re friends with Potter. You’re one of the good guys.”

“I won’t put you in danger, Draco.”

He grimaced at your words as if they’ve hit him with the force of a Cruciatus Curse. He tried not to let any more tears fall. You took his reaction as an opportunity to get closer to him. Maybe if you could take away his wand, touch him. Maybe then you could change his mind.

“I won’t endanger you either,” He whispered. “That’s why I have to do this.” At that, he lowered his wand and took two long strides towards you. Another one of his unpredictable actions that left you frozen in your spot. In a swift motion, he cupped your face between his calloused palms. “You know this is the right choice.”

“No,” you whispered and shook your head “no, it’s not. You can teach me Occlumency, I can help you,” your fearful eyes bore into his saddened ones, his heart ached at your words, at the fear he was capable of instilling in you. “We’re a good team, remember? I can help.” You kept pleading as your own hands rested on top of his. You felt the ring you’d given him still on his finger.

He simply shook his head with a small, almost unnoticeable smile on his face. “I’ve already corrupted you enough.” Draco admitted and you were taken aback; rendered speechless. “You’ve been covering for me with your friends, lying to Professors, basically doing my homework while I’m working on bringing the school down.”

Your heart dropped; hands started shaking. Draco felt it. He felt the weight of his words starting to crush you. Down in your mind you knew he was doing something bad with the cabinet, but you didn’t think it was so drastic.

Draco continued. Hurt her to save her, his mom’s words rang through his mind. “I’m using the Vanishing Cabinet to bring Death Eaters into Hogwarts,” his words made you remember the Death Eaters attack at the Quidditch World Cup, where you were almost trampled. You remembered the attack on London that sent one of your family members to the Hospital. You remembered how ruthless the Death Eaters were at the Ministry, when they were throwing deadly curses at a bunch of teenagers.

And there it was.

The look of betrayal, hurt and fear on your face that Draco never wanted to see. He tried to remember the night you saw his Mark, the night you accepted and comforted him. That’s what he wanted to remember, not this. “After I get them here, I’m going to kill Dumbledore.” He continued.

Chills erupted on your body and you recoiled from his touch.

“I knew you were planning something bad, but this, Draco?” You couldn’t speak louder than a whisper as you took small steps away from him. He knew this was coming; the disgust, the unacceptance. Was your speech about understanding him all bullshit? “You don’t have to- “

“Yes, I do. It’s my mission.”

“No, listen to me. You’re not this person, you’re not a Death Eater. I know you, Draco. You’re still a good person put in a terrible situation but it’s not all lost, we can-“ Despite your fear, you still found yourself comforting him, pleading with him. Your mind lead an inner battle between understanding the boy’s motives and wanting to let Harry know of everything that was happening.

You couldn’t let Dumbledore die, couldn’t let Death Eaters attack Hogwarts.

“I cursed Katie Bell. Almost killed her.” Draco cut you off.

“I know.” You deadpanned. He parted his lips and frowned in confusion. “I saw the necklace in your bag a week before it all happened. Then I saw it on McGonagall’s desk. It wasn’t hard to piece together the puzzle.” You explained.

Despite the warmth spreading through his heart at the thought of you not abandoning him even after knowing that all those months ago, at the thought that he’d finally found someone to be on his side for once in his life, someone who understood and maybe even actually loved him – despite it all, Draco’s eyes had never showed less emotion.

You wanted to cry but didn’t. Your ego won.

“You know I have to do this, (Y/N).” His voice didn’t waver anymore. The more reasons you gave him to love you, the more his decision solidified in his mind. “And you know I’m doing the right thing,” he wanted to hold you so bad, but he didn’t move; instead, you both stood feet away from each other. “Knowing all this puts you in danger. Coming here every night puts you in danger hell, even looking at me in the Great Hall puts you in danger. I can’t see you brought into the manor tied up, imprisoned and killed as a punishment for me. And you know I’m right. I’m not just some irrelevant follower, I’ve sat at a damn table with The Dark Lord countless times this summer. He’s been in my home; he knows me personally.”

You couldn’t look at him the more he spoke. So, your gaze was stuck on a candle, but your eyes remained unfocused.  

“You’re smart.” Draco kept speaking, his tone now loud and confident. “This is the part where you tell me that even though you wanna change my mind, you know I’m doing the right thing,” he even joked. You wanted to cry but couldn’t speak. He was right. “Tell me you’re proud of me because I’m putting someone else’s wellbeing above my own for once” his voice became muffled, as if he spoke from underwater. It was silent for a moment as Draco watched you process his words, “You’ll be on the right side of history after this. You’ll go back to Weasley who’s a better choice for you than I could ever be – even though it kills me to say that.”

All you could do was shake your head in disbelief.

By the time you looked back up at him, he had a few tears running down his face and his wand pointed at you. And so you cried.

“We were a good team, weren’t we?” Draco spoke with one last saddened smile.

“Draco, please. I love –“ you began, but Draco couldn’t bear hear it.

You watched Draco wipe his tears with a swift motion, before a white light formed at the tip of his wand. His voice came out strong, unwavering, and determined. His hand stopped shaking.

“Obliviate,” Draco uttered before you could react.

[logicalbookthief]

Things Left Unsaid -- An Analysis of Rei & Touya

Apparently Rei has been getting a lot of flack lately, all of it undeserved, and since I had a post analyzing her relationship with Touya in the works already, I figured no time like the present.

Disclaimer #1: There are a lot of issues with the writing for Rei’s character that have nothing to do with her and everything to do with how the storyline is using her, which I will address and examine.

Disclaimer #2: I’m someone who, while always curious as to what kind of relationship Rei had with her oldest son before he died, never thought it would be revealed that Touya was close to his mom. I don’t think you get the Dabi we see in Chapters 290-295 without him being so warped by his relationship with his father yet so dependent on his attention that he was willing to kill his brother and himself simply for his father’s acknowledgement.

But that’s what I find so interesting about Rei and Touya -- it’s a relationship that mainly consists of regrets and things left unsaid. There isn’t the anger or resentment Dabi feels for Endeavor, because that intense level of emotion sprung from the loss of the father who used to be his whole world. His feelings toward his mother seem more amicable, but also more distant.

And while she could’ve done some things differently in regards to her oldest, I want to make it clear that the distance between them was very much by design.

After all, Touya was the end goal of their marriage. It was never any secret as to why Enji wanted to marry her and to some extent Rei must’ve realized that this child was not meant to be hers: the child was the transaction, the thing she was needed to create, to give to her husband. Of course she loved Touya and was likely his primary caregiver for most of his life, but there was no doubt that once his quirk manifested and he could begin his hero training, his life would be dominated by his father. Which is what happened.

Here, I would like to point out something I noticed in the flashback chapters. We never see any panels of Enji alone with any of his children during their infancy -- even with Shouto, the perfect child he longed for, we see Rei holding Shouto, sitting by him as he sleeps. Enji is there tangentially. Once Shouto begins his training, that is when we see him with his father.

So to see Enji with Touya when he was a baby, prior to his quirk manifesting, strikes me as a big deal. But it makes sense if you remember that he’d placed all his hopes, dreams and expectations on his firstborn. Initially, it doesn’t look like he even considered the possibility that Touya wouldn’t be his successor or that his little eugenics experiment would fail; this was his first, most optimistic attempt at a masterpiece. So I don’t believe it’s far-fetched to see him spend more time with Touya right off the bat (it’s what will make the eventual abandonment all the more crushing).

However, Rei isn’t seen at all in the snippet of Touya’s infancy, despite us knowing she was relegated to the caregiver role. Rei is literally out of the picture. Compare this to how she features prominently in Shouto’s infancy or how we see her holding a baby Natsuo. You could argue that, hey, we don’t see her holding a baby Fuyumi either, but there’s other scenes where Fuyumi’s attached to her mother’s hip or crying over her being hurt. Things that suggest a closeness, when the only scene we get of just her and Touya is one where they’re at odds. 

As we move further into Touya’s childhood, though, Rei becomes the only voice we hear advocate for him against his father. I’m referencing two specific instances:

When Enji coerces her into having more children to replace Touya now that his father has deemed him a failure, something she knows will hurt their son deeply.

And after Touya lashes out at Shouto, which Rei doesn’t blame on Touya, but rather on his father. She delivers such a satisfying condemnation of his actions, probably the most cutting one Endvr’s received to date, and it so accurately sums up one of his major character flaws.

How can you call yourself a hero when you can’t even face your own son?

The tragedy of it all is that Rei never said any of this in front of Touya -- it was always said in private, just to her husband. That alone took courage, yes, but it would’ve meant everything to Touya to hear her condemn his father aloud. Instead when she does speak to him, she says this:

It’s why I can’t wrap my head around that scene in Ch 302, where after Enji admits he didn’t know what to say to Touya, Rei replies, “Neither did I.” 

When we’re shown in flashbacks during that same chapter that she did understand her son. “He just wants to be acknowledged by you” is quite the indication that she, at the very least, understood the cause of Touya’s turmoil even if she couldn’t fully relate to it herself. So why can’t she say any of this to him?

The answer is in the way she addresses Touya, as it is nearly identical to how Nao addresses Tenko in this scene:

Both Touya and Tenko grew up in similar households: the father had all the power, physical and financial, so the mothers were left to try and comfort their children in a way that didn’t go against their husbands’ desires -- and so, to use Tenko’s own words, they would “reject them with kindness.”

So it’s no wonder that Touya lashes out at his mother after she suggests he pursue other things. He isn’t five like Tenko was, he’s thirteen and has a much clearer understanding of why she says this and why it’s a bit hypocritical, since he’s aware of her situation, too.

Just as she was bound by her family, who wanted her to marry Endvr for the money and status, he’s bound by the expectations of his family. I’m not sure if I’ve seen anyone else touch on this detail, but when Touya states that he knows his grandparents sold his mom into marriage so his dad could have a child, we could infer that Touya knows enough to realize that his mother might not have necessarily wanted him.

Not him specifically, but any child — the story has neglected to flesh her out beyond her marriage and motherhood, so we have no idea if Rei wanted to become a mother prior to this arrangement, despite how much she loves her kids now — although it is possible that he might’ve internalized it this way.

So you have Touya, who at least knows with certainty that his father wanted him to exist, yet he comes to understand that his father only wants him if he can meet a specific set of expectations, and if he cannot, he’ll be discarded. If he can’t surpass All Might, he can’t fulfill his reason for existing and his father will have to replace him. So to have his mother urge him to follow a path other than becoming a hero would mean, to Touya, accepting that he is the mistake he fears he is. Of course he isn’t going to respond well to that.

I don’t like when people try to compare Touya’s reaction in this moment to Shouto’s when Rei tells him he isn’t bound by his father’s blood, using that to paint Shouto as the “good” child and Touya as the “bad” one. They didn’t react differently because of any innate sense of goodness or lack thereof -- they reacted differently because the situations are different.

Telling Shouto that he didn’t have to be like his father comforted Shouto, who only knew his father as the bully who hurt his mom. He associated his father, and his father’s fire, with all of that fear and pain -- and thus, he associated the part of himself that took after his father with those feelings. She wasn’t denying his dream of becoming a hero, only assuring him that when he became a hero it could be whatever kind of hero he chose to be, that he wasn’t doomed to be like his father.

Whereas what she tells Touya sounds a lot like what his father told him, which was to give up on being a hero and pursue other aspirations.

Encouraging Shouto to become his own version of a hero still falls in line with what Endvr ultimately wants, which is for Shouto to be a hero capable of surpassing All Might. Whereas this is what happens when Touya continues to train to do that against his father’s wishes:

This is where the framing begins to bother me and where Rei’s characterization becomes inconsistent. 

So in this scene from Ch 302, we see Enji abusing his wife for “letting” Touya continue to train, punishing her for her “failure” to stop him. Obviously, none of that is Rei’s fault. If anything, Enji would be more responsible for preventing Touya from hurting himself since he’s the reason his son is hurting himself in the first place.

Moreover, the fact that he hits Rei over this sort of muddies the water of an previously-established narrative. Since the Sports Festival arc, we’ve known that Endvr abused his wife because she tried to interfere with Shouto’s training. It got to the point where she was terrified of her husband and it drove her to a breakdown. Why introduce this new aspect to the abuse, when it was already established that a) he was physically abusive and b) his motivations for abusing her were explicit to the audience? 

I’m not saying it doesn’t make sense that a man who hits his wife for one reason could find another reason to do it and justify his actions to himself. And while the scene does portray Endvr in a bad light to show how wrong his actions are, literally draping his figure in shadow, why does it even dare to suggest the idea that Rei was remiss in her duties as a mother? Again, the scene isn’t even necessary, since the narrative has long-since showed the audience that Enji abused his wife. 

By itself, the scene would read as further exploration of how Rei was victimized and how it affected her children. When you look at it with the chapter as a whole, though? Remember, this is the chapter where Rei claims that all of the family shares the blame in what happened to Touya, displacing some of the blame that rightfully rests on Enji. 

But my major gripe with this scene is how it reframes the sole moment we get of Rei and Touya alone. Because we know that Rei understands Touya, based on her confrontations with her husband in Ch 301 & 302. Rather than encourage him to be what he wants or acknowledge that his father is in the wrong, however, her advice falls in line with what Enji wants -- to stop Touya from training. And this comes after a scene where we see Enji beat his wife when she doesn’t stop Touya from training.

With all that in mind, it could potentially be read as Rei trying stop Touya for the sake of protecting herself and the family -- I don’t think it’s coincidence that in the scene where he hits her that we see Shouto, Fuyumi & Natsuo all as witnesses who are very distressed by what’s happening to their mother -- at the cost of Touya’s need to be validated. And if executed well or at least better than it has here, that wouldn’t be a bad choice of narrative per se, and it would fit into the pattern where the households the villains were raised in -- notably Shigaraki, Dabi & Toga -- mimic the society they live in, just on a smaller scale.

Except. Does that sort of narrative make sense based on what we already know about Rei?

Certainly, it is natural to want to protect yourself under physical and/or emotional duress by appeasing your abuser. This sort of complicated dynamic appears in the Shimura family, too. Just like in the house that Kotaro built, the Todoroki family revolves around the desires of the abuser and is dictated by his whims.

I would argue that Nao does give us a well-written example of this narrative. From the beginning, it’s established that she loves Tenko dearly. But in the house her husband built, there’s no room to love her son as he deserves. She prioritizes the feelings of Tenko’s father for the sake of maintaining peace in the household and this is established quickly and plainly.

Early on in the flashback, Kotaro exerts his control over the house, while Nao + her parents look uncomfortable. Despite this, we watch as they comply with his rules, all at the expense of Tenko’s feelings. When she stands up to Kotaro at last, it is not where Tenko can see and already too late. It’s a painful story, full of regret and sadness, but it is consistent from start to end. Nobody feels out-of-character or there to prop up anybody else.

So why doesn’t Rei feel as consistent in this narrative?

Because it doesn’t fit with everything we knew about Rei prior to her abuser’s subpar redemption arc.

The way she interacts with Touya would make sense, if this was how she was portrayed from the start. However, her behavior in Shouto’s flashback -- where she was first introduced -- contrasts what we get in the later Todoroki flashbacks.

Let’s compare this to the scenes in Ch 302. Here, Rei interferes on Shouto’s behalf. She advocates for her son in front of Shouto where he can hear. She stands up to his bully/villain and tries to protect him, while also validating his feelings in the process. Directly after this, Enji hits her, not for failing to comply with his demands, but for defying him. 

It is difficult to reconcile this Rei with the Rei we get in Ch 302. And if you try to find an in-story reason for the inconsistency, the options either do a disservice to Rei or make things even more painful for Touya. But I’m sure most of you have realized that I’m going to suggest a reason for this inconsistency that goes beyond the canon.

Because when Rei was first introduced in the story, Endvr was unequivocally the villain in the Todoroki family, not some misguided patriarch trying to atone for his “past” mistakes. Years later and in the midst of his redemption arc, the narrative seems to be intent on making this man more palatable to readers, and it’s used Rei at every opportunity to prop up his efforts to be better. Often, though, it takes some of the heat off Enji by displacing it onto other family members, most significantly Rei & Touya.

Like, you can literally see the difference in the frame from early in the manga to now:

Ch 39: Endvr trains his five-year-old to the point where he’s throwing up due overextension and being punched by a fully grown adult who is also his father. Rei tries to protect her son and gets slapped by Endvr. All the blames rests squarely on Endvr, who is clearly the aggressor and painted as the villain here.

Ch 302: Endvr hits Rei for not preventing Touya from sneaking out to train, knocking her to the ground. Again, Endvr is clearly the aggressor, but oh this time it’s not driven solely by his selfish desires it’s also cocnern for his son; Rei is the victim but oh she also should have been watching him more closely, and oh well why was Touya going out in the first place, when everyone has told him to stop and he knows his mom will get punished for it?

Honestly, I can understand where some people have mixed feelings over Rei’s character, particularly since the writing has done her such a disservice recently. With that being said, however, it takes a minimum amount of critical thinking to recognize that while you can criticize some choices she made, you cannot hold her to the same standard of accountability as Enji, it’s absurd. The power imbalance was obviously tipped in Endvr’s favor, always.

It is a shame, too, that we can’t have more discussions that don’t turn into some readers (a lot of whom are attempting to make Endvr sound less horrible than he actually was) trying to demonize her. It’s doubly a shame the story itself doesn’t bother to flesh her out as a person, instead using her as a prop, because the complex relationships she has with Touya -- with all her children, really -- has plenty of room for exploration. 

Like, there was no reason to add this new dimension of resentment due to her spouting Enji’s words back at Touya, when there was already a source of tension supported by previous canon -- the neglect the Todoroki kids suffered because Rei couldn’t be the parent they needed, due to her declining mental health and eventual breakdown.

Or, if you want to complicate their dynamic further, why not add something that focuses on Rei and has nothing to do with Enji? We learn in the flashbacks that Rei agreed to the marriage more-or-less to please her family, lamenting that she “intended to smile through it to the end,” essentially admitting that her hope was she could grin and bear it. It is telling that she had this attitude before entering her marriage; evidently, she was raised with the idea that she should be acquiescent to her parents’ whims and not express herself if she was only going to be contrary. Maybe she didn’t know how to deal with Touya’s very expressive, very emotional outbursts as a result. And her inability to respond would be the exact opposite of what Touya was seeking.

Not to mention that Touya died, and for the last decade, Rei was under the impression she had lost her son forever. He died while she was hospitalized, torn up with guilt over what she did to Shouto, only to find out that her other son died in a frankly horrific manner, and she could do nothing. By the time she would’ve found out, it was too late to even try to do anything. I can’t imagine what she must’ve felt in terms of regret alone, plus her grief. And I’m still mad we were robbed of her reaction to Touya being alive, because now suddenly there is a chance to do something, to change what was once written in stone.

Or what about Touya’s feelings for his mother, that have yet to be given much depth? As the oldest and most aware of his existence, it seems like he was the first to truly understand his mother’s situation and I can’t help but wonder: If Touya knew he vessel for his father’s ambition, and his mother was sold into role of creating/caring for him, did he question her love for him? Once he found out one parent’s love was conditional, it wouldn’t be a leap for him to consider it for the other. And yet if that’s true, Dabi doesn’t appear to hold any ill-will towards her for that. He was angry at her hypocrisy, because he knows she should understand, but her words to him didn’t reflect that.

All of that is fascinating and so much better than what we got in canon, so far at least. I’m hoping for them interact in the present at least once before the end of the series, and I think they will, but as to how satisfying a reconciliation it’ll be, I guess we’ll have to wait to see how the Todoroki plotline progresses from here on out.