#i feel like rose was more frustrating in his execution

[jadeazora]

Rose didn't even need to be a villain. He had noble intentions in trying to help Galar and even requested Leon's help, presumably to try and mitigate as much damage as possible. But tho the problem he feared was lifetimes away, he, for some reason, couldn't wait the single day Leon had requested, and kicked off the apocalypse early, throwing the region into a panic. It all just felt so forced and unnecessary to me, and had he waited, he could have had two Champions trying to help him corral Eternatus.

Are Sordward and Shielbert obnoxious and more comedic characters? Yes. Are they also more actually villainous than Rose? Also yes. While Rose had good intentions, these guys were just pissed that Sonia had uncovered the truth about the Darkest Day and that the brothers they were descended from weren't actually the heroes at all, but the Wolves were the true heroes, and were causing problems on purpose, even trying to force a Legendary to go out of control in the middle of a town, which could have gotten people seriously hurt or killed, just to make it look bad. Their actions are on a smaller scale compared to what Eternatus could do, but with their motives, they feel more like proper villains.

[solxamber]

Making Up After an Argument with: Overblot Gang + Rollo

part 2 with vice housewardens + kalim

on this day, i offer you some hurt/comfort

It’s been two days. Two long, awkward, and uncomfortable days of silent treatment between you and him. The argument had been petty—something so small that you can’t even remember what sparked it. But pride, stubbornness, and a little bit of frustration had taken over, and now, here you are, locked in a stalemate.

You’ve been tiptoeing around each other, avoiding eye contact, pretending not to care. But in reality, the silence feels like it’s stretching forever, and you hate it. You hate the feeling of distance between you, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

You miss him. Even with him just a walk away, it feels like miles.

The realization hits you hard as you sit there, staring at your phone, hoping for a sign—any sign—that he’s willing to break first. But of course, nothing comes. He’s just as stubborn as you are. Maybe even more.

You let out a long, dramatic sigh, slumping back in your seat. Ugh, fine. I’ll be the one to give in this time. It’s not the first time you’ve done it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. But deep down, you know you love him too much to let this go on. And you know he loves you too, even if neither of you will say it right now.

Riddle Rosehearts

You sigh dramatically, dragging your feet as you head towards Riddle’s dorm. The argument was dumb—you know that now. And if anyone could hold onto stubbornness like a grudge, it was Riddle Rosehearts. You, on the other hand, are way too tired of the silence, so it’s time for drastic measures.

As you approach his door, you pause, a silly idea forming in your mind. What’s the best way to apologize to someone like Riddle? With a flourish, of course. You rummage through your bag, pull out a red rose you happened to pick up earlier—totally coincidental, you promise yourself—and start plotting.

A few minutes later, you knock on his door, taking a deep breath. You hear footsteps, and then the door creaks open, revealing Riddle’s ever-serious face. His eyes flick up to you, then down to the rose in your hand, then back up again. He doesn’t say anything, though the faintest hint of curiosity flashes in his eyes.

Time to execute the plan.

You drop to one knee in an exaggerated, overly dramatic fashion, holding the rose high above your head like you’re a knight pledging allegiance to his queen. “My dearest Riddle, Queen of the Rose Garden, I come bearing an apology for my grievous offense. I’ve come to beg for your forgiveness,” you say, loud enough for the whole dorm to hear.

Riddle's eyes go wide, and for a moment, his face goes completely red—not from anger, but from pure, unfiltered embarrassment. He glances around, hoping no one else is witnessing this absolute spectacle you’re making.

"Please," you continue, voice wobbling as if you're on the verge of tears, "Grant me one more chance to bask in your presence! Your mercy, oh merciful ruler!" You bow dramatically, forehead almost touching the ground.

He sputters, clearly flustered beyond belief. "W-What are you doing? Get up! That's completely unnecessary—!"

"No!" You hold up the rose like a peace offering. "Not until you talk to me again! I will stay here on my knees if I must! Forever! Or until I get a cramp, whichever comes first!"

He’s torn between laughing at the ridiculousness of it and dying from second-hand embarrassment. “This is ridiculous! I—” He looks at the rose, then at you, eyes softening just a bit. “Fine, fine, just… stand up already.”

You spring to your feet, grinning triumphantly. “So, we’re good?”

Riddle sighs, rubbing his temples. "You're impossible."

“Does that mean yes?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him playfully.

“Yes. But stop being so dramatic. The whole dorm probably heard you…”

You don’t care. You throw your arms around him in a spontaneous hug, and for a second, Riddle freezes, stunned by the unexpected affection. Then, hesitantly, he returns the hug. He’s still embarrassed, but there’s a softness to his grip, a sign that he missed this closeness just as much as you did.

He pulls you into his room, and as soon as the door clicks shut, the embarrassment on his face fades, replaced with a quiet vulnerability. He avoids your eyes, walking over to his desk, his voice quieter now. “I… I was afraid,” he admits. “That maybe you were getting tired of me. I know I’m difficult sometimes, and—”

“Whoa, whoa,” you interrupt, stepping closer. “Where is this coming from?”

He sits down, staring at the floor. “You could be with someone more… easygoing. Less rigid. Someone who doesn’t argue over every little thing.”

You blink, surprised. “Riddle, I knew what I was getting into when I started dating you. I chose you, remember?”

He looks up at you, eyes filled with uncertainty, and you notice his hands trembling just slightly. “But what if I drive you away? What if one day you just… stop trying?”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice. Before you can think, you step forward, kneeling in front of him. Without hesitation, you cup his face in your hands, gently brushing your thumb against his cheek. “That’s not going to happen. Ever.”

His eyes glisten slightly, the tension of the past few days unraveling as he leans into your touch. “But—”

“No buts,” you insist softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. “I love you. Stubbornness, rules, and all. And honestly, I think the petty arguments are kinda fun. It keeps things… interesting.”

He lets out a shaky breath, and you feel a few tears slip down his cheeks. “You don’t know how hard it is for me,” he whispers. “To balance everything, to try and be perfect all the time… I don’t want to lose you because of my shortcomings.”

You smile gently, brushing away the tears with your thumb as you lean in and kiss his cheek softly. “You’re not going to lose me. You don’t have to be perfect, Riddle. I didn’t fall in love with perfection, I fell in love with you.”

He stares at you for a moment, tears still threatening to spill over, but his grip on your hand tightens as if he’s holding on to your words. “I… I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve the world,” you whisper, pulling him into a tight hug, cradling his head against your shoulder as he allows himself to cry softly into your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, gently whispering reassurances as he finally lets go of the weight he’s been carrying.

“I missed you,” he mumbles between sniffles, his voice fragile in a way you’ve rarely heard before.

“I missed you too,” you say, kissing the top of his head. “Let’s never do this silent treatment thing again, okay?”

He nods, still clinging to you, and you feel his lips press a soft kiss against your shoulder, a wordless promise.

Leona Kingscholar

It’s been two long days of silence. And if you know one thing about Leona Kingscholar, it’s that his stubbornness rivals your own. You’ve been circling around each other, neither one of you willing to be the first to admit defeat. But the silence is eating away at you, and, well… you miss him.

So, you hatch a plan. A very dramatic, ridiculous, and completely unnecessary plan.

Armed with a large bouquet of sunflowers—because roses are too obvious—you march into Savanaclaw with all the confidence of someone who is absolutely not going to be embarrassed by this. Nope. You pass by several confused students on your way to Leona’s room, each one giving you strange looks as you carry the huge bouquet.

You stop in front of his door, take a deep breath, and knock. No answer. You knock again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

Sighing, you decide to just barge in—because what’s a grand gesture without a bit of dramatic flair? Pushing open the door, you find Leona lounging on his bed, arms behind his head, eyes closed.

Perfect.

You march up to him and stand by his bed, holding the bouquet in front of you like a shield. “Leona Kingscholar, hear me out!” you declare, in a tone that’s probably more suited for a court jester than someone in an actual relationship.

One of his ears twitches, and his eyes crack open, glancing at you. You stand tall and proud, despite how ridiculous you feel, presenting the sunflowers like they’re some rare treasure. “I come bearing these humble sunflowers as an offering to ask for your forgiveness, O Great King of Beasts.”

He snorts. Actually snorts. “What are you on about, herbivore?”

You drop to one knee dramatically, holding the flowers up to him as if you’re a knight swearing fealty to his king. “Please, Leona! Forgive my transgressions! I was wrong to argue with you, and I cannot bear another moment without your esteemed company!”

Leona raises an eyebrow, staring at you with what can only be described as amusement. “You’re really going all out, huh?”

“I am but a humble servant, groveling for your mercy!” you continue, refusing to break character. “Please, take these sunflowers as a token of my undying affection and devotion!”

By now, Leona is fully awake, sitting up and resting his chin in his hand, clearly trying to hold back laughter. “Sunflowers, huh? How thoughtful of you.”

“Of course!” You stand up dramatically, thrusting the bouquet toward him. “They represent my radiant affection for you!”

Leona finally lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But do you forgive me?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him.

He rolls his eyes, but the grin on his face betrays his amusement. “Yeah, yeah, you’re forgiven. Just stop with the theatrics, would ya?”

You grin, knowing you’ve won him over. But there’s something still lingering in the air, some tension that hasn’t quite disappeared yet. Leona might be laughing, but you can tell he’s still a bit on edge, still a little distant.

Setting the sunflowers aside, you walk over to the bed and sit next to him. “Leona, I know it was a dumb fight, but… you know you’re the only one for me, right?”

He glances at you, his smile fading slightly as he considers your words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say softly, scooting closer. “I mean it. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he’s quiet, and you can see the tension in his shoulders start to ease. Then, without a word, he shifts, pulling you down onto the bed with him, his body practically draping over yours like a big, heavy, warm blanket. His arms wrap around you, his tail curling possessively around your leg, anchoring you to him.

He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, letting out a low, contented sigh. “You better not,” he mumbles against your skin. “I don’t feel like dealing with anyone else’s nonsense.”

You smile softly, running your fingers through his hair, scratching gently behind his ears. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Leona presses closer, his body relaxing fully against yours as if he’s been waiting for this. His weight is comforting, and you can feel the way he melts into your embrace, his tail tightening just slightly around you as if to say, mine.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him as close as you can, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against yours. “You okay now?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah,” he mutters, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. “Just don’t pull that silent treatment crap again. Hate it.”

You chuckle softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Deal.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but the way he snuggles even closer to you tells you that all is forgiven. You hold him tight, and in that moment, with him lying on top of you like a big, lazy cat, everything feels right again.

Azul Ashengrotto

It’s been two long, dreadful days of silence between you and Azul. And for someone like him—someone who thrives on words, on negotiation, on control—it’s been absolutely agonizing. But his pride won’t let him be the first to crack. He’s stubborn like that.

And you? Well, you’re not much better.

But enough is enough. The tension between you both is suffocating, and while you’re both great at the silent treatment, it’s clear this little game of emotional chicken has to end. You’ve had enough of this cold war, and after mulling over how to make amends, you come up with the most absurd, ridiculous plan that just might work.

You stand outside the Mostro Lounge, a grin on your face, feeling more than a little proud of yourself. In your arms is the biggest, gaudiest, most unnecessary floral arrangement imaginable—an explosion of blues and purples that makes it look like you’ve picked half of the Coral Sea to present to Azul. There are seashells, ribbons, and even a tiny fake octopus plush dangling from the bouquet, like the cherry on top of your ridiculous masterpiece.

You march into the Lounge, catching the attention of several customers, who stop to stare as you make your way toward Azul’s office. Ignoring their looks, you throw the door open dramatically, the bouquet nearly tipping you over with its weight.

“Azul Ashengrotto!” you declare, bursting into his office. He’s sitting at his desk, and the second he sees you and the monstrosity of flowers in your arms, his eyes go wide. “I have come to beg for your forgiveness!”

He blinks, clearly caught off guard by the sheer audacity of the display. “W-What…?”

You march up to him, practically dropping the bouquet on his desk with a flourish. “These flowers represent my sincere regret for my terrible behavior during our argument. As you can see, they are over-the-top and completely unnecessary, much like my stubbornness.”

Azul stares at the bouquet, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Y-You…” He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to compose himself, but there’s a telltale twitch at the corner of his lips that suggests he’s seconds away from laughing. “This is absurd.”

“I know,” you reply with a dramatic sigh, throwing a hand to your forehead like a tragic figure. “I have been plagued with guilt these past two days, Azul. I couldn’t bear another moment without your lovely company.”

He finally cracks, letting out a soft chuckle. “You’re insufferable.”

“Only for you, darling.” You lean over the desk, waggling your eyebrows, and he sighs, shaking his head. His laughter is light, but there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that pulls at your heartstrings. He may be smiling, but something’s still weighing on him.

With a small smile, Azul stands from his desk and walks around it until he’s standing right in front of you. He reaches for your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles before looking up at you with a much softer expression than before.

“I’ll admit… I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now. “But I—” He pauses, his gaze dropping to the floor, as if debating whether or not to say the next words. “Did you… only come back because you thought you had to? Or do you still… want me?”

His voice cracks, just a little, but it’s enough to make your heart break. You blink in surprise, your breath catching at the rawness in his question.

“Azul…” you say softly, stepping closer, cupping his face gently in your hands. His eyes dart to yours, filled with a mix of uncertainty and hope, and it almost shatters you. “Of course I want you. Always.”

He swallows hard, and you can see the tears welling up in his eyes, ones he’s desperately trying to hide. But you won’t let him. You pull him close, wrapping your arms around him tightly, holding him as if you could shield him from the insecurities swirling in his mind.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his temple. “I love you. I’ve always loved you since I met you, and I always will. No matter what.”

Azul clings to you, his arms wrapping around your waist, burying his face in your shoulder as his breath hitches. The tears come slowly, quietly, and you feel them soak into your shirt as he holds you like you’re his lifeline.

You kiss the top of his head, brushing your lips against his hair, then down to his tear-streaked cheeks. “I’m here,” you whisper between each kiss, your voice soft and soothing. “I’m right here. You’re not alone, Azul. You never were.”

He squeezes you tighter, as if afraid to let go, and you can feel the tension slowly leaving his body. You keep kissing away his tears, gentle and patient, letting him take all the time he needs. Eventually, his breathing steadies, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes red-rimmed but filled with so much affection it makes your heart swell.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs again, though there’s no bite to his words. He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, his lips brushing yours in the lightest of touches.

“Ridiculous, but yours” you reply, grinning, and he huffs a quiet laugh.

“Yes… you are,” he whispers, and this time, when he kisses you, it’s slow and tender, his lips soft but firm against yours, filled with all the love and relief he’s been holding back. You kiss him back with just as much affection, your arms wrapping around him as you both lose yourselves in the moment.

When he finally pulls away, you rest your forehead against his once more, both of you breathing a little heavier but feeling lighter than you have in days.

“No more arguments, okay?” you murmur, smiling softly.

“No promises,” he teases, but there’s a warmth in his voice now, a comfort that reassures you everything will be just fine.

And as you hold him close, with his head resting against your shoulder, you know it too. Everything will be just fine.

Jamil Viper

After two long days of silence, the weight of the unresolved argument with Jamil has become unbearable. You’re done waiting for him to make the first move, especially knowing how he can be—cautious, calculating, always one step ahead but never one to make the first emotional leap. You miss him, and more importantly, you want to make things right, even if it means doing something absolutely ridiculous.

Which is how you find yourself standing outside his dorm, holding a tray of… pancakes. Not just any pancakes, though. These are heart shaped, perfectly arranged to spell out “I’M SORRY” in big, syrup-drenched letters. You’re not sure what possessed you to make pancakes an apology tool, but hey, everyone loves pancakes, right?

With a deep breath, you knock on his door. After a moment, Jamil opens it, his expression neutral, but the second he spots the tray, his eyes narrow in confusion.

“What... is this?”

You grin sheepishly, lifting the tray up like a peace offering. “An apology. In pancake form.”

Jamil blinks at the sight, clearly trying to process this ridiculous gesture. “You… made pancakes to say sorry?”

“Yes. And they’re shaped like hearts. See? I even used syrup to write it out so there’s no confusion.” You point to the pancakes proudly. “You can’t stay mad at me after this, right?”

For a moment, Jamil just stares at the tray, his expression unreadable, before a slow, reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He lets out a quiet huff of laughter, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Maybe, but I’m yours.”

He shakes his head, but there’s no denying the amusement in his eyes. “You could have just apologized with words, you know.”

“I could have,” you agree, “but where’s the fun in that?” You give him your best hopeful grin, offering him a plate. “Come on, at least eat one. They’re good! I even made them heart-shaped.”

Jamil sighs, taking the plate from you with a resigned smile. He grabs one of the heart-shaped pancakes and bites into it, giving you a side glance. “I suppose I can’t stay mad after this.”

You watch him closely, noticing the faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. You know him well enough to see through his calm facade. Beneath it all, he’s still embarrassed—mostly about the argument, but also because he let his temper get the best of him. You can tell that’s what’s really bothering him, even now.

“You know,” you say softly, stepping closer, “it’s okay that we argued.”

Jamil looks at you, his brows furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you don’t have to feel bad for losing your temper. You don’t always have to hold everything in around me. It’s okay to let it out, to be angry, to argue. We’re not always going to agree, and that’s fine.” You place your hand gently on his arm. “I’ll always come back and fix things, even if you feel like you can’t. That’s what we do, right?”

Jamil stares at you for a moment, his expression softening as your words sink in. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, one that he rarely shows, and it breaks your heart just a little. Slowly, he sets the plate down and reaches for you, pulling you into his arms.

“You’re too forgiving,” he murmurs, resting his chin on top of your head.

“And you’re too hard on yourself,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. “I meant it. You don’t have to be perfect with me, Jamil. You can be yourself, temper and all.”

He lets out a quiet sigh, his grip tightening slightly around you. “You’ll regret saying that one day.”

“I doubt it,” you tease, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “But if I do, I’ll make more food.”

That earns you a small, genuine laugh, and before you can say anything else, Jamil leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. His lips linger for a moment, and when he pulls back, his expression is softer than you’ve seen in days.

“You’re serious about that promise?” he asks quietly, his hand cupping your cheek. “That no matter what, you’ll always come back?”

You nod, holding his gaze. “Always. Even if we argue, even if things get tough, I’ll be right here. I’ll come back and fix it, even if you can’t.”

Jamil’s eyes flicker with emotion, and before you know it, he’s kissing you—soft and slow at first, but there’s a desperation behind it, a need for reassurance. You kiss him back with the same intensity, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer, trying to pour every bit of love and understanding into the kiss.

When you finally break apart, you’re both a little breathless, but the tension that had been there for the past two days is gone. He rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he exhales slowly.

“I’ll hold you to that promise,” he whispers, and you can hear the relief in his voice. “Just don’t make me wait this long next time.”

You smile, reaching up to brush your lips against his again. “Deal. But only if you agree to eat more pancakes.”

He chuckles, pulling you back into his arms. “Fine. But only because they’re heart-shaped.”

And just like that, everything feels right again.

Vil Schoenheit

After two days of tense silence between you and Vil, you know you need to go all out if you’re going to get him to forgive you. Apologies are one thing, but Vil is someone who values effort, refinement, and, of course, aesthetic appeal. You can’t just go in with flowers—no, you need to apologize in a way that matches his standards.

So naturally, you end up outside his dorm with a full-on spa set-up. A luxury at-home facial kit, to be precise, complete with rare, imported skincare masks and the finest essential oils. You may or may not have spent more on this than you’ve ever spent on yourself before, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

When Vil opens the door, his eyes immediately narrow at the sight of you holding a basket filled with beautifully arranged skincare products. “What… is this?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You smile, trying to play it cool. “An apology. In skincare form.” You thrust the basket toward him. “I thought maybe you’d like to, uh, pamper yourself and—look! I even got the organic lavender serum you were talking about last month!”

Vil stares at the basket, then at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re bribing me with skincare?”

“Technically, I’m apologizing with skincare,” you correct, flashing a sheepish grin. “I know I messed up, and I know you like to unwind with your beauty routine, so I thought this might help smooth things over. Literally and figuratively.”

For a long moment, he just stands there, gazing at you with an unreadable expression. You’re starting to think you might’ve miscalculated when, suddenly, a soft chuckle escapes him. “You are… absolutely ridiculous.”

You blink. “So… that’s a yes on the skincare?”

Vil shakes his head, but the faintest smile is playing on his lips. “You’re lucky you’re my sweet potato.”

Relief floods through you at his words. “I’ll take that as forgiveness, then.”

He sighs, taking the basket from you and setting it on the table. “Yes, I forgive you.” But even as he says it, there’s a hesitation in his eyes, a flicker of something deeper that makes you pause.

You step closer, gently reaching for his hand. “Are you still mad?”

Vil glances away for a moment, and you can see the tension in his posture. When he speaks, his voice is softer, more vulnerable than usual. “No, I’m not mad. But… I was afraid. So, so afraid that I’d pushed you away too. That I’d lost the one person who could tolerate me.”

Your heart clenches at his words. You can feel the weight of all the pressure he’s put on himself, the fear of losing someone important. Without thinking, you pull him into a tight embrace, wrapping your arms around him as if you could shield him from that fear. “Vil, listen to me. I’m not here because I tolerate you. I’m here because I love you.”

He stiffens in your arms for a moment, but slowly, he relaxes, his hands coming to rest on your back. “You say that now, but—”

You cut him off, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “No, I mean it. Loving someone isn’t about tolerating them. It’s about being with them because you can’t imagine being anywhere else.” You brush a strand of hair from his face, your thumb gently tracing his cheek. “I’m here because you’re everything to me, Vil. Even if you’re mean sometimes. Even if we argue. I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes soften at your words, and for a moment, he just looks at you, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face. Then, without a word, he leans in and presses a soft, tender kiss to your lips, his hands gently cradling your face. The kiss is slow, almost tentative, as if he’s still afraid you’ll disappear.

When he finally pulls away, you can see the unshed tears in his eyes, though he quickly blinks them away. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You do,” you whisper back, kissing him again, softer this time, lingering against his lips. “And I’m staying. Forever, even if you’re a diva sometimes.”

Vil lets out a soft, breathy laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “Forever?” he repeats, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Forever,” you promise, pulling him closer until his arms wrap around you fully. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, holding him tight, and for the first time in two days, everything feels right again.

And as he hugs you back, his grip a little tighter than before, you know he believes you.

Idia Shroud

You stand outside of Idia’s room, holding a stack of video game cases in one hand and a ridiculously oversized plush of his favorite game character in the other. This might be the dumbest idea you’ve ever had, but it’s not like you could just waltz in and hand him a flower. Idia isn’t exactly the flowers-and-chocolates type. No, he needs something bigger. Geekier. Something so outrageous that it’ll leave him flustered beyond belief—something that only you would dare to pull off.

So here you are, wearing a custom-made cosplay of the main character from his favorite RPG. And if this doesn’t get him to forgive you, you don’t know what will.

You knock on his door, bracing yourself for what’s about to come next. At first, there’s no response, so you knock again, louder this time. After a few seconds, you hear shuffling inside and the telltale sound of something crashing to the floor—classic Idia. Finally, the door creaks open just enough for you to see a pair of glowing eyes peeking through the gap.

“What… are you wearing?” His voice is barely audible, and you can already tell he’s regretting opening the door.

With a dramatic flourish, you throw your arms wide and hold out the plush. “Oh, mighty Idia, Lord of the Underworld and Master of All Games, I come bearing offerings to beg for your forgiveness!” You strike a pose, holding the plush in front of you like it’s some kind of magical artifact.

Idia’s eyes go wide, and you swear his hair flares up a notch, turning into a bright pink. He blinks, clearly stunned, before his hand shoots out to yank you inside his room, slamming the door shut behind you.

“W-What are you doing?!” His voice cracks as he looks at you, then the plush, then the video games. His hair is now a brilliant shade of neon pink, a sign that he’s absolutely mortified. “Are you trying to kill me from embarrassment?!”

You can’t help but grin at how flustered he is. “Hey, I had to go big! You were ignoring me for two whole days!”

“I wasn’t ignoring you!” He fidgets, avoiding eye contact as his hair flickers pink. “I just… thought maybe you were tired of me or something…”

Your grin fades, replaced with surprise. “Tired of you? What are you talking about?”

Idia sinks into his gaming chair, nervously picking at the hem of his hoodie. “I just figured… you know, you’d realize you could do better. I mean, c’mon, I’m not exactly ‘catch of the year’ material. You’re always out there, living in the real world, and I’m… well, here. Playing games and… avoiding people.”

You take a deep breath, moving closer until you’re standing right in front of him. “Idia,” you say firmly, “if you seriously think I’d ever get tired of you, you’re out of your mind.”

He glances up at you, clearly unconvinced, so you kneel down, placing the plush in his lap before grabbing his hands. “You mean the world to me. I’d literally fight God in a 1v1 death match if it meant keeping you.”

His eyes go wide again, his hair flaring even brighter. “Y-You’d what?”

“I mean it,” you continue, squeezing his hands. “I love you, okay? Whether we’re sitting in here gaming or you’re talking to me about your latest game binge, or even when you’re convinced that you’re somehow not enough. You are enough, Idia. You’re more than enough.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, processing your words. Then, slowly, he leans forward, wrapping his arms around you in the most awkward, yet endearing hug imaginable. His face is buried in your shoulder, and you can feel the heat radiating from his hair as it flares even pinker. “You’re… too good for me,” he mumbles against your shoulder, his voice small.

You chuckle softly, wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight. “Nope. You’re stuck with me.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and you can see the vulnerability in them. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do.” You lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek, watching as his hair flickers with warmth. “I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

Idia blinks a few times before he wraps his arms around you again, pulling you closer this time. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “But I guess… I forgive you. Not that I was really mad in the first place.”

You laugh, nuzzling into his neck. “Good. ‘Cause I missed you.”

His grip tightens around you, and for a moment, you both stay like that—wrapped up in each other, the tension of the past few days melting away. Finally, he pulls back, his eyes flicking toward his gaming setup. “So, uh… you wanna play something?”

You grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The two of you settle onto the floor, your back leaning against his chest as he hands you a controller. He wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, his hair still glowing a soft pink at the ends as the game starts up.

As you start playing, he presses a quick kiss to your temple. “Thanks. For, y’know… everything.”

You smile, leaning back into his warmth. “Anytime, Idia. Anytime.”

Malleus Draconia

The wind howls as you trudge across the campus, dragging a massive stone gargoyle behind you. It weighs approximately as much as a baby elephant, and if anyone else saw you right now, they’d think you’d completely lost it. But you know exactly what you’re doing. You know the storm swirling above Night Raven College is because of him, and if there’s one thing Malleus Draconia loves more than you (or so you like to tease), it’s a well-crafted gargoyle.

So here you are, yanking the poor stone creature across the wet grass like you’re on some kind of mission. Your arms ache, your back is screaming, and you’re about to regret this grand gesture entirely—until you finally see the towering spires of Diasomnia in the distance. Almost there.

You pause for a second to catch your breath, leaning on the gargoyle like it’s an old friend. “You’d better work,” you mutter to it, “because if I have to drag you all the way back, I swear—”

A gust of wind nearly knocks you over, reminding you why you’re out here in the first place. You shake off the rain, grit your teeth, and resume your march toward Diasomnia’s courtyard.

Once you arrive, you park the gargoyle right underneath Malleus’s window. Perfect placement. You could be a medieval decorator at this point.

You pick up a few rocks from the ground, size them up in your hand, and start tossing them at his window, each one making a soft thunk against the glass. After the third throw, the window creaks open, and Malleus leans out, looking down with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. His eyes land on the gargoyle first, then on you, soaked to the bone and holding a rock like you’re about to reenact some ancient ritual.

“Huh?” is all he says, blinking at the sight before him.

“Malleus!” you shout dramatically, “Come down! I brought you a peace offering!”

He stares at the gargoyle, then at you, before disappearing from the window in a blur. Within seconds, he’s outside, standing in front of you, his expression unreadable but his eyes glowing faintly with that magical storm swirling around them. The weather above you rumbles ominously, thunder echoing across the sky.

“Malleus, I—”

Before you can even finish, he pulls you into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You freeze for a second, surprised, then feel his body trembling slightly against yours. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low and filled with regret. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. The storm… I didn’t know it would affect you too.”

You realize then that his hands are shaking, gripping onto you like you’re his lifeline. Your heart softens, and you return the hug, pressing your face into his neck. “No, I’m sorry,” you mumble into his skin. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I should’ve come sooner… with or without the gargoyle.”

He lets out a shaky breath, and you feel the tension begin to fade from his body. Slowly, the storm above you starts to calm—the wind softens, the rain turns into a light drizzle, and the ominous clouds roll back as if they were never there to begin with.

You pull back just enough to look at him, his glowing eyes now gentle as they meet yours. “So, uh… do you like the gargoyle?” you ask, grinning a little.

Malleus chuckles softly, his eyes flicking to the stone statue behind you. “It’s… impressive. Though you didn’t have to go through such lengths.”

You shrug. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

He smiles, a genuine, relieved smile, and before you can say anything else, he tugs you back toward the castle. “Come inside,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “You’re soaked, and you brought a guest. We should both dry off.”

The two of you (and your new gargoyle friend) make your way to his room, and as soon as the door closes behind you, Malleus pulls you onto his bed, wrapping himself around you like a possessive dragon hoarding his most precious treasure. His arms curl around your waist, and his body presses snugly against yours as he buries his face in your neck.

You stroke his hair gently, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the last bit of chill from the storm. “You know I love you, right?” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“I know,” he replies quietly, his grip on you tightening slightly. “I just… sometimes, I worry.”

You pull back enough to kiss him properly, your lips brushing against his softly, reassuringly. “You don’t have to worry,” you murmur between kisses. “You mean everything to me. And if I have to drag a hundred gargoyles across campus to prove it, I will.”

Malleus chuckles against your lips, a low, warm sound that rumbles through his chest. “Please don’t. One is more than enough.”

You laugh softly, nuzzling into his neck as you both settle into a comfortable silence, the storm outside completely gone now, leaving only peace and quiet—and a very satisfied, if slightly confused, gargoyle standing guard outside.

Rollo Flamme

The argument with Rollo had left a strange tension in the air, but knowing him, it was probably accompanied by a quiet storm of overthinking and guilt on his end. Rollo Flamme wasn’t one to voice his frustrations loudly, but his brooding could be as heavy as the weight of the world.

You figure it’s time to fix this, and, because you can’t just do anything the normal way, you decide on something special—something that’d be just the right mix of thoughtful and ridiculous to get his attention.

That’s why you find yourself in the Bell Tower, with a bundle of parchment paper in your arms. Not just any parchment, though—carefully selected handwritten notes of every philosophical thought, poetry piece, and historical fact you know Rollo’s obsessed with. You’ve even bound it like a book, with a dramatic title on the front: “An Ode to Perfection: Why Rollo is Always Right (Sometimes)”. It’s sarcastic enough to make him smile, but sincere enough to show you care.

Climbing the stairs of the bell tower is no small feat, but you’re determined. Once at the top, you glance out at the courtyard, where you know he’ll be, and with a deep breath, you shout, “ROLLO FLAMME, I HAVE CLIMBED THE HEIGHTS TO OFFER YOU THIS SYMBOL OF MY UNDYING RESPECT AND HUMILITY!”

Your voice echoes dramatically through the courtyard, and sure enough, you see Rollo down below, startled out of his brooding. He looks up, eyes widening at the sight of you, but it’s hard to tell if he’s more confused or horrified by the spectacle.

“I OFFER THIS—” you hold the makeshift book high, “—AS A PEACE TREATY BETWEEN US, THAT WE MAY NEVER AGAIN BE SEPARATED BY MERE MORTAL PETTINESS!”

Rollo stares for a long moment, before he suddenly breaks into a full-on sprint toward the tower. He’s halfway up the stairs before you know it, and when he reaches the top, his face is a mix of red embarrassment and panic.

“What are you doing?” he half-hisses, half-pleads, his cheeks flushed from both the running and the mortification of what you’ve just done in full view of the school. His voice lowers as he grabs your arm and tries to pull you away from the edge. “Are you insane? You could’ve fallen, and—”

“I wasn’t going to fall!” you grin, holding out the “book” triumphantly. “I came to apologize.”

He stares at the bundle of papers in your hand, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What… is this?”

“An apology. Written in beautiful calligraphy and filled with all the reasons why you’re wonderful, overthinking, but still somehow right most of the time.” You wiggle the book in front of his face. “It’s all for you.”

Rollo’s face, already red from exertion, turns an even deeper shade of crimson. His lips part, but no words come out for a second as he glares at the book, then at you. “You… climbed the bell tower. Yelled in front of everyone. And wrote a whole book to—”

“Get you to forgive me, yeah,” you finish for him, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I figured you’d appreciate the effort, Mr. Perfectionist.”

He looks at the book again, his hands shaky as he takes it from you, carefully cradling it as if it’s some kind of sacred artifact. His voice drops to a whisper. “You… didn’t have to go this far. I was never angry at you.”

You blink, surprised by his words. “What do you mean?”

Rollo glances down, his fingers curling tighter around the book. “I thought… maybe you’d realize you didn’t need someone like me. That you’d see how much of a burden I am.”

Your heart clenches at his words. Without hesitation, you step closer, reaching out to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Rollo Flamme, if you think for a second that I’d leave you, you’re wrong. I’d get into a fistfight with God for you, and win.”

His eyes widen, and a nervous chuckle escapes his lips. “That’s… quite dramatic.”

“You inspire drama,” you reply with a grin, but then your tone softens, and you pull him into a tight hug. “You mean the world to me, Rollo. I don’t care about your overthinking, your brooding, or your perfectionism. I care about you.”

He tenses for a moment in your embrace, but then slowly, almost hesitantly, he wraps his arms around you in return. His hands still tremble slightly, but he buries his face in your shoulder, his grip tightening as if he’s afraid to let go. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I don’t deserve you.”

You shake your head, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his temple. “You deserve all of it. And more.”

For a moment, he just holds onto you, breathing deeply as if trying to calm his racing thoughts. Then, after a long silence, he pulls back slightly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he looks at you. “I… apologize as well. For doubting… for everything.”

You smile, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his face. “We’re both forgiven then.”

He nods, his face still flushed with embarrassment but now softened with relief. Without another word, he pulls you back into his room, where you spend the rest of the afternoon curled up together—Rollo resting his head against your shoulder, still clutching the book you made him, while you hold him close, reassuring him with soft kisses and whispered words of love.

The tower bells toll softly in the background, but for the two of you, there’s nothing but the warmth of each other’s presence.

Masterlist

[bamfkeeper]

Dashing Swashbuckler

RQ: 'Imagine Reader trying to be subtle about how watching Kurt being a debonair swashbuckler makes her swoon (whether Kurt's showing off deliberately or not... who's to say?)' - @crocwork-clockodile

Warnings: F!reader, slightly suggestive themes, not edited.

A/N: This is so cute, it was fun to write. I hope you enjoy!

WC: 1.0k

Kurt was a charming man.

He was naturally charismatic, his kind gestures and demeanor had made everyone feel welcome, regardless of how they felt about their appearances or mutations. He made you feel like any insecurity you had didn't matter.

You wondered how someone who had such hardships could be so welcoming and kind, his heart was gold and full of never-ending love. You enjoyed spending time with him, you looked forward to any chance you got to be with him. He was thoughtful, chivalrous, and most importantly, he made you feel like you mattered.

It was no secret he was quite the swordsman too, you hadn't seen him do much with his swashbuckling skills, but when you saw him practicing one afternoon, you couldn't take your eyes from him. He was so graceful and efficient, the acrobat flipped and moved with such fluidity, he appeared to be like water.

He was simply practicing, but you could tell how frustrating he'd be in a fight. Not just his natural agility, but adding his teleportation, he's a hard opponent. You had never sparred with him before, you weren't trained as acutely as the rest of the team was. Most of your practice felt like you were on a baby level or safety proofed simulation. It didn't really matter to you, going out on big missions wasn't why you were there. You just wanted to feel safe for once in your life.

Your attention was caught again as Kurt continued his elegant movements, spinning and twisting and flipping with ease. The way he swung his swords around and hit all the obstacles was mesmerizing to you. He was so beautiful, and his kind soul just made you feel more attached to him. It didn't help that he often liked to show off in front of you, you felt yourself blush a little as you recalled a specific event of him being extra extravagant.

He was quite the showman.

You moved closer to get a better show of his skills, and he noticed you peeking around the well trimmed trees around the mansion grounds. The sudden pair of eyes on him gave him added energy, and his skills improved. He was clearly peacocking now, showing off and doing things he wouldn't normally in real combat, but for training he could execute.

He finally stops for a moment just long enough to walk to the small bench by the rose bed and pick up his water bottle. He drank from it and glanced at you hiding poorly. "You can come out, fräulein..." he chuckled lightly, watching your form peek out from where you had been hiding. Your cheeks were slightly dusted as you were caught spying, but you couldn't help it.

"Sorry for watching...I couldn't help myself. You were flipping and moving so fast. I only watched for a second, then...a few minutes and...time sort of kept going. Before I knew it I was...kind of being a stalker." You blushed admitting that you were watching him, even though he had already spotted you.

Kurt chuckled in response, twirling one of the swords he had. "Don't fret, I don't mind being watched. In fact, it helps me show off." He winked and stepped back a little. "You don't train much, why don't I help you? For fun, of course..." He offered the hilt of one of the swords to you, encouraging you take it.

Reluctantly, you grasped the golden handle, surprised at how heavy the swords really were. You grunted slightly, having to hold on with two hands. You felt a bit flustered, but he didn't tease you about it. "It's alright, just do your best to hold it up...like this, ja, that's it!" He guided your arms and helped you position, then pointed at the dummy. "Now strike it down, like you're trying to fight an enemy."

With shaky arms, you took a cautious step towards the unmoving dummy, raising the sword and striking the dummy with a long slash. You stumbled a little, the weight of the sword drug you down a little bit. Kurt grabbed your arms and made sure you didn't accidentally strike your own leg. By how he grasped your forearms, his chest pressed against your back and his pelvis brushed against yours. The closeness made you blush more and you had stiffened at the proximity.

"You are so tense...that is why you are having difficulty wielding these," he noted, guiding you to stand upright again. "Deep breath...and relax. It's just me, fräulein...no one else is watching. I promise Scott won't come out and demand a perfect form." Kurt added with a tease to help you relax.

You slowly tried again, doing better this time. Kurt clapped and laughed, "Wunderbar! Good job, fräulein...that was much better! Soon you might be as good as me." Kurt winked at you, making you slightly tense again. You swallowed and blushed a bit, lowering the heavy sword and relieving the muscles in your arms.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I think I'm better off just watching you." You replied shyly, "If that's...okay."

"My spy wants to watch hm?" he chuckled back and waved his hand, "Of course. I don't mind, it actually encourages me to go a little harder than I normally would. When I have a lovely thing like you watching, I must do my best to impress..." He teased, that charming smile plastered on his fanged face. You had to take a breath after he spoke, he wanted to impress you and wanted you to watch him.

You exhaled and tried not to show just how much he affected you. Despite your efforts, he obviously knew. It was so painfully obvious to him and pretty much everyone else how much of a crush you had on him. Kurt didn't want to overwhelm you so he stepped back to keep training, but would wink at you every now and then just to see you squirm and blush more.

One day he'd ask you out.

But first, he'd keep teasing you.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover image: Amazing X-Men #1 (2014)

[bumblequinn]

hi @sourpatchsquids! thank you for your question.

as an artist with ADHD, i know this struggle very well. unfortunately offering advice on this kind of thing can be tricky, because what works for me may not work for you (and vice versa!). nonetheless, i can try; take whatever works for you, forget the rest, or reshape any part of it as you see fit. :)

but before i offer any actual tools, i have one caveat. i want you to take a moment to reflect and consider if you should be:

changing expectations

the timing of this question seems fated, because just the other day i had a therapy session wherein i expressed my grief and frustration over struggling to work lately due to my seasonal depression. it's not fair that i'm struggling just because it got a little darker outside! i just want the spark i had in the summer! i was so much more consistent!

my therapist's response: nothing about human beings is consistent. we get sick, we get tired, we get hungry and thirsty (and thirsty) and sad and lonely and restless and stressed and overwhelmed. this all gets amplified for folks who are atypical in some way or another.

when my therapist compared our seasonal cycles to those of plants and other animals, who wilt and slow down and hibernate, i protested aloud that i wanted to be a perennial instead. at this she said: even perennials change with the seasons. rose bushes have to be pruned, sometimes down to half their height! it was a dose of perspective i didn't particularly want, but really needed.

so when you're struggling to work through executive dysfunction, burnout, or brain fog, it can help to first check in with yourself about a few things. what do you have the capacity for right now? do you need any accommodation? and if so, what changes you might make to accommodate yourself?

with practice and self reflection, i've learned a handful of specific routines that help me when i'm struggling with creative work, which i'll detail next. note that while your question is specifically about music and i am specifically a musician, i believe that all of these suggestions can apply to most any form of digital creative work.

with that in mind:

#1: work slower

when i'm at the top of my game, i can get a LOT done in a day. but when i'm depressed, fatigued, or distracted, i just can't go full steam. sometimes i'll try to convince myself that i can if i just push harder, but what actually ends up happening is that i'm just fiddling with settings and going in circles rather than moving forward.

instead of that, when i want to work a lot but can't, i try to work slow. how slow? however slow i need to. take four hours to figure out the melody for a single verse. take all day to figure out that drum groove. yeah, i take a lot of breaks in between. who says i have to be my Absolute Most Productive Every Day Or Else? that's the puritan work ethic talking. kill it. be kind to yourself.

i'm reminded of advice i once read about some super successful and prolific author (gaiman? king? pratchett?) who said they wrote only four hundred words every weekday. that's already less than the word count of this post, and i'm only—[travels into the future to check my final word count]... 22.8% of the way through writing it!

now, i don't think i could function that way, because ADHD means some days i'm hyperfocused like crazy, and other days i just have no steam at all (more on that in #4-6). but it seems to me that if even someone highly respected in their profession can achieve what they have with only a little bit of work on a regular basis, maybe i don't have to punish myself for not pumping out a finished work every single week.

doing less work per day means you're much less likely to burn out, which does a lot for working more consistently. if that consistency still doesn't look like a five-day work week, that's okay! as long as it helps you work even a little more often when you want to, it's something worth doing.

however, if you're still feeling truly stuck, all hope isn't lost. you can still try:

#2: switch projects

sometimes the reason i'm moving slow is because of a bad brain day, but sometimes the reason is that i just cannot muster the motivation to do the specific task i'm trying to do right now. ADHD is fueled by novelty and interest, and if i'm not interested in what i'm doing, or it's feeling stale, that's a sign that i need to switch gears.

this is why first it's helpful for me to have more than one project going at a time. this might mean completely unrelated works, or it might just mean related tracks as with the music for a game like SLARPG or susan taxpayer.

the idea here is not to start a dozen different projects and bounce around them like i'm playing whac-a-mole—though i have done that. (i don't recommend it.) the idea here is to have a manageable number of different projects i can be working on so that if i get bored or stuck on something, i have fallback options.

what that number of projects is depends entirely on the week. maybe right now it's two, maybe another time it's three. i would probably be getting carried away if i tried more than that, but that's just my own limit. maybe yours is different. that's something for you to think about.

but it doesn't have to stop there.

#3: switch focus

maybe there is this one project that i just HAVE to work on, but the task i'm trying to do at this stage just isn't coming to me. okay, well, why don't i try working on a different task?

let's say i can't figure out what i want to do with the melody in one part of the song:

what if i try jumping ahead to a different part of the melody? ...no, i'm stumped on melodies today. okay, how about working on the drums instead? ...hmm no, i think i'm just completely tapped out on writing parts right now. alright, what if i organized my tracks, making sure they're all grouped and named in a way that i can work with easily? what if i did a rough volume balance for the mix?

and so on. if that's not enough to shake the off stuckness, i might consider: what can i do to make this project more interesting to me?

what happens if i try using an instrument or effect that i almost never reach for? what if i try sampling something obscure? what if i bang out the drums using my midi keyboard instead of drawing it in on the piano roll?

any approach that breaks me out of my usual habits is bound to get that feeling of novelty and fun back when i need it.

or maybe i can't do any of that right now, and so i take the time to answer a question from a fellow musician instead. i consider that part of my work, too, in a broader sense. check in with yourself and figure out what you can do right now. the rest will still be there later.

but okay, let's say you try switching gears, and switching again, and again, and nothing is moving. you try new approaches, but that wall of awful is insurmountable in this moment. it happens! the next thing you might try is:

#4: learn something new

when you aren't able to make progress on your projects, you can still make progress on your knowledge and craft. i often find this stokes a flame of inspiration in me where there wasn't one before. and even when it doesn't, it still gets my brain out of that feeling of stuckness and dread and into one of thought and action. learning also benefits in the long term because it adds to the well of knowledge from which you draw for all your future works.

for all the awfulness that exists on the internet, it remains an absolute treasure trove of teaching. there's an endless ocean of videos, blog posts, and articles from which you might learn something about your craft. (and if you sail the seven seas, plenty of book PDFs as well. 🦜🏴‍☠️)

it's true that the quality and depth of information out there can vary wildly, but in my experience most resources get at least some things right. and the more you research, practice, and figure out what works for you, the better you will learn to differentiate between the advice worth keeping, and the advice to forget. (that goes for all of what i'm saying here, too!)

that said, since our shared focus is music, a few resources i would highly recommend are:

music theory and composition music matters, 12tone, charles cornell, music with myles, 8-bit music theory, and this introduction by andrew huang

mixing and production dan worrall (especially this series for fabfilter), kush after hours, red means recording, andrew huang, alice yalcin efe, in the mix

general inspiration nahre sol, ben levin, david hilowitz, game score fanfare, posy, jerobeam fenderson, open reel ensemble, and ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS!

(if any readers have their own helpful resources for creating music or any other media, feel free to share in the replies & reblogs! 💓)

of course, on an especially bad day, it might be a challenge to seek out information, let alone retain it. that can feel pretty bad, but remember: be kind to yourself. the next thing you might consider trying is:

#5: consume art you love

not just music. books. shows. movies. games. illustration. animation. whatever moves and inspires you.

but do it intentionally. don't just pull up some random thing the algorithm suggested! check in with yourself about what you want (or are able) to engage with right now. choose accordingly. if you get a little way into it and realize it's not scratching that itch, hit the bricks. check in with yourself again. wash, rinse, repeat, until you find whatever it is that speaks to you right now.

and do it actively, if you can. don't just let it go in one eye and out the other! really pay attention to the work. what do you like about it? what are its themes and motifs? what makes it work so well? what are its flaws, and how much do they matter? what might you do differently? you can write notes as you do this if it helps, but even simply noticing and thinking goes a long way.

what you don't want to do is come at this with a lens of shame or envy. you're not here just to say to yourself, "ugh, if only i could do THAT." it's okay if it happens. use that thought as a springboard for curiosity: "well okay, how DID they do that? do i have the resources for it? if so, how could i apply that to my own work? if not, how can i adapt it, or what do i need to learn?" keep your mind open and approach the work with a sense of wonder.

as a creative person, it's very easy to think, "i should be making something right now, not watching a movie!" but that thought forgets something vital: your art is a response in a conversation. of course the "language" you use is your own, and maybe if you're lucky you'll invent a new word. but most of the words you use have been around long before you were born. you're just one voice in a dialogue that spans continents and generations, and that's okay. it's even the whole point.

none of us is an island. we are profoundly social animals. just as we can't live without eating, we can't make without learning. so half of making art is consuming it. consider this part of the process as well.

and finally,

#6: rest, and live your life

let's say you're in really dire straits. you've tried working slower. you tried changing focus, you tried changing projects. you want to take in new information or actively engage with your favorite art, but you're not in the headspace for it. what now?

take a nap. take a walk. take a shower. eat a nice meal, or an okay one. talk to a friend. maybe even do that chore you've been putting off (you know the one).

it's human to always crave making, but you're not a machine—and even if you were, machines need regular maintenance, too! you wouldn't drive a car that's completely out of gas, and you won't do yourself any favors treating your body that way either.

i know that when you take a break it feels as though you're not accomplishing anything, but you are: you're taking care of your animal self. and while you do that, your creative brain doesn't stop working! much like windows, it has countless background processes running at any given moment, with inscrutable names like "cbdhsvc_692da" or "Microsoft Edge Update Service." it's true, i checked.

when you're stuck on a project and you step away to rest, your brain is still chipping away at your ideas unconsciously. i like to tell people, "it's percolating." much like waiting for a pot of water to boil, that idea is still heating up, even when you take a step away. just be sure to check in on it once in a while. the time will pass, and it'll be boiling again before long. :)

before i go, i'll leave you with one last thing to keep in mind as you try all of these strategies:

be kind to yourself.

being human is just about one of the hardest things you can do. let alone being a human trying to survive capitalism while living with disabilities! the last thing you need on top of that is to overwork yourself, talk to yourself negatively, or treat yourself harshly. there are plenty of other people in the world who do that to you—don't be one of them.

i'm not saying that you shouldn't try to challenge yourself, to test your limits and go above and beyond your ambitions, if that's what you want to do. just remember that hard work and self compassion are not mutually exclusive. so be careful not to bully yourself. take pride in the progress you make, even when it seems small. encourage yourself like you would a friend who's going through a hard time. and when you challenge yourself, be your own cheerleader.

i hope you find this advice helpful! remember, this is just what helps me, so don't feel like you have to follow any of it exactly. maybe taking time to learn new information helps break you out of your rut more than working slowly, so you reach for that tool first. maybe having multiple projects going at once is too distracting for you, so you prefer to stick to one at a time. whatever your needs are, feel free to alter and adapt these ideas to fit you.

thank you for reading, and i wish you the best of luck in your creating.

with care, bee 🐦

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

arcane s2 - review

okay so now that i have given my two cents on caitvi and i've had enough time to digest s2 of arcane, what do i think about the rest of it?

overall, i have mixed feelings about it. i didn't hate it but i feel like a lot of the themes and ideas were poorly executed, especially compared to s1.

(huge spoilers to arcane below!)

but let me start with the positives:

the animation OBVIOUSLY. huge props to the animators, s1 was already phenomenonal and s2 lived up to the hype, animation-wise. the fight scenes especially were just *mwah* chef's kiss.

the character designs were great. caitlyn looks a lot prettier with the middle parting. vi's emo phase is really hot. jinx's designs in the alternate universe and the finale were iconic. jayce's beard and disheveled look was just chef's kiss. jesus viktor was hot as fuck.

the voice actors did an amazing job obviously, and i didn't expect anything less from them.

jayce's and viktor's relationship was so good despite not having all that much screentime when you think about it. they interact in the beginning when viktor wakes up from his hex-coma and then reunite and fight and make up in the final few episodes. but because of their relationship that was built up in the first season, it all worked out smoothly and made for a very natural progression in their relationship.

jinx's redemption was pretty good. not the BEST but it was carried out well enough, especially in just 9 episodes. i didn't feel like it was rushed or undeserved. her sacrifice in the end was heartbreaking but it felt natural and not shoehorned in for some added angst.

and now for the negatives:

1. the pacing was really bad, in my opinion. they had only 9 episodes but they stuffed in so many subplots into this season that it felt overwhelming.

maybe i'm just stupid but i couldn't keep up with half of the stuff that was going on and some parts of the finale didn't make a whole lot of sense to me.

like the whole storyline with mel and ambessa and the black rose was a blur to me. i honestly don't know what happened in the end after ambessa dies.

the whole deal with singed and vander and whatnot was also really murky. like i get the overall premise but it was really hard for me to grasp every single detail.

maybe this is just a me problem and i'm too dumb to follow more than two storylines at the same time. but s1 already had a lot going on and it was still a tad bit easier to follow.

s2 was just crammed with a whole bunch of different characters pursuing different goals and facing different obstacles, 9 episodes weren't enough to give all of it a satisfying conclusion. and as a result, some of the arcs felt rushed and unfinished.

like what happened to the whole found family thing with sevika, jinx and isha? they were beginning to get closer and form a good relationship but then suddenly, sevika is pushed out of the image and we never see how she reacts to jinx and isha's death.

2. while i don't think that caitvi is abusive, i still don't think the ship was great. it was just super rushed and there is a grain of truth to what caitvi antis are saying.

like yeah, caitlyn being an enforcer and seeing nothing wrong with it was.. questionable. wasn't the whole point of s1 that enforcers were ruining the lives of the people in zaun? wasn't police brutality and classism the main theme of this series? how come vi's parents were killed by enforcers and she was unfairly imprisoned for years by enforcers, but somehow she ends up dating an enforcer?

before s2 came out, i expected caitlyn to give up her job after realizing how corrupt it was. i thought that would be the natural progression of her arc, especially since she's seen how much the people of the undercity has suffered at the hands of enforcers. but nope, she keeps her job and it's never addressed in the end.

i don't think that caitlyn hitting vi once out of frustration and once out of necessity makes her a domestic abuser. but i do think it's kind of icky for vi to end up in a relationship with an enforcer, and for the show to frame it in a semi-positive manner. it's not entirely romanticized but the problems with it aren't really addressed either.

3. i feel like the themes of classism wasn't as well addressed in this season as it was in the first one. the first season had a strong message and it stuck to it. the second season was all over the place and then suddenly, there's viktor and the whole glorious evolution or whatever, and the conflict between piltover and zaun is pushed aside.

i like that sevika becomes part of the council in the end but is she the only one representing the undercity? is one person enough to speak for all these people in zaun? at least it's true to real life, i guess.

overall, i felt like the message was a lot more murky in this season. this ties to my first complaint because while s1 had a lot of storylines too, they followed a common theme. war, classism, and how privilege and the lack thereof affects people. s2's storylines are just all over the place and none of them seem to follow a theme. at least some of them could have been discarded.

4. i briefly mentioned this before but the fact that jinx stops experiencing her hallucinations never made sense to me. especially after she accidentally killed silco, shouldn't they get worse? it is implied that she has schizophrenia and c-ptsd so i really don't understand how silco's death suddenly got rid of most of her symptoms.

she still sees and hears the hallucinations from time to time and her mental state is definitely far from stable, but it was still such a huge jump from her psychotic breakdown in the s1 finale.

so yeah, these are my thoughts about arcane s2. there were more pros than cons but the cons still outweigh the pros, simply because of how much impact they had on the plot.

i'm generally not one to demand more seasons or episodes out of a series where the writers have already told the story they wanted to tell, but arcane s2 was so rushed and so filled to the brim with different characters and storylines, i couldn't help but feel like it would have benefited from having more episodes to play everything out more slowly.

i still liked this series a lot and i enjoyed watching it, but i'm not blind to its flaws and i try not to be biased.

[chroniclesofskz]

Waltz into my heart

Angst and love

Y/N has always been Felix's biggest supporter from the sidelines. But when she sees him overworking himself and ignoring his health, her concern turns into a passionate confession that reveals her hidden feelings. As they confront their emotions and the pressures of fame, Y/N and Felix embark on a journey of self-discovery, love, and the importance of balance. Will they find a way to nurture their dreams while embracing the love blossoming between them?

Y/N had been silently observing Felix from the sidelines for far too long. She admired everything about him—his infectious laughter, his carefree spirit, and his unwavering dedication to Stray Kids. But lately, her heart ached as she noticed him pushing himself to the brink. The late nights at the dance studio had shifted from passion to obsession, and the toll was evident in his tired eyes and now, increasingly in his movements.

More recently, concern had morphed into outright frustration. Felix frequently rubbed his lower back following the particularly strenuous dance routines, and she could see the struggle in his posture—the winces as he executed sharp moves, the way he collapsed onto the floor after practice, completely drained. It drove her mad that he ignored his own well-being, all in pursuit of perfection.

On a particularly late Friday night, Y/N finally reached her breaking point. She prepared a care package filled with his favorite snacks: a batch of rich, fudgy brownies, some homemade cookies, and two iced coffees sweetened just the way he liked them—she hoped this would provide the boost he desperately needed. As she assembled the items, determination fueled her every action. This was about more than just snacks; it was about confronting Felix’s reckless behavior directly.

After a quick drive to the dance studio, she hesitated outside the doors. The sound of music and rhythmic thumping echoed within, but enough was enough. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped inside.

The studio was dimly lit, the scent of sweat and determination filling the air. Felix was in the middle of a routine, his movements sharp but tinged with exhaustion. He paused, rubbing his lower back before continuing, and Y/N’s heart sank. The sight of him struggling ignited her frustration.

“Felix!” she called out, her voice stronger than she felt.

He paused mid-step, surprise flooding his face. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you,” she replied, trying to keep her tone steady despite the concern swirling inside her. “You’re pushing yourself way too hard! You need to eat and rest!”

“I’ll be fine,” he shrugged, brushing off her concern as if it were nothing. “I just want to get better. I can’t fall behind.”

Y/N’s frustration crested like a wave. “No, you need to listen!” she snapped, stepping closer. “You’re not fine! You’ve been working yourself to the bone! Look at you! You think this is okay? You keep ignoring your back pain—as if it’s nothing! This isn’t just about you or the group; it’s about your health!”

She watched as he crossed his arms, a defensive posture taking over. “I need to focus on my dance! I don’t have time for this!”

The anger bubbled over as her voice rose, a mix of concern and exasperation. “You don’t have time for a break? What, are you invincible? You’re acting like you’re going to be perfect just by overworking yourself! It’s stupid, Felix!”

As she spoke, she could feel the heat of her frustration flowing through her. How could he be so reckless? How could he care so little for his well-being? The tears of anger began to well in her eyes, and she wiped them away angrily. “I hate watching you like this! It breaks my heart to see you ruining yourself for some ideal someone imposed on you!”

Felix’s eyes softened at her rage, but he also hardened, his jaw clenching. “You don’t understand what it’s like! I can’t let anyone down. I just want to be the best for everyone… for you.”

The reality of how much he was struggling slapped her like a cold wave, the vulnerability in his eyes intermingling with her frustration. “No, Felix! You’re not letting anyone down by taking care of yourself! That’s not how love works; it’s not about being perfect or performing flawless dance moves! It’s about being healthy and present!”

His expression faltered for a moment, but stubbornness crept back in. “I’ll deal with it. I’m not weak!”

Y/N felt a sudden rush of emotion, the dam of her concerns breaking. “You’re not weak for wanting to rest! You’re weak for refusing to hear the people who care about you! You’re being reckless, and it’s driving me insane!”

With a mix of desperation and raw emotion, Y/N shouted through her tears, “I love you, Felix! Why can't you see that? I can’t just stand by while you destroy yourself!”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and damning. Felix, taken aback by her fervent confession, fell silent. An array of emotions danced across his features, confusion and realization intertwining.

Before he could process his thoughts, Y/N turned sharply, storming out of the studio, anger and

heartbreak propelling her forward. Each step felt like a release, the fury and sorrow battling fiercely within her as she exited the studio. The memory of Felix’s stubborn face haunted her, and she slammed the door behind her, the sound echoing in the hallway.

Felix stood paralyzed, shock coursing through him. How had they arrived at this point? The chaos of their emotions muddled his thoughts. He had never seen Y/N so passionate and upset, not about him. Her confession hung in the air like a bell tolling—loud, clear, and impossible to ignore.

Realization struck him hard, like a blow to the gut. Y/N didn’t just care about him; she loved him, and she was right. As he replayed her words, all the pieces fell into place—her worried glances, her soft touches, the way she always made time for him. It all made sense now, and the weight of his own stubbornness hit him like a wave.

“Y/N, wait!” he shouted, racing after her through the hallway. He sprinted, ignoring the soreness in his back, focused solely on catching up to her before she slipped away. He couldn’t let her go; he wouldn’t.

“Y/N, please!” he called again, the urgency in his voice ringing louder this time as he rounded the corner. His heart thudded in his chest, propelled by a mix of adrenaline and fear of losing her. “I need to talk to you!”

She paused, her back facing him as she took a deep breath, her shoulders trembling. “What’s there to say, Felix? You already made your choice, didn’t you?”

The hurt in her voice cut through him, and he took a moment to gather his thoughts. “No, that’s not true. I didn’t mean to push you away. I … I just didn’t know how to handle everything!”

Y/N slowly turned to face him, and the sight of her tear-streaked cheeks made his heart ache. “How can you not see what you’re doing to yourself? I can’t be okay with watching you push your limits while your health deteriorates. I care too much!”

“Y/N,” he said, desperation in his voice. “I care, too! I’ve cared for so long, and I was too scared to admit it.” He stepped closer, earnestness flooding him. “I didn’t want to complicate things between us, didn’t want to distract you from your own life. But now, I see how stupid I’ve been.”

For a moment, silence enveloped them, and the air felt charged with tension. Y/N’s eyes searched his, looking for signs of sincerity amidst the turmoil. Felix took a few tentative steps closer, his heart racing as he closed the distance. “I love you, Y/N! I love you, and I’m terrified of losing you! I thought I was doing the right thing by working hard, but it feels empty without you by my side.”

She blinked, taken aback by the intensity of his admission. The anger she had felt began to fade as a wave of relief washed over her, but it was still mingled with frustration. “If you love me, then why can’t you just take care of yourself? You have to understand that I want you to thrive, not burn out.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry for all of it!” His voice broke slightly, suffused with emotion. “I promise I’ll do better. I’ll listen to you. I’ll take breaks. Just please, don’t walk away from me.”

As he watched her, the tears returned to Y/N’s eyes, this time spilling over with a different kind of urgency. Her heart clenched at the sight of him beneath the studio lights—the weariness, the uncertainty, the strength of his feelings suddenly laid bare. It was overwhelming, and she couldn’t help but feel the tension melting away.

“Felix…” she murmured, her voice trembling as she took a deep breath. “I want to believe you. I really do.”

In that moment of vulnerability, a connection ignited, a magnetic pull that brought them closer. Felix stepped in front of her, cupping her face gently in his hands as he looked into her eyes with fierce devotion.

“I mean it, Y/N. I will prioritize us—I’m ready to let you in. Just promise me you’ll help me along the way.”

Before she could respond, he leaned in, capturing her lips with his in a passionate kiss. It was urgent and fervent, a collision of all the feelings they had kept bottled up for too long. The surprise of it made her weak in the knees, and she instinctively kissed him back, pouring everything she felt into the moment.

Felix’s hands cradled her face as they kissed, savoring the warmth and softness of her lips against his, brushing away the remnants of her tears with his thumb. Their kiss

deepened, filled with the passion they had both longed to express. Every ounce of emotion they had bottled up poured into that moment as they lost themselves in each other. Felix felt the warmth of her body close to his, and it calmed the storm within him.

He pulled away slightly to gaze into her eyes, both of them breathing heavily. “See? This is what I’ve been missing,” Felix said softly, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “You’re my light, Y/N. I’d be lost without you.”

Y/N’s heart soared at his words, and a smile broke through the remnants of her tears. “And I’d do anything to ensure you realize how wonderful you are, Felix. You’re not just a dancer; you’re so much more than that.”

He leaned in again, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, a gesture filled with unspoken admiration. “Let’s do this together. I’ll take it slow, I promise.”

With newfound resolve, Y/N held onto his arms, feeling the warmth radiating from him. “We’ll take care of each other. And when the weight of the world feels too heavy, we’ll share it.”

“Exactly,” he replied, leaning down to capture her lips again in a softer kiss, a promise of their connection solidified in that contact.

Felix took a step back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Now, let’s eat those brownies before they start melting in the heat of this moment!”

Y/N laughed, a melodic sound that felt like music in the studio. “Only if you promise to split them with me!”

“Deal!” he winked, and they walked hand-in-hand to the nearby bench, the earlier tension replaced by an easiness that felt right.

As they settled down, Y/N opened the package, revealing the delectable treats she had prepared with care. She handed him a brownie, and when he took a bite, his eyes lit up with delight. “This is amazing! You’re the best,” he said, mouth half-full.

Y/N giggled, watching him enjoy the food. It was a simple, sweet moment, but it filled her heart with warmth. She joined him, savoring the taste of the brownies and the cookies, both comforting in their familiarity.

After they finished the snacks, Felix leaned back on his hands, propping himself up as he looked at her. “So, about taking care of myself…” he began, a playful smirk teasing the corners of his lips.

“Oh no, what is it?” Y/N raised an eyebrow, half-joking.

“I think it's time we put a limit on my practice hours and maybe incorporate more fun activities into my life,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “How about a dance party just for us? No crowds, no pressure—just you and me.”

Y/N’s heart raced at the thought, and she clapped her hands in excitement. “That sounds perfect! We can play our favorite songs and just dance—no judging, just fun!”

“Exactly!” he agreed, his excitement matching hers, then added with a cheeky smile, “And maybe we can add a few more snacks to the playlist too?”

She laughed, playfully shoving him. “You and your food! But yes, definitely. I’m all in if it means spending time with you.”

As they settled into a comfortable rhythm, Felix reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers effortlessly. “You’ve changed everything for me, Y/N. I don’t want to hide my feelings anymore, and I don’t want you to either. Let’s make this real.”

She felt the flutter of hope swell within her—a promise of a new beginning. “With you, I can be myself, Felix. Let’s be each other’s safe space.”

He nudged her shoulder playfully. “And maybe our dance floor ground zero,” he added with a grin, causing her to chuckle.

The atmosphere felt lighter now, filled with shared laughter and affections. They spent the rest of the evening dancing together, sometimes swaying to soft beats, other times breaking out into silly movements that made them both laugh uncontrollably.

In between their spontaneous dance breaks, they stole quick kisses and shared sweet whispers, building moments that felt like they were existing in their world. Each gesture—whether it was a laugh, a fleeting touch, or a whispered confession—felt like a step further into their newfound bond.

Later, as the evening winded down and the studio lights dimmed, Y/N turned to Felix, her heart warm with affection. “Thank you for letting me in—truly.”

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Thank you for not giving up on me. I’ll always listen to you from now on, I promise.”

Kissing her forehead softly, he smiled down at her—his fingers sliding through her hair as he tucked a loose strand behind her ear. Y/N looked up at

him, her heart swelling with love and gratitude. The vulnerability between them felt almost magical, grounding them in a way they had never experienced before.

“Felix,” she started, her voice soft, “promise me you won’t overwork yourself again. I want you to be the incredible dancer you are, but I need you to prioritize your well-being too.”

He nodded earnestly, his eyes sincere as they bore into hers. “I promise, Y/N. I realize now that I need to find that balance—between ambition and taking care of myself. With you by my side, I feel like I can do that.”

“Good! I’ll be here to remind you whenever you need,” she affirmed, her heart dancing at the thought of supporting him in a healthier way.

Felix chuckled, leaning down to press a light kiss on her lips—a dance of warmth and sweetness that sent butterflies flying through her stomach. “And I’ll be here for you too, always.”

With the promise of a new dynamic between them established, Felix took her hand and led her to the center of the studio, where the floor felt welcoming beneath their feet. He started swaying gently, pulling her into a soft rhythm, and they moved together, almost as if they were the only two people in the world.

“Let’s dance our worries away,” he said, flashing her that charming smile that made her stomach flutter.

Y/N smiled back, her heart racing as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Okay! But only if you promise not to step on my toes!”

“I’ll do my best!” he laughed, his voice light and playful as he guided her in their silly little dance.

The music they shared hummed in the background, providing the perfect backdrop for their impromptu dance party. They swayed together, laughter bubbling up between them as they tried to imitate silly moves they saw in the dance videos—their hearts lightening, their spirits lifting.

As they danced, Felix would occasionally lift her off the ground, spinning her around as she squealed in both surprise and delight. His strength enveloped her, filling her heart with admiration and warmth. They were lost in their little world, where laughter echoed and joy reigned.

“Dance-offs?” she suggested playfully, a competitive glimmer in her eyes.

“Bring it on!” he challenged, and they fell into playful banter, each taking turns trying to outdo each other with silly and exaggerated dance moves.

As the night wore on, the laughter began to fade into peaceful giggles, their bodies growing tired but their hearts still racing. Eventually, they found a quiet spot on the floor, leaning against one another, the energy of the evening soothing and comforting.

“Can we stay like this forever?” Y/N asked softly, resting her head on his shoulder.

Felix tightened his hold around her, his heart swelling at the thought. “I don’t see why not. As long as we keep loving and supporting each other, I think we’ll be just fine.”

Y/N felt a sense of contentment envelop her, the words soothing her soul and giving her hope for whatever lay ahead.

“I can’t believe we finally made it here,” she mused. “After all those unspoken feelings and frustrations…”

Felix tilted her chin gently, guiding her gaze up to meet his. “We were just waiting for the right moment. And now? We’ll build beautiful memories together—one dance at a time.”

With that promise hanging in the air, he leaned down, capturing her lips again in a soft, lingering kiss that took her breath away. The kiss held all the passion, love, and commitment they had both been holding back, pouring everything they shared into that gentle touch.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless and a little dazed, Y/N couldn’t help but smile. “You know, I think you and I make quite the team.”

He chuckled, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Perfect, then. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?”

“Exactly!” she laughed, her heart soaring at the chemistry between them.

They spent the rest of the evening reminiscing and talking about their dreams and ambitions, making promises to be there for each other. They shared favorite songs, discussed future dance practices, and planned impromptu adventures. Everything felt different now—lighter, filled with endless possibilities.

As the evening stretched into night, the once-empty studio felt alive with their laughter and connection. Y/N knew they had crossed an important boundary, stepping into a realm of deeper affection and understanding that neither of them had anticipated exploring together.

Finally, as the stars twinkled outside, they cupped each other's faces, brushing noses, sharing quiet breaths, and whispering quiet vows of love and support in the dim light of the studio.

In each other’s arms, they found refuge—a safe space where dreams expanded and love blossomed. Wrapped in their newfound closeness, they fell asleep under the studio’s soft lights, ready to

embrace whatever the future held for them, knowing they would face it together—hand in hand, hearts intertwined, and ready to dance through life.

As the night deepened, the soft sounds of their laughter faded into a peaceful calm, leaving the dance studio enveloped in warmth and the promise of a beautiful journey ahead.

And in that moment, Y/N and Felix knew they had found something truly special—a love that was as vibrant as the music that had brought them together, stronger with each gentle sway and whisper shared in the quiet of the night.

[squichymochi]

Ops another lucifer x reader I wrote this weekend. I really do hope you enjoy reading it, it’s one of my favourites.

Warnings: This story contains mature themes consistent with Hazbin Hotel, including violence, blood, strong language, and mentions of death.

Disclaimer: You once found yourself entwined in a passionate relationship with Lucifer and Lilith. But when Lucifer was cast out of Heaven, you didn’t go with him.

Lucifer x Reader

Word Count: 1.445

Your words cut sharply through the air. “I swear to fucking God, Adam, if you start another one of your guitar solos again, I’ll personally rip those ‚chicken‘ wings off of your back and boot you straight to Hell!” The words left your lips before you could stop them, echoing through the meeting room. 

Across from you, Adam nonchalantly chewed his ribs with a smug smile adoring his face, surrounded by a flock of adoring soon to be exorcists who treated him more like a rock star than a holy being. 

Next to you, Sera, the First Seraphim, cleared her throat disapprovingly, prompting a flush of embarrassment to color your cheeks while she stared you down with a judgmental gaze.

You unclenched your jaw and sank back into your chair, your wings unfurling behind you and dropping with an air of regal defiance. “My apologies, First Seraphim,” you managed through gritted teeth. But your patience was wearing thin, especially with Adam’s smug grin. “I can’t tolerate his sanctimonious attitude. He's an insufferable—”you continued, only to be cut off by Sera’s raised hand.

“Enough!” Sera’s voice thundered through the room, silencing any further protest. “Y/N, if you wish to avoid Lucifer’s fate, you will keep your opinions to yourself. We cannot allow Hell to gain any advantage.”

Growling in frustration, you said „but these are souls we are talking about“, your voice trembled with rage and you clenched your fists so tightly that crescents were etched into your skin. „Who cares? They’re sinners, just like your damned husband, who fucked my first wife and now festers in Hell,” Adam declared, his grin wide and taunting, as he casually twirled a bone between his fingers.

Refusing to be silenced by his heartlessness, you countered with vehemence, “Their sins don’t strip them of their right to fair judgment. We need to have more discussions, more debates, before we let angels turn into executioners, slaughtering millions of souls without a second thought!” Your voice rose with every word, echoing your unwavering conviction and the urgency of the matter at hand.

Sera stood up, her voice commanding and resolute, cutting through the heated debate. “Enough!” she declared, her authority unmistakable. “I will not tolerate any action that could escalate into a war with Hell. Our duty is to protect our kind first and foremost. And Y/N, tread carefully. If you wish to avoid the same fate as Lucifer, you will keep this matter confined within these walls.”

Fueled by frustration and defiance, you couldn’t hold back. With a low growl, you flung a dagger, embedding it in the wall just inches from Adam’s head. His smugness evaporated into a scream of terror. “You’ll regret this, you little—” 

But before he could finish, you were forcefully ejected from the room, your parting gesture a pair of defiant middle fingers aimed squarely at Adam. From that day, you helplessly watched the angels execute their merciless agenda, condemning countless souls in Hell.

~years later~

In the plaza of Heaven, Adam's arm nonchalantly draped over your shoulder, his voice dripping with arrogance. “So, how does it feel, watching us purge Hell every fucking year, eh?” With a cold stare, you warned him, “Touch me again, and you’ll not only lose that arm.” His laughter only fuelled your loathing.

Just then, a commotion caught your attention. A girl, bearing an uncanny resemblance to your husband Lucifer, passed by. “What’s Lucifer’s brat doing up here?” Adam sneered.

Your heart ached at the sight. She looked just like Lucifer, except for her height. Memories flooded back – of your time with Lucifer, your love, and the painful decision to stay in Heaven while he fell. Lucifer, whom you had joined willingly, who had fallen for Lilith as much as for you. Together, you had offered Eve the apple, challenging the rigid confines of Heaven.

Yet when Lucifer fell, you couldn’t bring yourself to join him, torn by a selfish desire to protect your unborn child. You didn’t notice when Adam and Lute were caught by a pissed of first Seraphim.

In court, as you listened Charlie plead for sinners redemption, Adam let slip his eagerness to exterminate not only sinners in hell every year but also Charlie, Lucifer’s daughter. As he menacingly approached her, you acted without hesitation. A dagger flew from your hand, narrowly missing Adam. “Nobody lays a hand on my husband’s child!” you roared, charging towards him with clenched fists, ready to defend her at all costs.

Charlie’s shocked voice pierced the chaos. “Wait, what?” Her eyes locked with yours, widening in a mix of shock and dawning realisation, before she was abruptly pulled back to Hell, the portal snapping shut behind her.

In that moment, despite knowing the consequences that awaited you, you felt a profound sense of purpose. Protecting Charlie, even at great personal risk, was a cause worth any punishment.

A month later, the day of the Exorcation loomed. Adam’s taunts were relentless, but your resolve was unbreakable. Hidden in the shadows, you slipped into Hell, determined to protect Charlie.

The battle was fierce, and as Adam choked Charlie, your dagger found its mark, forcing him to release her. But Adam’s fury was unmatched when he screamed aiming straight at you „you fucking cunt, I knew you should have left for hell too“ and then a holy light shot straight at you. The fight was brutal, and soon, you felt the searing pain of losing one of your wings. With an agonised scream you started falling, the floor approaching quickly.

But then, something soft caught you – Lucifer, his arms a haven of safety. “Sorry I’m late, darling,” he smirked, descending gracefully and setting you down before his gaze met Adam‘s with a feral growl. As he rolled up his sleeves, a silent signal of readiness, an intense battle ensued. Adam, consumed by fury, narrowly missed striking Charlie, but Lucifer intervened with ferocious protectiveness, unleashing a torrent of pent-up wrath upon him.

You reached out, touching Lucifer’s shoulder with a soft but firm hand. “He’s had enough,” you murmured, bringing Lucifer back from the brink of unbridled rage. His eyes, moments ago ablaze with fury, refocused on you, softening at your touch.

Adam, beaten and defiant, let out a stream of enraged screams and insults, only to be abruptly silenced by a tiny demon you later got to know as Nifty. Her laugh and continuous mantra of „stab, stab, stab“, will forever live rent free inside your head. Watching him fall face first, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. There was no remorse, only a deep, settling peace.

Lucifer's gaze found yours, filled with a mix of shock and unspoken questions.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice trembling nervously, he fiddled with his fingers, a characteristic sign of nervousness. His eyes - the very ones that had captured your heart - lifting to meet yours.

„I’m here because I wanted to protect what means the world to you,” you declared with unwavering clarity, “because I love you.”

His face registered shock, and millions of other emotions playing across it as he processed your words. “But… I thought… you hated me,” he stammered, tears brimming in his eyes, “I believed my actions were why you stayed in Heaven.”

Gently, you brushed away his tears and clasped his hands. The rings – symbols of your bond with him and Lilith – still encircled his finger. “No,” you affirmed, your voice firm yet tender. “I stayed to protect our child. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner.” Releasing his hands, you turned away, wrapping your arms around yourself, the weight of years of secrets and solitude pressing down on you.

“Sera… she wouldn’t let me leave, and I just wanted our child to be safe,” you murmured, but before you could continue, Lucifer enveloped you in a warm embrace. “We have a child?” His voice was a whisper, a mixture of disbelief, wonder and regret.

Yes, and he’s incredible,” you said, pride lighting up your voice. “He’s working with Emily, inspired by Charlie, to rehabilitate redeemed sinners in Heaven.”

Lucifer leaned in to kiss your cheek, a gentle touch that spoke volumes. “Then, you should return, my love, before they realise your involvement.”

But you were resolute, grasping his hand on your cheek. “I don’t care. Our son is grown, and I want to be with you, the eternal love of my life,” you whispered, turning around and resting your forehead against his.

“Are you sure?” he asked, laying his heart at your feet. “Always,” you replied, sealing your reunion with a kiss, gentle and full of all the years of longing and love.

[bekkarific]

Playing with Fire

Chapter Nine: Ablaze

Chapter Masterlist

Pairing: Frontman/in Ho x fem oc

Ji Ah woke to the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the suffocating stillness of her quarters. The silk sheets beneath her felt damp, clinging to her skin as though trying to anchor her in place. Her body ached faintly, and her head throbbed with a dull, persistent pulse.

She groaned, turning her head slightly. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused, before settling on the ceiling above her. The events of the night before bled into her mind like ink spilled on paper, blurring the edges of memory and reality.

The room swayed for a moment as she sat up, her silk tank top clinging to her damp skin. Her fingers brushed against her arm, and for a fleeting second, she swore she could feel it again—the firm grip of his leather glove, the heat of his hand beneath the cold, unyielding surface.

Ji Ah shivered, her hands instinctively moving to her face, where the faintest trace of pressure seemed to linger. Her breathing quickened as fragments of memory returned, flashing in disjointed bursts.

The sound of gunfire. The weight of his presence as he loomed next to her. His voice—calm, unyielding, dripping with authority—whispering in her ear, "I did warn you about tests."

And then, the fall.

Her mind reeled, struggling to piece together the moments that followed. She remembered collapsing, her legs refusing to hold her weight. The world had spun violently before fading to black. But there was something else—a sensation that made her stomach twist.

Someone caught me.

Her lips parted as the faintest flicker of a memory surfaced: the feel of strong arms beneath her, cradling her. The sharp scent of leather mingled with the warmth of his presence, steady and unwavering.

Her pulse quickened. Him.

Ji Ah swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet touching the cool floor. Her gaze wandered to the door—locked. She clenched her fists, frustration and confusion warring within her. Why had he brought her back here? Why hadn’t he left her to wake in the hallway like a discarded piece of furniture, as she might have expected? Or worse executed her?

Her eyes narrowed, the weight of the Frontman’s actions pressing down on her. He had pulled the trigger without hesitation, executed Number 4 as though she were no more than a pawn in his twisted game. Yet, he had carried Ji Ah back here himself, his touch somehow both impersonal and uncomfortably intimate.

She ran her hands down her arms, trying to shake the phantom sensation of his gloves on her skin. It clung to her like a second layer, a memory she couldn’t scrub away no matter how hard she tried.

Why? Why was he doing this?

Ji Ah rose to her feet, her legs shaky but determined. She paced the small space, her mind racing. He had said she was being tested, but what kind of test left her with this storm of conflicting emotions?

Her fingers curled into fists. If he thinks I’ll break, he’s wrong. Yet even as she thought it, her resolve wavered, the weight of his actions and her own uncertainty threatening to crush her. She turned to the mirror on the wall, catching her reflection—disheveled, vulnerable, and haunted.

But there, through the mask’s narrow eyeholes, her gaze burned with something new: a determination to understand, to survive, and to unmask the man who held her fate in his hands.

—————————————

She dressed without incident, the ache in her head settling down to a dull throb. Glancing at the options, she was limited. Each dress designed to show off an indecent amount of skin, for her it was deciding what pound of flesh to sacrifice.

Settling on a black velvet number that covered her front her neck to mid thigh in the front, but had a large swooping back that ended just above her bottom, exposing her spine. The sleeves covered down to her wrists, but did little to disguise the discomfort she felt.

Scooping her hair into a simple ponytail, Ji Ah secured her mask and set about adding her lipstick, a reminder of her place.

Slipping her heels Ji Ah sat and waited. Whilst no clock was offered in this cold, steel prison, she was sure it would not be long now till she was summoned.

Taking a deep breath, rolling her shoulders to lessen the tension Ji Ah let her mind drift back over the events of the last few days. She was not sure when it happened, how she became so complicit, she needed to fight back, to escape and find Jun Ho.

Gi Hun’s face flashed before her, guilt rising in her throat. What she be condemning him to if she left?

The banging on the steel door pulled her from her thoughts, “number 13, prepare yourself” he ordered shoving a tray of food through the hatch, “your duties will begin shortly”

Ji Ah stared at the food, no appetite, her gut twisting at the thought of what laid ahead.

———————————————

The cacophony of laughter grated against Ji Ah’s nerves as she entered the VIP lounge, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. The air was thick with smoke and the pungent aroma of expensive liquor, their opulence a grotesque contrast to the grim spectacle unfolding below.

Her mask felt stifling, the velvet dress an unwanted reminder of her role in this charade. She moved with practiced grace, her chin held high, but her every step felt like a calculated risk.

The Frontman stood at the far end of the room, his imposing figure framed by the massive viewing window. His posture was rigid, hands clasped behind his back, the black leather of his gloves catching the light. For a moment, Ji Ah dared to hope he wouldn’t notice her presence, but that hope evaporated as his masked head turned ever so slightly in her direction.

“Gentleman, we apologise for the minor disturbance last night. It has been addressed” he started, looking straight ahead “your money for any bets placed on player 111 will be refunded”

Ji Ah felt sick, is that all that man’s life was worth, the cost of a bet?

“The games will continue on time, in line with the schedule” he continued, the happy murmurs of the VIP’s filled the room.

“Allow me to introduce the next game” he flicked a switch and the screen behind him opened, displaying a small area designed to look like an old town.

“The game will be marbles, each player be asked to form pairs, those pairs will be given 10 marbles each. Which ever member of the pair had collected all 20 marbles from the opponent within the timeframe will be the winner” he explained simply, like he was talking about the weather.

The loud Texan spoke up “oh wee that is a sweet game, those sorry bastards have will more than likely pair up with someone they trust. Only to be stabbed in the back!” He ended laughing, the room full of VIP���s joining in on the sick joke.

Ji Ah tried to keep her eyes forward, not letting any weakness show. She would not break.

The VIPs began placing their bets, their animated discussions punctuated with crude laughter. Ji Ah glanced briefly at the Frontman who was milling around the room, pretending she wasn’t there. She was not sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“Gentlemen,” his voice cut through the noise like a blade, commanding instant silence. “The next game is about to begin”

Ji Ah’s stomach churned as VIPs drew their attention the large screen, revealing players being herded into the arena. The sight of the bags of marbles in their hands made her blood run cold.

Pairs. Trust. Betrayal.

The words reverberated in her mind, unbidden, as she watched the players exchange uneasy glances as the game was announced to them. Her chest tightened at the memory of Gi Hun’s face, the desperation she knew he would feel in this moment.

Ji Ah stood silently at her assigned post, trying to keep her breathing steady, her eyes transfixed on the screen.

And then, she felt it.

A ghosting touch, so faint it might have been imagined, brushing against the exposed curve of her spine. Ji Ah stiffened, her breath hitching as the warmth of his gloved hand hovered just above her skin.

He didn’t speak, didn’t even look her way, but the message was clear: I see you.

Ji Ah forced herself to remain still, her heart pounding in her chest. She could almost feel his amusement, as though he were testing her resolve in plain sight of the oblivious VIPs.

Below, a contestant dropped to their knees, pleading with their partner for mercy. The first marble clattered against the floor, a sound that reverberated through Ji Ah’s very soul.

The Frontman’s voice cut through the tension once more. “This game will reveal the true nature of human bonds. Will loyalty prevail? Or will desperation triumph?” He still lingered, making sure Ji Ah could see him.

Ji Ah bit the inside of her cheek, the phantom sensation of his touch lingering like. Her mind raced with questions she couldn’t afford to ask, not here, not now.

She swallowed hard, her hands curling into fists at her sides. If he was trying to break her, to make her falter in this sick game of control, he would have to try harder.

But as the screams and sobs from below echoed in the room, Ji Ah wasn’t sure who was truly winning this battle of wills—or if she could afford to lose.

—————————————-

As the marble game wrapped up, there were only 17 players remaining. The number seared into Ji Ah’s soul, she failed them.

Ji Ah was rooted to her spot, watching as the number of players slowly ticked down during the course of the game, a game she was powerless to stop. ‘Is that how they felt?’ She wondered ‘the players’. The images of the surviving players being shown on screen, Gi Hun’s smiling face staring back at her.

Lost in her own world she nearly missed the call of “number 13” and the clinking of ice against glass. Following the sound Ji Ah saw the glittering mask of the Texan staring back at her. Drink held up in the air.

Ji Ah quickly rushed over, all too aware of the eyes on her. The Texan’s booming laughter cut through the lounge like an unwelcome melody as Ji Ah moved quietly along the edge of the room.

“Ah, there she is,” he drawled, gesturing toward Ji Ah with his cigar. “Our little goddess of fortune, lucky number 13. Come, sit with me, sweetheart.” He finished, tapping the seat next to him.

Ji Ah’s stomach turned at the saccharine tone he used, hesitating only a moment before making her way over. Refusal wasn’t an option—not in this place.

As she perched carefully on the edge of the luxurious leather couch, his hand was on her before she had a chance to settle. Thick fingers wrapped around her arm, pulling her closer, his breath reeking of whiskey as he leaned in.

“Don’t be shy now,” he cooed, his fingers grazing the exposed curve of her back. “You’re my little good luck charm. What’s the secret, huh?”

Ji Ah stiffened, her spine rigid under his touch. She forced a polite smile behind her mask, carefully disentangling her arm from his grip. “I’m just here to ensure you’re all well taken care of.”

“Taken care of, huh?” The Texan chuckled darkly, his hand now brushing her thigh. “Well, I can think of a few ways you could—”

“Number 13.”

The Frontman’s voice, cold and precise, cut through the Texan’s lewd comment. Ji Ah’s head snapped toward him, her heart racing as she stood abruptly, almost knocking over the drink table in her haste to escape the Texan’s grasp.

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the Frontman’s authority pressing down on everyone present. Even the Texan, for all his bravado, withdrew his hand, though not without a muttered curse under his breath.

“Yes, sir?” Ji Ah answered, keeping her voice steady as she approached him.

He didn’t look at her, his attention fixed on the monitors displaying the game stats. “There’s an issue with the observation reports. Retrieve them and bring them to me immediately. You will find them in my lounge”

Ji Ah blinked, confused. Observation reports? She’d never been asked to handle anything of the sort before. Still, she nodded. “Understood.”

As the door hissed shut behind her, the Frontman allowed himself a moment to glance toward the Texan.

Though his mask betrayed no emotion, his stance was unyielding, his jaw tightened, and his hands curled tightening on the controls.

[happilyfeatherafter]

Happilyfeatherafter’s ficrec Fridays

Happy Friday everyone, sneaking in a little bit late (I've been afk on a fun visit to the UK's biggest LGBTQ+ and Kink archive in London, and it was truly fascinating! Pay it a visit if you're in London.) But now I'm back with more fics that I've read and loved recently.

If you missed last week’s you can find my previous rec lists here for more!

9 February 2024

The Real Prize by @doctorprofessorsong is part two of River's glorious Dean x The Cartwright Twins fics. Dean is reunited with baseball player Joe, now retired, after an eventful case. After introducing his partner Cas, they get to reminiscing, fun, and a boat load of feelings. Only River can make you get this emotional over the aftermath of a gangbang and some voyeuristic partner sharing!

Good Times, Bad Times, Past Times by @lazarus-rose (art by @avalonlights) is another fantastic @deancasbigbang fic that gave me all the time travel feels. Dean doesn't see much of a future for himself with his demon deal looming, but then he meets a future version of himself from 2023. This Dean has his happily ever after with Cas after defeating Chuck and semi-retiring from hunting. But, there's a rogue angel who has gone back in time to kill Dean before he ever went to Hell. Time for tfw to reunite for one last hunt. Brilliantly executed, and masterfully characterised. I just love it when Dean meets Dean!

five minutes to six by saintedcastiel (@aliveboydean) is giving me The Morning Show / Newsroom / Newscaster Castiel! He's been the co-host of Good Morning, Lawrence! for a little over ten years when he stumbles across the story of a lifetime. But after the segment is pulled, he is desperate to unearth the corruption behind the scenes, whilst keeping his co-host, and the man he loves, in the dark. It's got mystery, it's got espionage, it's got heist vibes, it's got intrigue!

becoming of a man by wylf_storm (@denimshortsdean) is another stunning poem, from @winchester-reload's Suptober prompt liminal. Exploring intersecting boundaries, thresholds and transitional stages. Beautifully Dean and Cas, and really layered, every time I read it I find something new.

(we are) two queens by @luckshiptoshore for everyone who's been enjoying Luck's Are You Writing From The Heart? but might have missed this prior gem! Glorious fish out of water meets stubborn self-denial King. And for all your ‘Dean’s inner critic/homosexuality narrator sounds like Crowley’ needs. In which Cas mishears an idiom and chaos (and sexual tension) ensues. The pure joy of there's only one bed fic. Hilarious, sweet, and brimming with frustrated sexual tension as ever!

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Happy birthday!!!!✨✨✨✨✨✨🌻🌷🌻🌻

Please: Gojo Satoru, stressed, "Well don't just stand there, do something" And "They don't deserve you"

Thanks so much 🤍

aww, thank you so much!!!! (Please ignore this is like 3 days late; lifes been weird lmao)

I was really excited to do this one, I hope you like it!

Now Presenting...

Starring: A very stressed and a little protective, Satoru Gojo

The room was tense, apprehension and fear so thick in the air that at times it felt like trying to breathe in putty. For Satoru, at least. If you were feeling any of the pressure, you were pretty good about hiding it. Absent-mindedly scrolling through social media on your phone, making a point to pay everyone else in the room no mind. Gojo knew you better than that though. He could see that you didn't stop long enough to read any of the posts, and that your finger tapping was far too frantic to be from annoyance alone. 

Finally, the Elders came in. Everyone rose out of respect and habit, and bowed low as they walked through the room. Satoru tried to catch your eye, but you were making the pointed decision to look at only the floor. His hand reached for yours, something to let you know it would be ok, but before he could make it the elders spoke.

"Rest." Gakuganji grumbled, and everyone returned to their seats. 

"I wonder how it feels to get an undeserved standing ovation every time you enter a room.." Satoru mumbled the anxious joke. For the most part, he got glares and side eyes. But, from you, he got a ghost of a smile. And that was his real goal anyway. 

“Y/n L/n, You stand trial today for using a forbidden curse technique,”  The old man said, utterly uninterested. He was just annoyed that his Monday morning tea was being interrupted. “For your crimes you-”

“Wait, What?” You scoffed, “Some fucking trial, you’re sentencing me already?”

“L/n, your crimes are clear and well documented.” Gakuganji sighed, rubbing his temple with two fingers. Your hands twitched with rage.

“Yes, I’m not arguing that I'm innocent, I’m saying my motivation for doing so should be taken into consideration.” you pointed out. Had you broken an ancient rule placed on your family a millennia ago? Yes, undoubtedly. But did you also save thousands of lives in the process? Without question. The special grade you were fighting was going to take out all of Okinawa, and your ‘forbidden’ cursed technique allowed you to exercise the curse before it even had a chance. You were not a criminal. Which is why your treatment since the incident was making your blood boil.

“Honorable as your intentions may have been, it’s no excuse for breaking a precedent that goes all the way back to the Sengoku era. Your execution will be-”

“Execution?!” you snapped. Were they really so caught up in their goddamn traditions they were going to kill you over this?! Satoru was stunned. He felt trapped in a static coffin as he processed the words. Execution? Execution? He saw you getting more and more impassioned in your argument, further digging your grave and pissing off the geezer. And then he felt your nails dig into his forearm, electrifying him back into the moment as his eyes snapped to your desperate stare.

“Don’t just stand there, do something!” You begged. He shook his head, remembering that he was Satoru fucking Gojo, surely he had some weight he could pull to save your life. He stood,

“An execution?” He said, standing up, “That’s just a little extreme don’t you think?” Gakuganji groaned in frustration, wishing for once he could just make this kid go away.

“No Gojo, I don’t. They-”

“Saved millions of lives, right. I’m well aware of the details, old man, you don’t have to explain.” he smiled, “Really, if anything we should be celebrating them. Instead you cowards want them dead? Are you really that scared of something as small as change?” Yoshinobu slammed his fist on the table before him to try and regain control of the situation. He pointed an accusatory finger at your old friend.

“Silence Gojo, I will have no more of this. My decision is final-”

“Oh, mine is too.” Satoru smiled, “If any of you even think about laying a finger on them, You’re going to have to deal with me.” He said darkly. Gojos' threat hung heavy in the air. He didn’t go into details. He didn’t have to. Everyone's eyes nervously flashed from you, to Satoru, to Yoshinobu. Everyone knew the old man had already lost, the question now was what would happen to you.

“Fine.” the head elder said, finally relenting. “But they are hereby banned from using jujutsu sorcery ever again. Any attempt to do so will result in them being labeled a curse user, and executed on sight.” You bristled at the final verdict, but both you and Satoru knew better than to try and test your luck further. At least you had your life. “We are done here.” Gakuganji siad, dismissing the room. You were the first out, followed closely by Satoru.

The two of you had managed to make it to the garden before the tears started to fall. It only made you angrier with yourself. You hated it, you hated crying, you hated how you couldn’t protect yourself during your trial, you hated that they had taken your sorcery away from you. You hated them. 

“Y/n, no-” Satoru muttered, taking you into his arms and pulling you into his chest. You had talked to him before about random hugging, especially when he saw you were in distress, but you were willing to let it slide this time. This time, his warm arms and familiar scent wrapped you in a blanket of comfort. You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting the tears freely fall.

“I know right now it hurts,” He whispered softly, gently petting your hair, “But they’ll be begging you to come back, I know they will.”

“I gave them everything Satoru,” You whimpered, “I gave my life for jujutsu sorcery…”

“I know you did. They don’t deserve you.” Satoru sighed, kissing the top of your head. “And.. I know you probably don’t want to hear this right now, but this might actually be good.”

“How?!” You demanded.

“Because you’re finally free. You can pursue whatever life you want to live without the threat of death constantly looming over you. You’ll never have to endure all of their glares ever again, you can find a place where you’re loved, and cherished, and valued like you deserve to be. You never have to be disrespected again.” He wasn’t wrong, and the thought did bring you some solace. Still, one aspect of jujutsu society tugged at your heart. The one thing you couldn't stand the thought of leaving.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” He laughed. “I’m not going anywhere. No matter what choice you make, I’ll be there. If you’ll let me of course.” You couldn’t help but smile at his promise.

“Of course, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[manygeese]

@lost-trio-week day 4: godly parent swap

~*~

Lightning cracked like a whip, splitting the night sky in fractured halves.

That was when Leo knew he was in for an interesting evening.

The deck, once blissfully dry, was suddenly pelted with a relentless rain. Leo’s hair was flattened to his head in an instant. Hazel had abandoned the son of Aphrodite as soon as the ominous clouds had started closing in on the sun, which he couldn’t blame her for. It was every demigod for themselves when it came to storms, whether they be natural, caused by venti, or from a not so secret third option: Piper.

Like the thunder itself, Piper’s frustrated cry rose from the lower decks of the Argo II, telling him all he needed to know about what sinister force was behind the sudden hurricane. With a sigh and an executive decision to leave Coach Hedge by himself for night watch, Leo slid down the stairway banister and found himself in the darkest depths of the hold. When one of them had problems, all of them had problems, so he had decided to go get Jason first.

A warm, familiar glow came from the end of the hallway. The engine room’s double doors were slightly open, letting the light from the forge escape its metal prison, if only from a skinny sliver between wall and door.

Something was afoot- Jason never left the door to the engine room open. Even when he wasn’t in it. Leo theorized that it was because the son of Vulcan liked it stuffy in his work places. He could just never seem to get warm enough.

Creeping up to the gap in the darkness, Leo peered into the engine room like a four year old trying to catch Santa in the act of laying presents under the Christmas tree.

Usually, he would have seen Jason hammering away at one pet project or another, or sticking his torso completely into the activated engine to fix something, which never failed to make Leo yelp and attempt to pull him out. He swore Jason did it on purpose. Piper could also be found there. Right behind the daughter of Zeus’ own cabin or the upper deck, she spent the most time doodling in the engine room or trying to help with repairs.

But that night, Leo found Jason all alone, head in hands, no Piper in sight.

Yup. Something was definitely afoot.

“Jason, do you mind telling me why the door was open?” Leo asked, stepping into the abnormally hot room and shutting the door behind him. He slipped a little charmspeak into his voice, since Jason usually couldn’t resist the stuff.

But Jason’s mouth just warbled and released a truly pathetic whimper along with a puff of steam. No eagerness to explain, like the Roman golden child was prone to show, or even his signature big dumb puppy eyes.

“Jason,” Leo admonished, feeling distinctly like he had come home to a ripped up sofa and a guilty-looking dog.

Jason screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. Flames licked around his hands, which were covering his face.

“Okay, dude,” the charmspeaker scoffed, turning around to leave, “be that way. If you don’t want to talk, I guess I’ll just head over to Piper’s…”

“Wait! Don’t leave!” Came the desperate, but not unexpected response.

Jason had played right into his hands, as usual. “If you want me to stay, you have to tell me why you’re moping and if it has anything to do with Piper’s stress-storming.”

The other boy broke out his signature big dumb puppy eyes. Honestly, Leo would have been more worried if he hadn’t.

“Wuh oh, looks like I’m leaving the room… I wonder if there’s anything a certain blond mechanic could do about it…”

“Okay, okay, you win,” Jason relented, pushing himself back up to his feet and approaching Leo like a wild animal, hands raised in surrender and apprehension.

“Earlier today, me and Piper had deck duty, right?” Jason started, hand reaching back to itch his neck. “And she brought up the prophecy.”

Leo sucked in a breath through his teeth. Discussing the prophecy was huge no no. After the fight with Khione on the way to Epirus, Leo had put it on the List of Banned Topics, 1984 style. It was right up there with the best ice cream flavor (controversial, Piper said it was neapolitan when it was clearly moose tracks) and what they were going to do after the war (better not to jinx it).

“She was talking about one of us dying again. She wanted to make me pinky promise that I would let her do it.”

There was a tense silence. “Did you?”

“No.”

Leo heaved a relieved sigh. “Good.”

“Instead, I tried to make her pinky promise that she’d let me do it.”

“Oh, come on, man.” Leo plugged his ears and tried to forget what he just heard.

The prophecy made him feel helpless. His two best friends were the key players, storm and fire themselves, and he was just Leo. A scrawny, weak demigod whose only use was his pretty voice. Half the time, he was just the damsel in distress, and the other half, he was the mediator. And sure, Annabeth had told him that “peacekeeper is an important job, it’s crucial that you get it right, blah blah blah responsibility, blah blah blah use your empathy,” but it was hard to believe that whoever was essentially just a let’s-all-get-along-and-make-friendship-bracelets hippie was as important as the slayer of Gaea.

The slayer of Gaea who would wind up getting themselves killed.

The fact of the matter was: one of his best friends would die saving the world, and there was nothing Leo could do about it.

“Hey, don’t cry, Leo, it wasn’t like she actually did it or anything,” Jason reasoned, reaching for the other boy’s hand. Leo clutched at it before it could even brush his fingers.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better, dumbass.” Leo squeezed Jason’s hand in his to a rhythm that didn’t really matter, it just felt right. “I made a pinky promise with you and Piper that we’d never talk about the prophecy again, and yet, here we are. They aren’t exactly sworn on the Styx.”

Jason pursed his lips and moved his other hand to pat him on the back. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words died on his tongue.

After a minute of thoughtful silence, Leo couldn’t take it anymore. “You’re coming with me,” he demanded. The charmspeak wasn’t even a secret.

If he was going to be the mediator, he was going to be the best damn mediator in the history of ever. It was the least he could do.

One forceful knock on the door labeled “PIPER ONLY, NO BOYS OR EQUINES ALLOWED” (complete with stick figure drawings of who appeared to be Percy and Blackjack. There had been an Accident, and the less said about it, the better) later, Leo and Jason had marched their way right up to Piper’s desk.

Leo poked her in the shoulder. “Piper.”

“Leo,” she grumbled, rubbing her temples as she sat up, “I’m really not feeling well right now, so if you could be quiet, that’d be-”

“I know that you two have been talking about the prophecy. Without me.”

Piper blanched and directed her gaze to Jason as a peal of thunder rang out in the distance. “I thought we agreed to not tell him about it.”

Jason fiddled with the strap of his goggles. “Well, I thought it was a little unfair for him to not be in the loop.”

“He was never supposed to know!”

“Listen, it’s not like I was going to let you commit suic-”

Leo groaned. “Stop. Talking. Or I swear to the Gods, I will feed you to Gaea myself.”

That shut them up pretty quick.

“Piper, you were willing to pull that shit. Why?” Leo huffed, crossing his arms and hoping he cut an intimidating figure.

“I- I…” she stammered, fidgeting with her sweatshirt sleeves, which were popping with static electricity, “I wanted to keep you safe.”

Leo scoffed. “And how, pray tell, would your death keep me safe?”

Piper fell silent for a second. The quiet fell over the room like a sheet of glass balancing on the tip of a finger- unstable, ready to fall at any moment, sharp, pointed, and shaky.

She broke it first with an involuntary cry. “You love Jason more than me,” she managed. “If (I) died, you’d both be happier than if… if he died.”

Leo’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. His hands went up to his face to cover his gaping mouth because he knew it wasn’t going to shut on its own, and his godly mother had once told him that it wasn’t attractive to look like a dehydrated fish. He wished that hadn’t been the one thing that stuck with him from his brief encounter with Aphrodite. “What?”

“You know it’s true,” Piper insisted, averting her eyes. Crack, said the thunder.

“When- why? What? Huh? Who told you this?”

“Just a hunch.” She shrugged, as if she was just telling him she wasn’t sure what she wanted for dinner.

“Well, your hunch couldn’t be more fucking wrong, you goddamn idiot. I love the hell out of you, in case you haven’t noticed already,” he exclaimed, shaking her by the shoulders. He let out a sigh and pulled her into a hug when she started to frown like a baby about to cry. “Get in here, Jason. Contrary to what’s apparently popular belief, I don’t want either of you to die and I intend on showing you that once and for all.”

There was another type of silence, now. One that could take over a space like the draping of a blanket accompanied by the wish of sweet dreams. A quiet that would reign once a head with drooping eyes met a soft pillow after a long day.

The lack of sound was lifted when Leo spoke in the most delicate of whispers. “What are the chances I can convince Annabeth to lend us her laptop to watch movies on?”

Piper chuckled. “I’d never bet against you, Leo.”

[slippery-minghus]

System Breach Sunday... Rewind ⭕

#7

“Connor!” Hank dropped to his knees in front of his android charge. Sidearm holstered, he reached out, hesitant. 

Still frozen, lifeless like a broken doll, Connor could only watch as Hank took one of his hands from where they rested in his lap. The sight seemed almost far away… nearly glowing under the weak midday sun. Even still, Connor could feel it as Hank’s warm, calloused palm squeezed his own—he could hear the Lieutenant’s elevated respiration, feel his anxious pulse through the contact in his palm—but he couldn’t react. Couldn’t reciprocate in any way.

Connor was fine, but the remaining seconds that he was powerless to prove it made something inside him hurt. 

>WARNING: COMPREHENSIVE MOTOR REBOOT REQUIRED

>Time Until Motor Reboot: 53 seconds

>

>Software Instability ^

Gently, almost fearfully hesitant, Hank reached to Connor’s chin, tilting up his head. The sensation was a stark, cutting contradiction to the deviant’s forceful grip—and in a flutter of irrationality, Connor once again found himself verifying his anti-virus program’s readout. 

Still clear. Still nothing. 

He was alright. 

Connor’s vision rose, panning from the Lieutenant’s knees before his own, up to the man’s concerned, gray-framed face. Hank’s expression was pained, his voice tentative, “Can you hear me, son? You okay?” His gaze shifted slightly to Connor’s right, and the finger at his chin tilted his head to follow—Connor’s LED was still an angry, cycling red. 

“Shit, you still in there, Connor?” Hank asked with a bit more urgency. But then his gaze shifted away, and his hand gently lowered Connor’s head. His tone took on a more inward quality, “His LED’s still goin’, probably means he ain’t dead… the fuck did that deviant bastard do?” Careful, probing hands prodded at Connor’s sides, his arms, shoulders, his throat—barely brushing the data panel below his jaw—yet Hank found nothing amiss. “This is why I didn’t want you going off alone, you dumbass!”

>WARNING: COMPREHENSIVE MOTOR REBOOT REQUIRED

>Motor Reboot Initiated

Finally, after so many frustrating, powerless minutes, Connor began to regain physical functionality.

His breathing was the first to come back online. In a warmer setting, the influx of air would have been vital to cool his arrested biocomponents—but as his synthetic lungs expanded, Connor was met with the frigid rush of Detroit winter. Some basic, hard-coded instinct sent a violent shiver juddering through him, and Connor’s eyes squinted shut before he realized he’d even regained the ability to blink. He wheezed again, exhaling harshly as if the next breath would not come just as cold. 

“Connor!” Hank gasped, moving to grip the android’s shoulders. “Hang on kid, hang on. I’ve gotcha.”

Though the shivers persisted, each tremor was more fluid—more lifelike—than the last. And before long, Connor was able to perform simple movements of his own volition. With meticulous focus, he strung a sequence of actions together, then executed. First, Connor reached for the Lieutenant’s wrist and grasped it lightly. He slowly shook his head. Then Connor opened his mouth, activated his vocal synthesizer, and whispered, “I’m okay.” 

Yet he sounded anything but. Connor’s voice had come out small, rattled, afraid. He hadn’t queued an emulated well of emotion, hadn’t plotted the expression he could feel furrowing his brows. Androids weren’t supposed to—

“Like hell you are! What the hell happened? What’d that fucker do to you?” Hank’s tone was rough now that the imminent danger had passed, but the sharpest edges had been sanded smooth by relief. Connor couldn’t help but think back to the echo of Hank’s anger—his fear that he might lose…

Connor blinked, then jerked his hand away from Hank’s arm. He tried to right himself, but only managed to sway in Hank’s persistent grasp. The danger had passed, but— “The deviant—” Connor pressed, eyes wide, “It can’t have gotten far. I can track its progress through the cameras from here—” 

“Woah, woah, woah, hold it,” Hank rumbled, biting back a curse as Connor nearly slumped further to the ground. “I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re actually okay. And not just saying it. Why’re you moving like a drunk bag of rocks?” 

[battle-subway-aftershow]

Inconspicuous mustache and glasses on, soooo you wanna talk about how galar could be good huh?

Points at you this is all your fucking fault (/j)

Anyways you’ve poked me so I’m going to talk about it now. Sorry not sorry.

Before I say anything: “Moth, Tinker, don’t like, all your characters live in galar?” Yes! Because when you’re making an au for Pokémon why make a region out of scratch, when Game Freak’s left a perfectly good blank slate for you right there?

Anyways with that out of the way, I’m putting this under a cut because this is going to be long.

Sword and shield are such disappointing games. You could say a million things about it— the graphics, the routes, the nat dex cut, so on and so forth, but that’s a long dead horse and im not going to start beating it.

I like Sw/Sh’s story. Or, more accurately I like the idea of the story that the games tried and failed to give us. I really want to say there’s something there to grasp at, but honestly? There’s not. Nothing burger ass game.

The plot up until the climax of the story is “The darkest day was a thing and there was a hero that stopped it. Bede’s mean and wants wishing stars. Wait, what?! There’s two heroes? And badass dogs? No way!”

It genuinely feels like they had a full story arc with plot beats written out, but had to scratch everything besides the climax and try to fill in the gaping plot holes as quickly as they could before they hit the deadline for release. It’s so jarring and bizarre when you reach the climax of the story, because it’s just… out of nowhere? You and Hop try to break into the Macro Cosmos tower to interrupt Leon’s meeting because he was… late for dinner? And Oleana hears this and starts acting like an unhinged evil antagonist out of nowhere, even though at the moment not letting you in is just, perfectly logical?

And then the whole hide and seek game she does for the keys— Team Yell joining in, none of this feels deserved at all, probably because there was, I don’t know, supposed to be things happening before this that properly built up to it?

It’s so frustrating, because if they had even executed the story at all, it would’ve been so cool. The guy who practically MADE galar is re-awakening what is basically an eldritch god in a misguided attempt to save the region from future disaster (trauma? Paranoia? All of the above?) but his plan backfires and nearly destroys everything instead??? It’s such a cool idea! And it’s just. Barely even executed at all.

Oleana and Rose both could’ve been such interesting characters. Their Pokémon teams are symbolic of themselves as people, for crying out loud! Imagine how cool those fights, especially Oleana’s, could’ve been if there had been a proper fucking storyline??

(I won’t go too in-depth, but Oleana using beautiful and feminine Pokémon up until her g-max garbador ace— a literal heaping pile of trash? And how that represents the her horrible personality hidden behind her appearance?

And how Rose’s team is made up of thorn and thorn-like Pokémon, as well as industrial Pokémon and his childhood starter? Without a rose in sight? He’s lost who he was to the pursuit of innovation or something. There’s no Rose anymore, only the thorns. Too bad there’s nothing before these moments.)

It ends up just feeling like a barely even executed dollar store version of Sun and Moon. You’ve got the punk evil team who isn’t actually evil, the altruistic company/foundation that turns out to be far worse than the evil team, extraterrestrial pokemon who are very debatably Pokémon being brought into the world and causing problems? Yeah everything screams “we tried to recreate the s/m formula,” down to Hop using Hau’s animations. Insane.

(Also team yell feels like another dead horse that I don’t want to beat— but they don’t work like Team Skull did. Team skull worked! Really well in my opinion! Meanwhile Team Yell is just… kind of a vague nuisance. I get that was the point, but if Macro Cosmos was going to be the villains— why not give any buildup beforehand? Oh well. I said I wouldn’t beat the dead horse.)

Tl;dr: Sword and shield is barely even trash, it’s an empty dumpster with some unopened cans in it and I am sitting in there playing with the cans trying to create a coherent story out of it. Man galar’s good if only it was good. Go watch Twilight wings it’s Galar if it was good

And also sw/sh feels uncannily like bootleg sun and moon, bri’ish edition.

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Beauty and the Beast ~ Darkling (part 4)

A/n: thought about this during work to get through a difficult shift and had to write more, so here it is!

Word Count: 5200+

MASTERLIST

- The Dark -

Y/n was losing patience. The whole drama with Makya had reawakened Y/n's eyes to a horrible truth: time was running out. He may still be young, but he had aged enough that he was expected to marry. To make a family. Old enough now that he would soon run out of options.

Did that bother him? One day eventually his father would pass away. He couldn't run this farm completely by himself... although, how could he form any kind of lasting romantic relationship? He had such a huge secret, and keeping it from his distracted father was one thing - but his life partner? The person he made a future and a home with?

Did he even want to marry right now? Did he want to even pursue a relationship in this place he hated, full of people he couldn't stand who thought he was good looking but an idiot? If Makya was the only one going after him... maybe that was a sign. But what other options did he have? He couldn't leave. Not yet.

Not until Alina got ahold of her powers.

And see that was the problem. Because it was becoming obvious that she wasn't just learning slow - she wasn't growing at all anymore. Y/n had lost drive to give energy for their training anymore.

Alina didn't miss his lack luster non-attempts.

"Could you at least pretend to be paying attention right now?"

Y/n looked up to see a frustrated Alina, her eyebrows pulled together and her lips pressed in a thin line of irritation. It was the softest glare Y/n had ever seen, but he could tell that she was either on the brink of snapping his head off of his shoulders with her teeth, or bursting into tears, and he wanted neither to happen. Feeling guilty, he put his book away. "I'm sorry. It's just..." His words trailed off and he swallowed, shrugging.

Alina rose an eyebrow. "It's just what?"

A frown pulled at Y/n's lips and he looked at her head on. If he was going to teach her, he had to be straight forward and honest. "You're holding yourself back." He rose an eyebrow. "Like something is making you hesitate."

That made Alina back down, because she knew he was right. She wasn't ready to admit it though. Not really. The effort she gave was appreciated, and even somewhat truthful, but it had the feeling of a symptom rather than the actual disease. Smaller. A side effect; not the problem. "I mean I've always been told people like me were cruel and evil. Every story with a Grisha is a warning, and every Grisha hunt is the best tale and every Grisha execution is a celebration." She sighed.

Y/n nodded, considering that. "Are you afraid of getting caught," he began. "Or are you afraid of what you're capable of."

When Alina looked at Y/n now, there was a bit of fear. Not like she thought he would attack, but like she had been seen more than she wanted to have been. "I mean we're all afraid of being caught aren't we?"

It was answer enough. Not because of what she had said, but because of what she hadn't. "Do you want to talk about it?"

It was Alina's turn to consider. "Yeah." She finally let her hands fall to her sides and she moved to Y/n, sitting down next to him. She had been trying to summon the bright light she had only managed to conjure in small bursts - at best, fleeting moments. It always flickered and it took everything in her just to keep it dimly alive, even though it was about an inch in dimension.

She had made progress though and Y/n tried to hold onto that. Learning something new wasn't easy, especially when it was something like this. Something that got into your head and weakened your power with doubt and fear and anxiety. This seemed the case with her specifically.

Y/n's eyes found Alina in the quiet that began to stretch as she avoided talking about it after she had just said she wanted to. He refused to prod her through, forcing her to keep it going. She looked at him mournfully, as if he were torturing her. "What?" There was a bit of a smile in his voice when he spoke and she glared lightly. It only made him smile more.

Alina sighed. "How did you do it so easily?" Her change in subject let Y/n know that she hadn't actually wanted to talk about it. Or, perhaps she had but she wasn't ready to. Y/n let it drop, sensing her need to move on.

"I didn't do it easily," he admitted. That seemed to surprise her. "Hey I've been at this for ages. I've had time to practice, and my skill isn't as obvious as yours. I read and read and read, and then I experimented for all of the things I couldn't find out. I found out that I could boost our crops, and ever since we've been first pick for harvest time shopping. Our animals are strong and never get hurt. Even my father, who's getting on in age and whose professions and hobbies are dangerous and leave him often injured, doesn't have any problems that last long. He heals fast and is well off physically, even at his age." He shrugged.

Alina seemed awed. "You just keep this farm perfect and running all by yourself huh?"

Y/n scoffed a laugh. "Hardly. It's not perfect, and my father does help here and there. I'm young, and that means I'm strong and have more energy, but he still by far outweighs my experience and knowledge. Even now he has to intervene sometimes when I don't know what to do. He couldn't do it by himself either - it's our combined effort that keeps this place going. That's why... as he gets older..." Y/n pressed his lips together.

Alina could see the thoughts in his mind. "You think you'll need help with this place one day."

Y/n nodded reluctantly. "There's only so much I can do by myself anyway. When harvest time comes, my father does help. When it comes to getting rid of the old animals and raising up the younger animals - he helps me with that too. Not because I don't know how to handle it but because a farm this big? It's impossible to do every single thing by yourself."

"Maybe Mal and I could help one of these days," Alina offered. "We do other things for the community, it could help. To do other things as well."

Y/n offered an appreciative smile, but shook his head. "Being a farmer is a 24 hour, full time job. Mal is too busy too often. He likes going out into the Forrest - they are his adventures. His escape from society. From this place. And..." his smile softened. "As much as I appreciate the offer... Alina-"

"I'm not much help." She nodded. "That's fair." She hesitated a moment and then asked, "then what will you do? Rent with someone?" She hesitated even more. "Marry?"

For a long time, Y/n was quiet. "Not here."

Alina watched him, but he was suddenly guarded, so she couldn't read him at all. "When do you leave?"

Y/n closed his eyes, sighing. He seemed a bit defeated. Perhaps guilty as well. "I... don't know."

"What stops you?"

Y/n's eyes opened, but his head tilted back so he looked up at the ceiling. Through it even, as he grew lost in thought. "My father. He would... miss me. And this farm - it means so much to him."

Alina hummed. "So you'll give your dream up for him? He won't be around forever."

"But I also don't have forever to wait," Y/n cut in, a tad frustrated. "And at the same time, I don't want to look forward to my father passing away." He seemed to remember something, and Alina thought it might be painful. "I love my father," he said oh so quietly, and Alina winced. Nothing she'd ever heard started like that if it was good. "He loves me too." Even worse. "He tries his best and succeeds in a lot of areas. I'm glad he's in my life."

Quietly, Alina prompted, "But?"

Y/n didn't deny it was coming. "But..." His shoulders slumped. "I hate it here. I hate this stupid small town and the people who look at me and see someone I'm not. I know what they say about me. I know how they talk about me behind my back. Makya was not the first person to simplify my worth down to attractiveness."

At that, Alina rolled her eyes. "Makya is an idiot."

"But not the exception," Y/n shot back. "Everyone in this town is an idiot, I swear to god." He finally looked at her, and then his hard look softened again. "Except maybe you and Mal." His eyes shone, and they exchanged a smile. Y/n sighed, looking away. "Why don't we end it there today? We can pick up again this weekend. The next few days I need to spend on the farm again."

Alina nodded, collecting her things and rising from the table. "See you this weekend." She messed up the boy's hair on her way out and Y/n chuckled as he watched her go. The smile lingered as the door closed behind Alina, and then a moment after, but slowly began to fade.

The emptiness of the house was too heavy. The previous conversation had set a stone boulder in his chest and he was not handling it well alone, with the ringing silence.

He went to bed early that night.

The next day was as he had said - focused on his duties. The routine and mind numbing, physically exhausting work was good for him. He got to blow off steam, and then see his progress and feel a bit better. He didn't feel as frozen in place. As stuck.

As trapped.

Well, that was a lie. He did feel trapped. By straw and wood and memories and loyalty.

He tried to distract himself from that. And he mostly succeeded.

And then the stranger came.

Strangers never came to their little corner of the world. Y/n knew every single face the second they had a face to know. The second they were born, or moved in, within minutes Y/n knew them. So to see a fully grown man who wasn’t in the least familiar? Running up to his house? In the middle of the day, when no one was here and everyone was usually at work anyway?

This couldn't be good.

The man looked ragged. He limped, a scrape on his cheek and his hair twisting wildly in wisps. He was older, and his eyes were miles wide. As he got closer Y/n realized he was shaking. His suspicion was overwhelmed with concern. He approached the man, more wanting to help than being cautious. His heart had always been his weakness.

"Sir?" Y/n began, hands out in front of him as he paused, unsure how to even help.

"Y/n," the man said in response. Y/n froze. The man was unfocused, and his voice sounded hollow, but it was unmistakable. He was being addressed. "Are you Y/n?" The man asked when he got no response.

Y/n jerked to a sudden start again. "I- yes. Do we know each other?"

The stranger suddenly focused on the young man in front of him. "Oh, you wouldn't remember me. It's been... decades, now, I suppose. I knew you a long time ago. When you were just a lad. Barely born, couldn't even walk or talk yet." He almost smiled, but then his eyes watered. "Your mother and I-"

Y/n felt suddenly very uncomfortable. "You know she's dead then?"

The man nodded. "I helped your father. Move away and find somewhere new. Somewhere very far away and hidden. I helped him run."

Y/n felt a sudden, horrible feeling rise into his chest. "Why are you here? Who are you?"

"My name is Phillip," the man eased. His face was crumbling. He was agonized. "Your father and I used to be business partners. But then he went into hiding, so-" he shrugged. "But for this trip, he came back to me. He asked for my help again."

Y/n closed the distance between them in a breath. He grabbed the man's lapels. "Where is my father?"

The small, old man looked up at the boy with so much regret. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." his voice was small and weak and the horrible feeling grew.

Y/n used all of his self control not to scream or shake the man as he wanted to. "Where," he tried again. "Is. My. Father?"

Phillip's lip trembled. "We were discovered. He knew if he was caught it might lead back to you. So- he ran."

"Ran where?" Y/n demanded.

Phillip whimpered. Y/n's hold on his coat tightened. "Where, Phillip?" His tone did not leave room for kindness or stalling. He needed answers and he needed them blunt and immediate.

The poor older man coiled away from Y/n, but not in fear. In regret. "Into the Fold. The only place they would not follow."

Y/n lost his grip, his lip hands slipping from the other man's coat. He looked away, the horrible feeling exploding in a massacre until only hollow aching was left. His father was dead. Y/n turned away, eyes closing. He'd have to marry now. Spring was coming soon, they had to prepare. He couldn't plant everything by himself. He didn't have time to sell the farm or make plans to leave.

And his father was gone.

Y/n covered his mouth. Or, he tried. As his hand rose Phillip caught his wrist. "He only went because there is a chance of survival."

Y/n looked at the crazy old man. "No one has every survived the Fold."

Phillip shook his head. "Walking through the Fold is near impossible. A long journey and no luck if even one spots you.” He didn’t have to specify one of what. “But if you can remain silent, and move fast. He has done it before. Many of those desperate enough have. Stories you don't tell in case anyone finds out. In case anyone tells the King - a guaranteed hanging. The King wants no one to know it's a possible journey. He controls travel, he controls everything if he controls who can and can't cross the Fold."

Y/n's mind was reeling. "So my father might be alive."

Phillip nodded quickly. "I came to get you- he needs a healer."

The blood in Y/n's body turned to ice. "I'm not a doctor."

The old man looked at Y/n with knowing eyes. "Your mother knew, when you were born. She was, of course. And your father. They knew you'd be, and your father - well he expected what kind as well. Cause see, he was a Durant. So good with mending and fixing and molding metal. And your mother - well she was a Tailor. Working with the body, they knew you'd pick up one in some way. And then, he was always healthy and all the plants and animals here thrived so well. He knew you found the scrolls she left for you. That you learned. He never spoke of it. Didn't want to tell you- but he told me, you see-"

Y/n stepped away. "How do I know any of this is accurate? You could be lying."

Phillip shrugged, and suddenly he looked exhausted. "Your father is hurt at best," he sighed. "What do you have to lose?"

And... the man had a point. Y/n's jaw locked and his eyes narrowed. "Take me to him."

The rest of the day was packing. He left a note for Alina who would be back soon and then left it on the table. She could sell the farm or handle it for him, he didn't care. He was going to be gone.

Maybe forever.

He told her too, that he was going where she could not follow him. He didn't tell her where or why, but not to follow him. Not to bother. Either they'd survive and that would be the end of it, or they'd die and it wouldn't matter anyway.

And then they were off.

It took three months. In that time, Y/n and Phillip got to know each other quite well. Y/n liked the man. He had lots of stories about his mother and father, and clarified so many things that Y/n didn't know.

There was only one he really needed though.

"Did he really kill her?"

Phillip's lips pressed together. It seemed he had also heard the rumors. "It depends on who you ask," he answered carefully.

"I'm asking you," Y/n answered evenly.

Phillip nodded. Fair enough. "He did." He sighed, smiling softly. "He was so talented. So amazing. Everyone in town kept his secret, as he was the keystone of the place. Kept everything up and running, and had magic hands. It was fascinating to watch him. And then, one day she just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It went wrong, very wrong, and... we didn't have a healer. Not yet." He shook his head. "She didn't make it, and he blamed himself. The whole town turned on him. Blamed him for it too. This man, he had wanted your mother instead you see. And he said that this was proof that Grisha were dangerous. Evil." Phillip paused for a moment. "We almost lost your father that day. And you. So he ran, and he hid, and he swore he'd never use his small science again. But, he didn't know how to work metal without his abilities. It was against his nature. Against the very way he saw metal and knew how it worked. Nothing did what it was supposed to the way it was supposed to. He's Grisha. He was made to work metal like one."

That... made a lot of sense. Y/n didn't speak much after that conversation, but he already hadn't been saying a lot and Phillip didn't seem to notice. He liked talking and that was fine with Y/n. He had always been reserved and he was still in denial. He had hope and he was willing to fight for his father with his blood if he had to. They'd both make it out of the Fold. No matter what.

When they got to the camps, suddenly they had to he a lot more careful and move a lot slower. Y/n didn't notice - he could finally see the Fold and... he didn't have words.

Drawings and stories did not do the thing justice. There was no way to truly encapsulate the experience of looking at solid darkness, undisturbed by even sunlight. Darkness swirled off the edges of the barrier, rolling into the air and disappearing like mist. Or smoke. It was wild and breathtaking. Y/n knew it was dangerous, and horrible things had happened inside it. He knew it was why humans hated Grisha so much, what it stood for. What ruin it held for his kind.

But god, it was beautiful too.

Y/n had always found Grisha to be extraordinary, and the Black Heretic to be an extension of that. Now looking at it in all its glory, there was something even more about it. This wasn't just small science. This was magic. The cost had been horrendous, but the way it bent nature and refused to be tamed... Y/n couldn't deny that he found it kind of inspiring. Who cared about what non-Grisha thought? Of course they feared something that they couldn't control. Couldn't defeat.

Crossing that threshold was even more insane. Getting past the first army was only too easy. In the last half year since the incident with his father, they had regrown lax. They had forgotten. And soon enough they were forgotten too, as Phillip prepared Y/n for what they were about to see - and then went inside.

It was like closing a door and sealing off a room. The sun disappeared as they were swallowed by the darkness. And... well, it wasn't as dark as Y/n had previously thought. It was definitely poorly light. It was hard to see at first, but once his eyes adjusted it was like walking around at night with a weak candle. Fine enough.

The limited light was a sort of greyish, with hints of blue. Y/n had heard of the special blue lamps that had been created by Grisha. They were always destroyed when found, but were apparently able to pull on the blue light that was created in the Fold, expounding on it and growing enough to actually make it easy to see. Because it built on what was already in the Fold, the volcra wouldn't attack immediately. Not unless they could tell that you were human. They couldn't hear your heartbeat or smell fear, but they did have a gift for picking up sound. If one could be quiet enough...

"There's a place," Phillip wrote out in the soft dirt under their feet. It was hard to see, and he had to retrace it several times, but it worked eventually. "We hide there."

When Phillip took Y/n to the place, Y/n about slapped him silly. When he had said place, the picture that it had conjured was some hole in the ground they'd dug out, or some kind of bunker. This wasn't just a place. It was a castle. Like, a proper palace.

Place.

Palace.

Y/n almost slapped his own forehead, and only stopped himself because dying now would have been stupid.

Once inside, Phillip started to make noise again. Which made Y/n jump, as in the last two or three days - without the sun he really couldn't tell - it had been so completely silent between them. "No worries," Phillip eased, chuckling as Y/n flinched again. "The castle has always been a safe place for Grisha."

Y/n blinked twice before he finally put it together. "You're a Grisha too?"

Phillip smiled. He extended his hands, flexing a his fingers, and suddenly a huge gust of wind ripped through the still air, blowing across Y/n's face and ruffling his hair. He couldn't help himself - he grinned. All of his stress and exhaustion eased away as, for the first time in his life, he got to see a real Sqauller in person.

As if to follow it up in an act, or maybe compare in a sort of you-show-me-your-I'll-show-you-mine, Y/n hands pressed together and then pulled apart, hands sliding through the air. Phillip gasped as he suddenly looked down at his leg, eyes widening as the wound there healed instantly. It had been older, Y/n could tell, even before they began traveling together. The mark on his neck had faded into a scar unfortunately, so Y/n couldn't touch it up, but he did heal Phillip's arm as well. It had gotten hurt while they were sneaking past the first army. Phillip had tripped and slammed his arm against a rock.

Phillip grinned as his skin sealed again, moving his arm and flexing his fingers to extend his muscles. Experiencing the little science in all its glory. “This is amazing,” he whispered, almost reverently. His eyes, bright for the first time, moved back to Y/n. There was something so personal and warm there. Something wholly and completely adoring. Y/n blushed. It was nice to be seen for who he was. To be appreciated for it.

There was a sudden feeling. Something colder on the wind that wasn’t moving. A third breath they could hear, except they couldn’t hear another breath. But it was like that - as if realizing that someone else was there. Or maybe just that there should be. Neither could tell what it was that made them feel so less alone in an eery, startling way, or which eyes made the hair in the back on their necks stand on end, but suddenly all joy was drained from both of them. Y/n swallowed, hands lining up as he focused on being ready to heal Phillip. If anything attacked them, his squaller abilities would be their only hope.

Then Y/n heard his name. It was soft, around a cough. Confused, distant, and weak. But familiar.

“Father?” Y/n choked out, eyes watering immediately as his fork broke and he raced to the source of the noise. Phillip called after him, warning him to be careful. Warning him to slow down and walk carefully. Warning him not to leap before he’s looked. But it was too late - Y/n was racing down stairs and down long tunnels, blind to how far he was going. Not thinking about how impossible it would have been for such a weak voice to have reached his ears this far, when he was in the entry room with the long ornate hall, and now he was racing down down down down… to the heart of the palace.

Into the dungeons.

He recognized them from art and story descriptions, though he had never seen such a thing in person. It wasn’t colder or wet like in the stories, but it was gloomier. Nothing but metal bars and worn down walls as far as Y/n’s eyes could see. He stilled, heart racing and eyes wildly trying to find any sign of life. “Father?” His voice was full of desperation and agony. He sounded on the brink of going mad. It was a plea for mercy from the universe more than it was a call to the man he was looking for.

The universe responded.

“Y/n?” A breath of relief, strong and all consuming slipped from Y/n as all te tension left his body and he raced to the last cell at the end of the hall. He turned, and his heart filled with joy upon seeing the old man. Y/n’s father did not seem happy to see his son though, as horror filled his eyes. “What are you doing here?” He demanded.

“I’m here to get you,” Y/n explained softly, kneeling to be at the right level for his father. The old man was laying on his side, curled up, and had propped himself up on an elbow to talk. Now Y/n reached out, cupping his cheek. Despite himself, the old man leaned into the touch, sighing in relief. Y/n softened. He knew that his father hated being alone, and that losing his mother had been something deeply effecting him. He couldn’t imagine what his poor father had been feeling, thinking he’d never see his son again either. “Let’s get you out of here.”

The old man’s eyes went wide again. “No.” He pushed his son’s hand away finally. “You need to leave. Leave me here. Go!”

Y/n’s eyebrows wound together. “I’m not leaving you here.” It was a curse. It was a bad word. An accusation. How dare his father even suggest a thing? “How did you get in here? Let me get you out.”

“You want to let him out?” Y/n froze. There was that third presence again. The one that made his skin crawl and his anxiety shoot sly high. But this time it was distant and weird. This time it was a sound. It was a proof. A voice in his ears, weaving into his body and injecting into his blood - turning it into ice. Laying over and settling into his bones - locking them in place. He was more stone than flesh and bone when he heard that low, calm voice. The smooth voice that was unbothered by the emotional reunion and couldn’t have possibly been here. The cold calm and collected one. A voice that asked a question, except it was so obviously a challenge in reality.

His father was shaking. It was that fear and frail display that broke Y/n out of his own spell. Only one of them could be frozen by fear, and his father had been here too long. Y/n turned, his father reaching out to stop him, and moved away from the man on the ground to stand to his full height. He didn’t have to search the darkness - there was a shadow at the end of the hall where Y/n had initially entered the dungeon. A hulking figure covered in shadow. Shadow that would have been complete, if the castle hadn’t been covered in little blue lanterns - something that had only just occurred to Y/n as he finally stopped thinking about where his father was and started to think of how to get out of here alive. Started to take what was around them, to see if there was any weapon or way out.

What he saw instead was that shadowed figure, not seen in any detail but an obvious, deeper darkness in the hallway. So tall and broad it was terrifying, and made his heart stop in his chest. It was like looking up into space without a moon or stars or guide you, or looking down into the depths of the ocean. Focusing on the parts you couldn’t see, where the sun didn’t reach and light couldn’t show you what was danger and what was open water. Just forever extension. Never ending, all consuming darkness that seemed to lean forward. Wanting to swallow him whole.

The voice came again, and this time Y/n swallowed hard to try and move the lump from his throat. “You are brave. To stand to me. You’re scared, but you stand anyway. I haven’t seen bravery until a very long time.” It was half interested, half mocking. Like seeing an ant fight for its life and knowing it was pointless as an unimaginably big hand came down and squashed it. As if interested in the way something so small would fight for a life that was so obviously over.

Y/n locked his jaw, his hands curling into fists as he tried to steady himself. His hands still shook but he felt better being coiled and ready. To fight or run, he wasn’t sure. “Get used to it,” was all he said. It was all he could manage.

And the voice sighed, the shadow’s shoulders moving up and down in a breath. And Y/n was truly shaken by how large the thing lurking was. And then he became frustrated by not being able to see it. Only children were afraid of shadows. “Who are you, shadow walker? Show yourself!”

A pause. And then - “If you wish.” And he didn’t move, but the shadow curling around him receded and Y/n gasped, awed for a moment despite himself at the abilities of a shadow summoner. He recognized the way the hidden beasts’ arm moved, and the way the darkness responded to it.

Then the beast underneath the hiding was revealed and Y/n gasped out loud. He may have been from a village ages from here, but he knew what a vulcra looked like.

Oh god.

[lauri-rosehearts]

Its taken me way too long to get to this but months ago when I asked for questions and post promps about EAH, one of the things I was asked about were my thoughts on Crystal Winter (shout out to @birdbombs714 for giving me an excuse to rant about this). I had to organize my thoughts but its taken me long enough so here it is.

Honestly, my thoughts on her as a character are far from unpopular. I wouldn’t say I HATE her but I definitely don’t care about her. Before I get into that, I’ll put in a positive note and say I do love her design. Granted, I still don’t understand how she’s literally grayish lavender when her parents have regular human skin tones…maybe its a recessive gene but I digress.

That being said, I think she’s very poorly written and it frustrates me because even though she has the protagonistic role in Epic Winter, she’s literally surrounded by characters with infinitely more depth and character growth than her. Even with characters like Rosabella, whose character doesn’t really quite go anywhere aside from aiding Daring in his own arc, I still genuinely like her because there’s alot of things they could’ve done with her without having to rewrite the entire base of her character (as in, had the series continued). But since Crystal is introduced in this movie without any previous establishment, you practically have to rewrite her character to make it interesting.

I think in concept, the whole “sheltered princess who learns to be self-reliant” thing is a solid enough idea for a character arc… and then it felt like they had no idea where to take the execution. Listen, I know this has been memed to death, but it really is true that them deciding to make her learning how to tie her shoes the central symbolism for her “growth” was laughably ridiculous. The writers seem to cherry pick when they want her to be smart. Like in the movie, when the team comes across a bump in the road, Crystal always manages to solve the problem with the first solution she can think of (lowkey sacrificing the other characters’ previously established intelligence in the process, since for most of the movie, they rely on her for answers ), but it takes her nearly an hour into the movie to figure out that the rose of winter is the same rose she was given at the beginning of the movie. I already ranted about that in a very recent post but it lacks all common sense given what we learn about the roses of the seasons.

Another thing about her is the fact that she doesn’t seem to have any major flaws aside from being too carefree and childish. I swear Jackie complains about the royal family like their tyrants who impose high taxes on the peasants. But thats clearly not the case cause everyone else loves them and Crystal genuinely seems enthusiastic to be queen for all the right reasons. Yeah she likes to have fun and too much of that could lead to a lack of responsibility for others, but with her compassion, I genuinely have a hard time thinking she would rule a kingdom failing to think about others. If they made Crystal more actively selfish and flawed, then I think Jackie’s motivation would make a lot more sense. And selfishness is a core theme of a lot of the characters in ever after high so it’s not like this would be totally off-base.

Given the fact that she has such laughably minor flaws, along with the fact that she ends up effortlessly solving half of the problems in the movie despite the narrative trying to feed you the idea that she needs to go through a character arc, it’s no wonder so many people feel like she’s a Mary Sue. Her character is the farthest thing from compelling, especially when you take into account that her best friends are Ashlyn and Briar, who, in my opinion have some of the most compelling character arcs in the show. But in this movie, they get lowkey sidelined for their childhood friend who’s character arc boils down to “I learned how to tie my shoes”. I don’t think epic winter is as bad as a movie as some people think, but I admittedly mainly come back to it for every other character aside from Crystal.

It’s very clear Crystal’s character could benefit from a rewrite, but even I’m not sure how I would rewrite her. I personally wouldn’t make her downright villainous the way some people have, mainly cause in the original fairytale, the Snow Queen while antagonistic is a neutral force if anything. She’s not as villainous as some people claim she is in my opinion. The only true genuine, pure evil in this story is the devil responsible for making the cursed mirror at the beginning. He’s the one who kickstarts the main conflict. The snow queen is more just an embodiment of the harshness of winter, rather than a pure force of evil like the Evil Queen or the Dark Fairy. Yeah, the Snow queen kidnaps and nearly freezes Kay, but that’s more of a symbolic representation of how deadly winter can be sometimes. Its in her nature. Especially given when Kay and Gerda manage to escape, she doesn’t even show up to try to stop them. So I think if we were to go the fairytale accurate route for Crystal, making her morally ambiguous/gray would help. Not exactly sure where we would take it from there, but it would make it more interesting at least.

I apologize is this went kinda off the rails but I realized even after months my thoughts aren’t as organized as I thought. 😭

[animehouse-moe]

Well, Tumblr decided to bug out on me and I've now lost the original question that was asked, but someone had asked for my favorite series (be it manga/anime/movies/Tv/etc), and this was my response.

(first of all, so sorry for losing the question! I should have taken a screenshot or something when Tumblr wouldn't let me post)

It's all good, I enjoy getting these types of questions because they make me think about this stuff haha. I'm not one to really do well with the idea of favorites, so having to pin down stuff like this can be interesting for me!

That said, for this one I might just stick with anime for the list to make it a little easier. I can definitely do a top ten of manga or other stuff later on though. Also, this list will be in no particular order because I'd be stuck forever trying to figure out a satisfying order for them.

Sonny Boy

I think it's a very fair point to argue, that at this stage in his career, Sonny Boy is Shingo Natsume's magnum opus. There's just not much else to it. It's a series that he created, from his own mind and talent, and he executed on that. There are very, very few people that work in anime that can manage a feat such as that. In terms of story, I don't have any issue with claiming Sonny Boy is the pinnacle of high school storytelling. It stretches the fabric of reality so far that you might struggle to claim that it's about high school, but the longer that you spend with it, the more undeniable a fact it becomes. Or maybe you could generalize it to the human condition, or how the cracks in society will fester and form no matter the condition, or how authority will always appear in a self-serving manner, or this or that or any concept under the sun.

Terror In Resonance

Call me crazy, but there's quite a few reasons why this is the Shinichiro Watanabe anime for me. Bebop and Champloo have rose colored glasses that adorn every fan in the community, so I feel like it's hard to really take a proper look at it compared to Terror In Resonance (even though it has a similar amount of users on MAL). As a Mappa project, it is simply the best they've ever been from start to finish. As a concept, Watanabe's approach is impeccable as it examines the frustration and sorrow of displaced children in a society that never wanted them. It's powerful, concise, and from start to finish an incredibly focused series filled with some of the crowning achievements of animators in the industry. Seriously. Takashi Hashimoto, the animator for this cut, actually did all the math to calculate the speed of the smoke as it fell and moved. Some of the best work you'll see on an anime.

Vivy: Fluorite Eye's Song

I am a big, big fan of Tappei Nagatsuki's work, so being able to experience an anime that is entirely his vision of the work is really impressive. It's one of the biggest struggles with artists, I find. Understanding their work through different mediums. What you see as an anime is not what they created as a manga, or light novel. But this is different, it is Nagatsuki's (and Umehara's) sole vision, the entire intent behind their creativity. And WIT knocked it out of the park to an insane degree. As a post-AoT studio, they showed just how far they can push their creativity and execution on a series beyond human. Incredible story, incredible animation, arguably some of the best hand to hand combat we've seen in an anime in a very long time. It's just that good.

Cyberpunk: Edgerunners

Maybe you see a trend going on with my picks, and while yes it's partly recency bias, it's also a gravitation towards anime originals. I'll add a piece to that at the end, but this is about Edgerunners right now. I was in high school when the video game was first announced. That's a decade ago, now. I played the shit out of 2077 when it dropped, and I'm absolutely eating up Phantom Liberty currently. It is then, absolutely no surprise, that I've placed Edgerunners on a pedestal. But of course, there's also a reason that Edgerunners is in the top 100 anime on MAL, and why it's Trigger's highest rated anime. It's just that damn good. An incredible story revolving around Night City and the themes that Mike Pondsmith laid the groundwork for decades ago. A true tribute to the tabletop game and the genre at large.

The Tatami Galaxy

I don't think there's a way I couldn't put The Tatami Galaxy on this list, truthfully. Of course, that also encompasses the sequel ONA The Time Machine Blues, and spinoffs like The Night Is Short, Walk on Girl. Tomohiko Morimi is a genius, Yusuke Nakamura is an icon, and Masaaki Yuasa is a savant. Incredible work for such an incredible story and message about the pursuit of perfection and the beauty that lies in the present. Arguably, much like titles such as Sonny Boy, these are 100% must watch titles for an anime fan. I'd highly recommend the others still, but these two represent such core and important aspects to how people choose to lead their lives and the frameworks that they do so within, that I strongly believe it's a requirement. I also wrote a review on the novel when I read it in January of this year.

Heike Monogatari

I think history is a very important thing to understand. I also think that history can be presented as obtuse, disinteresting, or too literal - especially in relation to history stories or myths. Heike Monogatari by Science Saru is arguably one of the greatest examples of how to display a modernized version of such a foundational tale to the history of Japan. It's also an incredibly powerful moment for the director, Naoko Yamada, as it was their first real work since the arson attacks on her home studio of Kyoto Animation. Because of the weight of her past, her work beyond words on this anime feels that much more powerful considering its messages about the past and fear of the future. It's wonderfully emotional, and contains one of my favorite closing scenes to a series.

The Saga of Tanya The Evil

Light novel aside, anime quality aside (though both are great), there's a separate reason this title is featured on this list: the adaptation. It is, for lack of a better term, borderline insane as an adaptation. It bears almost no similarity to its source. The tone is different, the scope and scale differ, there's significant changes in terms of narrative, and even the order of large scale events differs. But still, somehow, it remains a fantastic series. Bearing nearly zero resemblance to what it claims to adapt, it is something that I love. It's an incredible feat, and the gold standard of its one-of-a-kind approach to adapting a light novel.

Mononoke

Horror is a very hard thing to do right, at least in my opinion. Many get suckered into thriller territory very quickly, and avoid the psychological nature of horror. The immovable nature of something fearful standing in front of you, the slow descent into madness and despair. Mononoke grasps that incredibly well, and earns a spot on this list because of it's appeal in that manner. Also, the art is just incredible, personifying the more classical style that would be associated with the creatures and myths that pepper the story. I'm incredibly excited to see what comes from the upcoming movie.

Welcome To The N.H.K

While it may differ between its three formats, the core of the story stands strong. Impossible to put into words, it's more of a descent than anything. A descent that turns inwards on each of the characters as they slowly lose their grip on reality, as they continue to fall apart, piece by piece. I have my qualms about how they choose to end it, but I am a very bitter man at my core so it's more a personal difference than a quality one. Regardless, if you want an acid trip down the rabbit hole of depression, mania, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, and all manner of other illness, there's no better story than Welcome To The N.H.K.

Toradora!

There's something special about Toradora to me. Is it the era that the anime comes from? Is it the appeal to a classic style of romance without falling prey to the issues of the layout? I'm unsure. But something about it feels so… comfortable, to me. I could watch it again and again and enjoy each minute. It's probably not the best romance anime out there, but it's one that I'll always be drawn to.

And with that, the list is over. Just to provide some extra context and honorable mentions, I'd love to have put series like Alien 9 or Monogatari on the list, but the challenge with them is the fact that the first is a shorter OVA, and the latter is a much larger series encompasses nearly too much to explain in this sort of context. There's really quite a few series like that that I struggled with when forming this list, but they're still really great titles nonetheless.

Anyways, the anime original point. While it's sort of an unconscious thing, I do realize what I do with it. Anime originals present something that you can't experience elsewhere. They are the end all be all of their creative vision, and that excites me more than a manga adaptation. Following someone else's blueprint vs creating your own, obviously one is more interesting than the other. And that sentiment extends to some of the other titles on the list like Heike Monogatari which approaches a classic story with a radical new viewpoint, or Tanya The Evil which basically forgoes the vast majority of its source material. It's really something I struggle with at large with adaptations. So many people want to leave their marks on the work, but quit just short of doing so in a meaningful manner. Very few go the mile to say that they did something in regards to the work, and instead meddle with it in minor ways which can negatively impact its reception as the original material. A great example of valuable changes is Heavenly Delusion. The team under Hirotaka completely re-arrange the order of events in the anime, and in doing so elevate the series in a way that only they can. Anyways, I digress, a discussion that I should leave for another time. This is my list, it may not be the best list out there, but it is mine.